“Indeed,” Poi Li acknowledged. “The globalPACs knew they had to do something if our children were ever to live in a society free from the fear of maniacs blowing things up and killing people in the name of their cause. For there are so many causes. But we cannot descend to their level, where violence and death are the solution to anything that denies them their goal. We do not kill or maim, or even imprison; that is what sets us apart from them. This new transgalactic society we are about to embark on affords us the opportunity to deal with such unreasoning fanatics humanely. We will simply part company with their kind and allow them to live their lives by their own ideals.”

“So what happens to them?”

“Exile.”

—

Callum fell. He knew that was going to happen as soon as he lurched through the portal door. What he wasn’t expecting was to keep on falling.

Whatever gloomy mist he was falling through seemed to be sucking the air from his lungs. When he did manage to inhale, it was as if he was gulping down frigid Arctic vapor.

Is that it? A polar gulag?

He landed in water, creating a huge plume that closed over his head as he plummeted down. He was expecting it to be cold, but it was so hot it was almost scalding. The shock of its heat knifing into his flesh made him yell—big mistake. His mouth and nose filled with disgustingly briny water as his arms and legs flailed around. There was no light, so he couldn’t tell which way was up.

Don’t panic. Panic will kill you.

He felt around for the torch clipped to his belt. In seconds his lungs had gone from freezing to burning as his body demanded he draw a breath. Water was slowly creeping farther along his nostrils.

The torch came on. And he could see through the murky water, which was now stinging his eyes. Bubbles swirled around him, and finally he could see which way they were going. Up.

He kicked urgently. Arms scrabbled in a pathetic stroke. The bulk of his saturated clothes and everything he was carrying combined to weigh him down. Progress was achingly slow. The pain in his lungs was growing intolerable. Instinct was trying to prise his mouth open so he could suck down blessed air.

He kicked harder, arms pumping.

His head broke through a thin surface layer of yellow scum, and he sucked down a fraught breath. Immediately he was coughing and spluttering. The air was dangerously thin, yet heavy with brimstone. He concentrated on staying afloat, getting his breathing under control.

After a few breaths, he realized the heat was going to prove lethal in a very short time. Already his skin was on fire. Apollo was throwing up all sorts of medical warning symbols on his screen lenses. Movement was difficult.

He shone the torch around, trying to see anything solid he could swim toward.