Better heat shields would be nice, but the Ragtime was never built for atmosphere. It comes apart. The radiation shields help, and there is some aerodynamic slowing, but it’s not enough. Entry is rocky, but they slow to subsonic speeds, which is the first hurdle to survival. The hull must be paper fucking thin by now. The noise is killing the inner ears.

“Ragtime, fire all retros,” says Salvo.

“You are not authorised—”

“Do it, Ragtime. Now,” says Shell.

“Wild Curses, but this AI is tedious,” says Fin. He looks rigid with fear and Shell remembers he hates space.

The ship judders and violently negotiates descent, like a giant is playing tennis with it. The shocks rattle the teeth and agitate the brain.

“Deploying parachutes,” says Salvo.

There is a pop and a jerk, but the descent continues.

“Salvo?” asks Shell. She wishes she was in the shuttle with them and not hugging Joké, who seems to be in a trance.

“The first parachute… the wind took it,” says Fin.

“What’s our speed of descent?”

“You don’t wanna know,” says Fin.

“Deploying secondaries.”

This does slow them, but Shell knows it means no runway slowing because that’s what the parachute was for. Not that there would be any runway waiting for them.

“Brace for impact,” says Salvo.

“We’re about to hit the ground?”

“Stray pod! Brace, Ragtime One!”

Silence.

Chapter Thirty-six

Bloodroot: Peole

“Launch all shuttles! Launch all the fucking shuttles!” Peole gesticulates wildly.

“It’s too late. They won’t get there on time,” says Coker.

“Launch!”

Chapter Thirty-seven

Lagos: Beko

“Panopticon view,” says Beko, and Lagos complies.

Lagos Bridge is ready. All Dyson elements linked and circle formed. The bridge is opaque, prepared to transmit. The comm satellite pulses through.

“There’s a MaxGalactix ship prepping for bridge transit. Callsign Sinistral. There’s a message,” says Lagos. “Pseudo-autonomous.”

“Play it,” says Beko.

“I hope you have something for me,” says the captain.

“I am going to give you the gift of oblivion, Sinistral. We are cowards. There’s a Yoruba saying, eni ebi ri l’ebi npa. Hunger only kills those who hunger finds.”

“What the fuck—”

“They’re in the bridge by now,” says Lagos.

“Goodbye, Sinistral,” says Beko.

“Don’t play with us—”

“Do it,” says Beko.

The Dyson elements detonate one after the other, and the bridge dissipates into a relativity storm, twisting and turning light and colour. Then the cameras go.

“Did it work?” asks Awe.

“Lagos Bridge is inert. No singularity signature. No wormhole. No Sinistral.”

And no more link to the rest of humanity, thinks Beko.

We are alone.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Bloodroot: Clandestine

The Clandestine is burning.

On the ground, but burning. Hydrazine producing yellow smoke – toxic, but luckily Brisbane landed in woodland. Trees for miles around. Animals, maybe; no humans.