Pillars of fire rose and fell above him—colours in suites, colours which had no business together, stained-glass colours. A little way off to one side, illuminated in a way he couldn’t describe, lay a K-ship, its drive in park, its hull shimmering with the effort of repressing its weaponry; also, he noticed, the complete skeleton of a human being, brownish in colour, with bits of cloth and tarry cartilage still adhering to the bones. At his shoulder—odd and uncertain-looking in that raging, intransigent light, yet somehow less threatening than it first appeared—stood the entity sometimes known as “Sandra Shen,” sometimes “Dr. Haends,” but most often down the years, and to most of its brief associates, “the Shrander.” Ed eyed her sidelong. He took in the tubby figure, the maroon wool coat with its missing buttons; the head like a horse’s skull, the eyes like pomegranate halves.

“Whoa!” he said. “Are you real?”

He felt at himself with his hands. First things first.

“Am I real?” he said. Then: “I’ve met you before.” Receiving no answer, he massaged his face. “I know I’ve met you before.” He made a vague gesture. “All this . . .” he said.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” said the Shrander. “And it’s like this all over.” Ed didn’t mean that. He meant he had come further than he wanted to.

“I’m not sure where I am.”

“Do you know,” the Shrander said, with an air of delight, “I’m not, either! There’s so much of it, isn’t there?”

“Hey,” Ed said. “You’re Sandra Shen.”

“Her too. Yes.”

Ed gave up. For a moment, he thought, it would be enough just to be kind to himself. Take it in. But the Shrander seemed companionable and considerate, and he soon felt more secure than he had when he woke up. That in its turn made him feel as if he ought to make some further effort: so after a little thought he said, “You’re from the K-culture, aren’t you? You didn’t die, you guys. That’s what this has been all about.”

He looked at her in a kind of sidelong awe.

“What kind of thing are you?”

“Ah,” said the Shrander. “I’m not sure you’d understand the answer to that. Whatever kind, I’m the last of them: that’s for sure.” She sighed. “All good things must come to an end, Ed.”

Ed was unsure how to respond to this.

“How are you with that?” he said eventually. “I mean, in yourself?”

“Oh fine. I’m fine with it.”

“You don’t feel alone? Let down?”