It was a question of natural selection. For centuries, Ghosts had been losing battles to humanity. Only those capable of dealing with humans - of anticipating human intentions, of thinking like a human - survived to breed. ‘It’s a selection pressure,’ Teel said. ‘Only those Ghosts who are most like us have been surviving. So maybe it’s not surprising that there should emerge a Black Ghost, a Ghost so like a human it organises its own hierarchical society, fights a war like a human commander. What do you think about that, Ghost?’

The Integumentary rose up out of the palette cradle. ‘I am relieved our business together is done. The Black Ghost is dead. The exploitation of interdimensional energy will be closed down, the research destroyed. It is a weapon too dangerous to be used.’

‘Until we rediscover it,’ Hella murmured.

Teel wasn’t done yet. ‘You can’t stand this, can you, Ghost? You needed humanity to resolve this problem among yourselves. And to do it, you had to think like a human yourself, didn’t you?’

The Integumentary said, ‘It is true that we would rather go to extinction than to become like you. Is that something you take pride in? Pilot, the ancient star system will be restored to its proper time. You have only seconds before the energy pulse that will follow. I tell you this as a courtesy. We will not speak again.’ And it disappeared, as if folding out of existence.

Jul said, ‘Seconds?’

Hella said, ‘How fast can this thing go, pilot?’

‘Let’s find out,’ Hex said, and she flexed her gloved hands. ‘Everybody locked in? Three, two, one—’

The Black Ghost inspired its kind’s last effective stand. After its fall, the Ghosts’ political unity fragmented, and they fell back everywhere.

For the Ghosts, the consequence of defeat was dire.

THE GHOST PIT - AD 7524

THE GHOST PIT

AD 7524

As soon as the Spline dropped out of hyperspace our flitter burst from its belly.

After our long enclosure in the crimson interior of the huge living ship, it was like being reborn. Even though I had to share this adventure with L’Eesh, my spirits surged.

‘Pretty system,’ L’Eesh said. He was piloting the flitter with nonchalant ease. He was about sixty years old, some three times my age, a lot more experienced - and he didn’t miss a chance to let me know.

Well, pretty it was. The Jovian and its satellites were held in a stable gravitational embrace at the corners of a neat equilateral triangle, the twin moons close enough to the parent to be tidally locked. And beyond it all I glimpsed a faint blue mesh thrown across the stars: an astonishing sight, a net large enough to enclose this giant planet, with struts half a million kilometres long.