Dajeil sat forward, shaking her head. ‘No, I’m sorry, that was wrong of me.’ Now she reached out and took Amorphia’s hands. ‘I’m truly grateful for all you’ve done for me, ship. I am. But I don’t want to see him. Please take me away.’

The avatar tried to argue on for a while longer, but to no avail.

The ship considered a lot of things. It considered asking the Grey Area - still in its forward Mainbay - to dip inside the woman’s brain the way it had insinuated its way into Genar-Hofoen’s to discover the truth of the events on Telaturier (and to implant the dream of the long-dead captain Zreyn Enhoff Tramow, not that that had proved either required or particularly well done). It considered requesting that the GCU used its effectors to make her want to have the child. It considered Displacing chemicals or biotechs which would force Dajeil’s body to have the child. It considered using one of its own effectors to do the same thing. It considered just Displacing her into Genar-Hofoen’s proximity, or he into hers.

Then it came up with a new plan.

‘Very well,’ the avatar said eventually. It stood. ‘He will stay. You may go. Do you wish to take the bird Gravious with you?’

The woman looked perplexed, even confused. ‘I--’ she began. ‘Yes, yes, why not? It can’t do any harm, can it?’

‘No,’ the avatar said. ‘No, it cannot.’ It bowed its head to her. ‘Goodbye.’

Dajeil opened her mouth to speak, but the avatar was Displaced away at the same instant; the sound it left behind was like a pair of hands giving a single, gentle clap. Dajeil closed her mouth, then put both her hands over her eyes and lowered her head, doubling up as well as she was able to. Next moment there was another, distant noise and from down the winding stairs she heard a thin, hoarse voice cry out.

‘Waa! Shit! Grief, where--?’ Then there was a confused flutter of wings.

Dajeil closed her eyes. Then there was another, closer-sounding pop. Her eyes flicked open.

A young woman, slim and black haired, was sitting looking surprised in the middle of the floor, dressed in black pyjamas and reading a small, old-fashioned book. Between her bottom and the room’s carpet there was a neat circle of pink material, still in the process of collapsing, air expelling flutteringly round the edges. Around her floated a small snow-storm of white particles, settling with a feather-like slowness. She jerked once, as though she had been leaning back on something which had just been removed.

‘What . . . the . . . fuck . . . ?’ she said softly. She looked slowly around, from side to side.

Her gaze settled on Dajeil. She frowned for a moment, then some kind of understanding imposed itself. She quickly completed her review of her surroundings, then pointed at the other woman. ‘Dajeil,’ she said. ‘Dajeil Gelian, right?’