‘He’s right,’ said Tahget. ‘This black hole and its orbital retinue are well on their way into Chandra. After another decade or so the tides will pull the planetoid free of the hole, and after that they will rip off that fancy roof. Then the whole mess will fall into Chandra’s event horizon, and that will be that.’

‘Which is why Greyworld had to be evacuated,’ Futurity said.

‘The latest Kard is known for her humanitarian impulses,’ Tahget said dryly.

Poole said, ‘All right, Mara, here we are. What now? Do you want to be taken down to Greyworld?’

‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘What would be the point of that?’ She seemed faintly irritated. ‘I told you, Michael Poole. My Sharn isn’t on Greyworld. She’s there.’ And she pointed to the glimmering black hole.

Tahget and his crew exchanged significant glances.

Futurity felt a flickering premonition, the return of fear. This journey into the heart of the Galaxy had been so wondrous that he had managed, for a while, to forget the danger they were in. But it had all been a diversion. This woman, after all, controlled a bomb, and now they approached the moment of crisis.

Poole drew him aside. ‘You look worried, acolyte,’ he murmured.

‘I am worried. Mara is still asking for the impossible. What do we do now?’

Poole seemed much calmer than Futurity felt. ‘I always had a philosophy. If you don’t know what to do, gather more data. How do you know that what she wants is impossible?’ He turned to Tahget. ‘Captain, how close can you take us to the satellite black hole?’

Tahget shook his head. ‘It’s a waste of time.’

‘But you don’t have any better suggestion, do you? Let’s go take a look. What else can we do?’

Tahget grumbled, but complied.

So the ship lifted away from Greyworld, and its retinue of Kardish greenships formed up once more. Mara smiled, as if she was coming home at last. But Futurity shivered, for there was nothing remotely human about the place they were heading to now.

Slowly the spiteful light of the satellite black hole drew closer.

‘Acolyte,’ Poole murmured. ‘You have a data desk?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then start making observations. Study that black hole, Futurity. Figure out what’s going on here. This is your chance to do some real science, for once.’

‘But I’m not a scientist.’

‘No, you’re not, are you? You’re too compromised for that. But you told me you were curious, once. That was what drove you out of the farm and into the arms of the Ecclesia in the first place.’ He sighed. ‘You know, in my day a kid like you would have had better opportunities.’

Futurity felt moved to defend his vocation. ‘I don’t think you understand the richness of theological—’

‘Just get the damn desk!’