Cossont, already dressed in the same figure-hugging under-suit she’d worn at Bokri, stood looking levelly at the avatar across the module’s lounge. “If you don’t give a fuck about flattering me,” she said slowly, “and if you can just switch off any sentiments you have concerning me, you can do that down there, on the planet, in the Girdlecity, in the airship. So you don’t have to worry about me, and I will help, not hinder.”

Berdle stared at her. Then he smiled, and relaxed. His tone of voice changed. “I don’t know about you, Vyr,” he said, conversationally, “but I’m sort of posturing here.” He shrugged. “If you insist on coming, you can, though it’s your funeral and I won’t risk any part of what I’m supposed to be doing to keep you safe at all, not if it’s a trade-off; just nothing.” He shook his head. “I thought maybe you were just putting on a sort of good-enough show. You know; so you could feel okay about yourself even though you didn’t want to go, or expect to. So, one last chance, in all seriousness: please don’t come.”

“One last time: I want to. Take me with you.”

Berdle sighed. “Okay. You can’t say you weren’t warned. Put that on.” He nodded behind Cossont. She turned round to see a bizarre vision of a man in close-fitting armour – half mirror, half soot-black, headless – marching out of an alcove, growing an extra pair of arms and peeling itself open as it approached her.

“What’s that?”

“A better suit. I’m downloading a copy of QiRia’s mind-state to it now, so we can access the old geezer’s memories direct if we get hold of his eyes without the ship around. Go on; just step in as you are. We’ve ninety seconds before we snap aboard, so don’t take too long.”

“I thought we had ten minutes!”

“Not any more; the ship’s powering back out again, hoping to lure the battleship away from Xown.”

“Shit.” Cossont stepped over to the suit and then into it; it flowed closed around her, leaving the helmet component down. “Think that’ll work?” she asked.

“Doubt it,” the avatar admitted. “Assuming the battleship’s been talking to the battle-cruiser, it’ll know I’ve already been moving faster than it can, but it might factor in too much main traction stress degradation after all the dashing about I’ve been doing lately and think it has a chance. Assuming its engines aren’t slightly fucked too, of course. Worth a try.”

Pyan, sprawled loosely on a couch all this time, came flapping over and stood on a seat-back, facing her like a small, stiff flag. “Well done you!” it said. “I think you’re being terribly brave but I’m sure it’ll all work out splendidly! And just remember: I’ve always loved you!”