He looked up and saw the black bird on the parapet. He stood there watching it for a moment, but it didn’t look like it was coming down. He frowned and went back into the tower.

‘Well?’ it asked when he joined it at the summit of the tower.

He nodded. ‘Locked,’ he confirmed.

The bird had insisted that he was a captive, along with it. He’d thought maybe there was just something wrong with his terminal. It had suggested he attempted to get out the way he had come in. He’d just tried; the lift door in the tower’s cellar was closed, and as solid and unmoving as the stones surrounding it.

Genar-Hofoen leant back against the parapet, staring with a troubled expression at the tower’s translucent dome. He’d had a quick look at each of the levels as he’d climbed the winding stair. The tower’s rooms looked furnished and yet bare as well, all the personal stuff he and Dajeil had added to it missing. It was like the original had been when they’d first arrived on Telaturier, forty-five years ago.

‘Told you.’

‘But why?’ Genar-Hofoen asked, trying not to sound plaintive. He’d never even heard of a ship keeping somebody captive before.

‘’Cause we’re prisoners,’ the bird told him, sounding oddly pleased with itself.

‘So you’re not an avatar; you’re not part of the ship?’

‘Na; I’m an independent entity, me,’ the bird said proudly, spreading its feathers. It turned its head almost right round, glancing backwards. ‘Currently being followed by some bloody missile,’ it said loudly. ‘But never mind.’ It rotated its head back to look at him. ‘So what did you do to annoy the ship?’ it asked, black eyes twinkling. Genar-Hofoen got the impression it was enjoying his dismay.

‘Nothing!’ he protested. The bird cocked its head at him. He blew out a breath. ‘Well . . .’ he looked around at where he was. His brows flexed. ‘Yes, well, from our surroundings, maybe the ship doesn’t agree.’

‘Oh, this is nothing,’ said the bird. ‘This is just a Bay; just a hangar sort of thing. Not even a klick long. You should have seen the one outside, when we still had an outside. Whole sea we had, whole sea and a whole atmosphere. Two atmospheres.’

‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘Yes, I heard.’

‘Sort of all for her, really. Except it turned out its nibs had an ulterior motive, too. All that stuff; became engine, you know. But otherwise. It was all for her, for all that time.’

The man nodded. It looked like he was thinking.

‘You’re him, aren’t you?’ the bird said. It sounded pleased with itself.

‘I’m who?’ he asked.

‘The one that left her. The one that was here, with her. The real here, I mean. The original here.’