The timer interrupted him. Ramiro punched it, then slunk backwards.

Agata took centre stage, pausing just long enough to let Ramiro’s awkwardness linger and become fixed in everyone’s minds. ‘If you don’t want to read the result of some future referendum, I’m sure you won’t have to,’ she declared. ‘And if mere rumours of the result prove to be too hard to avoid, they could always be camouflaged with competing rumours. People could choose to learn the true result in advance from some trusted informant if they wished, but those who didn’t would end up hearing a range of false claims as well, with no way to distinguish between them.’

Ramiro waited for someone in the audience to ridicule this inane proposal, but they let it pass without complaint. Maybe they all liked the idea of taking advantage of their idealistic neighbours, who’d be wrapped in shrouds of scrupulously balanced, government-supplied misinformation.

‘This system could vastly improve our safety,’ Agata contended, ‘as Ramiro and everyone else acknowledges. We can deal with the privacy issues, and the political ones: your vote will always be your own to cast, and you’ll have the choice of knowing the outcome in advance or not, as you wish. But you don’t need to take my word for any of this. The present vote is merely for a year’s trial in which we can discover what the real problems are – and if, in the end, you find that they outweigh the advantages you’ll be free to change your mind and vote to have the system dismantled.

‘If we look beyond Ramiro’s fear that in this maze of information we might inadvertently stumble on some unwelcome facts about our lives – most of which would be no more harmful to us than a friend’s reminiscence about a youthful misadventure that we’d prefer to forget – we’ll see something far less petty and mundane. Many of us have heirlooms from the day of the launch: diaries, or letters from mothers to their children, or even just stories passed down unwritten. In this mountain of photonic documents from the future we could find our descendants’ stories of the reunion. Then we’ll all have a chance to be part of the Peerless’s return, in a way that we never imagined before.’

As the timer sounded, the audience cheered – some sections more loudly than others, but it was the first real response they’d offered all evening.

Agata paused to acknowledge the applause, then exited gracefully. Ramiro was stung. How could his case not be obvious to everyone? What hadn’t he said that would have made it clearer?

Tarquinia approached and drew him back into the moss-lit side room. ‘You did a good job,’ she said.

‘They loved her,’ Ramiro replied. He could barely make out Tarquinia’s face as his eyes adjusted from the stage lights. ‘Didn’t you hear?’

‘It was the end of the debate, the applause was for both of you.’

She sounded as if she almost believed that, but Ramiro remained despondent. ‘What if I’ve lost it for us?’