Ramiro had long ago reconciled himself to this picture of time and choice, and though he couldn’t claim to perceive his own life in these terms from day to day, he felt no disquiet at all at the prospect of the timeless point of view growing more compelling.

But Greta’s system would do far more than confront the travellers with a stark confirmation of abstract principles that most of them already acknowledged. The one thing a message from the future couldn’t tell a person was what they would have decided in the absence of that message – it would not be as if the ordinary deliberation really had taken place elsewhere, and was now being delivered to them as a kind of executive summary to spare them from needlessly repeating the effort. The old process wouldn’t merely be rendered more efficient, so it reached the same endpoint with less uncertainty or stress. The endpoint itself could be completely different.

And even if it wasn’t, was that all that mattered? Ramiro stopped walking and moved to the side of the corridor so he wasn’t blocking the guide rope. If he heard from the future that he’d raised Rosita’s child, then in the end he would choose to make that happen. If he heard that he hadn’t, he would choose differently. He couldn’t claim that this would turn him into some kind of hollow puppet, when both outcomes were already possible in the ordinary course of events.

But the nature of the decision would still be utterly different if he reached it with foreknowledge. All that the need for consistency could impose was the requirement that he actually went along with the choice – however reluctantly, resignedly or apathetically he closed the loop. The revelation wouldn’t need to ring true, or fill him with joy, or cast any light on the dilemma it resolved. He merely had to be capable of acceding to it – of muttering ‘Yeah, that’ll do.’

He couldn’t live like that – and he couldn’t stand by and let the Council force it on everyone else for the next six generations. Greta’s promise that the information would be contained was just wishful thinking; that would certainly make the technology more useful to its owners, but Ramiro had no doubt that the content of the messages would still leak out.

And the sooner he broke his own promise, the safer he’d be. He called out to a woman approaching on his left, ‘Excuse me!’

She stopped. ‘Yes?’

‘My name’s Ramiro, I’m an automation engineer.’

The woman looked puzzled, but she introduced herself. ‘I’m Livia, I’m a shedding technician. Didn’t you—?’

‘Lose an exploding leg near the Station? Yes, I’m that idiot.’

Livia paused expectantly. Famous or not, his claim on her time was strictly limited.

Ramiro said, ‘I’ve just heard that the Council is planning a new messaging system; they invited me to work on it, but I declined. If they build it, it will affect all of us, so if you can spare a couple of lapses I’d like to tell you about it.’