Mukhtar wiped sweat and still felt chilled. Punt was a story. His grandfather told him tales of its riches. The city had grown so powerful it raised the enmity of powerful polises. A war broke out. Punt held strong, until a miracle visited the city in the night. And in the morning the city was gone as though it had never existed.

“The miracle?” he said.

“It could be. It might be.”

“But it’s just a story.”

“True.” Sharif shrugged. “It is most likely a fake,” she said. “But a good one. Besides, there’s no way to prove it one way or the other. It’s worthless to you in its current condition.”

“How so?” Mukhtar said.

“It has no beating heart,” she told him.

“Its power source?”

She nodded. “It must have been taken out of it when it was broken apart and buried in the desert. It would suggest someone had the right idea to dispose of it safely. It’s possible it isn’t genuine but someone still went to the trouble of destroying it. I could rebuild it for you, good as new. But without the heart you’ll have a simple golden mannequin and nothing more.”

“I would like that,” Mukhtar said. “If you could rebuild it. I will pay twice the usual rate.”

“That is acceptable,” Sharif said.

“What is the power source?” Mukhtar said. “It can’t be hard to find a replacement, surely?”

Sharif shook her head. “They say it used a miniature black hole enclosed within a statis field.” She smiled as though she’d told a foolish joke. “Can you get your hands on one?”

“A black hole for a heart?”

“That is the story.”

“But that’s ridiculous. The only people mad enough to play with exotic matter weapons were—”

But he didn’t even want to say it.

“Terrorartists. Yes,” Sharif said. “And they’re just as much a story to frighten children with.”

“There is a considerable market for terrorartist artefacts,” Mukhtar said.

“You deal in such materiel?” she said sharply.

“Sometimes. Not often. Decommissioned work. They seldom come up on the market.”

“They say you could never truly decommission them,” Sharif said. “Besides, how does one make safe a work of mass murder?”

“They didn’t only kill,” Mukhtar said. “‘Mad’ Rucker seeded the Boppers on Titan, and they’re harmless lifeforms.”

“Only as far as you know,” Sharif said. “Who can tell what their ultimate purpose is? The terrorartists seeded destruction like gardeners planting trees. They thought long-term. When you plant an olive tree you don’t do it for yourself but for your descendants. They did the same with death.”