‘The Guardians are watching you, Symat, through the Conclave, through all our Virtual eyes. All you have to do is formulate your decision, and it will be made so. You won’t need to throw a switch.’

‘It will happen straight away?’

‘Why wait?’

Mela’s eyes narrowed. ‘And what will become of Symat?’

Luru frowned. ‘For a brief moment he will be the epicentre of cosmic forces. Humans are frail creatures.’

‘I wouldn’t live through it,’ Symat said slowly. ‘I am going to die.’ But somehow even that didn’t perturb his eerie calm.

‘Symat, you don’t have to do this,’ Mela said.

Luru reached out as if to touch him, but she could not, of course, ‘Every true saviour must lay down his life,’ she said.

‘Just like your own Symat,’ Mela said. ‘He died for his beliefs, you said.’

‘Yes,’ the Curator snapped. ‘And now you’ve cooked up another Symat to go the same way. What’s going on in that head of yours, Ascendent? Is this really about saving Earth, or just working out your own million-year-old guilt? Is this all about you?’

‘You disgust me, Curator, you and your inane grinning,’ Luru said coldly. ‘You disguise your fear of me within your hollowness. But I know you.’

The Curator was obviously shocked, and again Symat saw fierce resentment burn. But he persisted. ‘And what will you do if he refuses? After all your planning and preparations, to be thwarted now by the whim of a boy—’

‘I will start again,’ she said smoothly. ‘An Ascendent always has time. You should know that, Curator.’

‘Enough,’ Symat said.

They all fell silent.

He still felt calm, calmer than any of these Virtuals, it seemed. ‘You’re saying this is the only choice,’ he said to Luru. ‘The only way forward for humanity. It’s this or the booths.’

‘This or the booths,’ she said.

He looked at a sky full of dying stars. He reminded himself he was a boy, just a boy with a judgement so poor he had almost got himself drowned in a canal. Who was he to make such a decision? But mankind couldn’t stay here, in this imploding system. And he could never have walked into a booth himself. Perhaps others felt that way. So there was only one choice. Yes, he was a child, but he knew that no matter how long he lived the parameters of his life wouldn’t change - and nor would his choice.

He said as clearly as he could, ‘I have made my decision.’

And even as he spoke he thought he felt a stirring, emanating from deep under the clouds of Saturn, as if a great storm were brewing there.

Luru’s black eyes shone. ‘You’ve made a good choice. You’ve given humanity a chance.’

The Curator muttered, ‘You have courage, boy. I just hope you’ve wisdom too.’