‘Michael,’ she begged him, ‘it’s safe to come back.’

But if it was him, he was as afraid as ever, and as Anna let herself in through the gate, her face turned up and tightening in the heat, the fire went out. She stood there in the dark, caught between one movement and the next, between one feeling and the next – until, just before dawn, she heard the birds waking up and let herself back into the house.

11 Empty Space

ELEVEN

Empty Space

Nova Swing, out from Saudade – via da Luz Field, World X – to an unnamed destination. She chewed and foraged her way along. Her hull shook with dyne fever. Down in the main hold, the mortsafes lay, old, alien, not good to be around. They had fallen into a sort of synchrony: every time Liv Hula made a course change, they turned  slowly to regain their  original orientation.  They seemed aware of one another, Liv said, though no one else believed that; they seemed inert until they thought you weren’t looking at them. She wouldn’t go in the hold alone. She spent her free time plugged into the ship, reviewing the internal surveillance data. Meanwhile, Irene the mona stared out the portholes and marvelled at all the wonders of space, and you could hear her say:

‘Don’t you know, Fat Antoyne, that three old men in white caps throw dice for the fate of the universe?’

No, Fat Antoyne said, he had never heard that.

‘Their names  are  Kokey Food,  Mr  Freedom  and  The Saint. Another thing: these three play not just for the universe’s fate, but the individual fates of every person in it.’ They threw the dice, of which, she said, there were a different number according to the day they played on, and at every throw they would say something in a ritual way, such as ‘Heads over ends!’ or ‘Trent douce’ or ‘Down your side, baby!’, sometimes speaking singly and  sometimes all together. One or all of them would clap their hands sarcastically, or blow on their  fingers to indicate scorching. Or two of them would smirk at the third and say, ‘You fucked now, sonny,’ which at least could be understood  by a normal person.

‘So you’ve seen these dice guys?’ Antoyne enquired.

‘In dreams I have, Fat Antoyne, yes. And when I say that, you need to stop looking at me, in your precise way you’re about to laugh at me. Because a dream  is a kind of truth  too.’ Antoyne laughed at that, and she pushed him off the bed. ‘They pay and they play, Fat Antoyne. And if they ever stop? Why, their faces slacken and crumple. And those old men weep.’

Why was that, Antoyne wanted to know.

‘Because,’ she said, ‘they look out into the same unmeaninged blackness as you and me.’