The air was very clear and from the top of the scree slope she could see the Edge islands, thirty kilometres away, out close to where the inner containment field of the ship came down like a wall across the sea.

She had scrambled down the scree in small rattles of stones like dry, fanning rivers of pebbles and dust. She had long ago learned how to use her altered centre of gravity to her advantage in this sort of adventure, and had never yet fallen badly. She got to the bottom, her heart beating hard, her leg muscles warm with the effort expended and her skin bright with sweat. She walked quickly back through the salt marsh, along the paths the ship had fashioned for her.

The sun-line was near setting when she returned to the tower, breathless and still perspiring. She took a shower and was sitting by the log fire the tower had lit for her, letting her hair dry naturally, when Gravious the black bird rapped once on the window and then disappeared again.

She pulled her robe tighter about her as the tall, dark-dressed figure of Amorphia climbed the stairs and entered the room.

‘Amorphia,’ she said, tucking her wet hair into the hood of the robe. ‘Hello. Can I get you anything?’

‘No. No, thank you,’ the avatar said, looking nervously around the circular living room.

Dajeil indicated a chair while she sat on a couch by the fire. ‘Please.’ She pulled her legs up underneath her. ‘So, what brings you here today?’

‘I--’ the avatar began, then stopped, and pulled at its lower lip with its fingers. ‘Well, it seems,’ it started again, then hesitated once more. It took a breath. ‘The time,’ it said, then stopped, looking confused.

‘The time?’ Dajeil Gelian said.

‘It’s . . . it’s come,’ Amorphia said, and looked ashamed.

‘For the changes you talked about?’

‘Yes,’ the avatar said, sounding relieved. ‘Yes. For the changes. They have to start now. In fact, they have already begun. The rounding-up of the creatures comes first, and the . . .’ It looked unsure again, and frowned deeply. ‘The . . . the de-landscaping,’ it gulped. It tripped up on the next words in its rush to say them. ‘The un-geometri-- . . . The un-geomorphologising. The . . . the pristinisation!’ it said, almost shouting.

Dajeil smiled, trying not to show the alarm she felt. ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘So it is all definitely going to happen?’

‘Yes,’ Amorphia said, breathing heavily. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘And I will have to leave the ship?’

‘Yes. You’ll have to leave the ship. I . . . I’m sorry.’ The avatar looked suddenly crestfallen.

‘Where am I to go?’

‘Where?’ Confused.

‘Where are you going to stop, or where will I be taken? Is it another ship, or a habitat, or an O or a planet, a rock? What?’

‘I . . .’ The avatar frowned again. ‘The ship does not know yet,’ it said. ‘Things are being worked out.’