Agata turned to her mother and whispered, ‘The woman just won. It’s over!’ Diehard migrationists might have their reasons to remain committed to the more difficult route, but whatever allure the idea held for wavering voters, Lila had just offered them a vastly less terrifying way to go on thinking about deserting the ancestors, without burning any bridges until their own safety was guaranteed.

Cira made a non-committal noise.

‘It’s a dangerous cosmos,’ Lila declared. ‘For us, for the ancestors – and for our descendants, whatever choices we make. But thanks to the efforts of the people who launched the Peerless, we’ve had six generations of thought and experiment to ameliorate that danger, and the prospect of six more to come. Pio calls those people barbarians, but what would be barbaric would be turning our backs on them for no other reason than a lack of certainty. If we’re ever confronted with proof that trying to return to the home world would be suicidal, then of course we should change our plans. Until then, why would we not do our best to save the lives of the people to whom we owe our existence? And why would we not all wish our own descendants to be present at that glorious reunion, when the generation who flung a mountain into the sky learn of the extraordinary things we’ve done with the time that they stole for us?’

Agata clung to a rope outside the voting hall, watching the bars of the histogram slowly rising on the news screen beside the entrance.

‘Agata!’ Her friend Medoro approached, the amiable look of recognition on his face giving way to one of amusement. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘A while,’ she admitted. ‘I voted early, and then I thought I’d stay and watch the turnout.’

‘So you’ve been here since the first bell?’

‘I’ve got nothing else to do,’ she said defensively.

‘If I’d known you were holding a vigil, I would have brought you supplies.’

‘Go and vote,’ she suggested, shooing him towards the entrance.

Medoro leant towards her in a conspiratorial pose. ‘How much are you paying?’ he whispered. ‘I took a dozen pieces from your brother’s side, but you still have a chance to buy me back.’

‘That’s not funny.’

He swayed back on the rope. ‘Seriously, what’s wrong with you? When I come out we should get something to eat.’ Agata saw him lift his rear gaze towards the screen. ‘I can barely even see that sliver for the no vote.’

‘I’m not afraid that we might lose,’ she said. ‘What worries me is that we had to ask the question at all.’

‘So we should just be happy cogs in Eusebio’s machine?’ Medoro goaded her. ‘Born into the mountain with no say in anything?’

‘You make it sound as if Eusebio had a choice,’ Agata retorted. ‘If there’d been no launch, you wouldn’t have been born anywhere.’

‘Of course,’ Medoro agreed. ‘The builders did the right thing, and I’m grateful. But that doesn’t mean we should be enslaved to them. What we owe the ancestors isn’t blind allegiance, it’s constant scrutiny of the actual possibilities. Your brother’s wrong because his arguments are wrong – not because the mere idea of deviating from the plan should be unthinkable.’