I have a face, a sculpture of eyes, nose, mouth. It doesn't even look much like I used to, before. It doesn't matter; apart from the eyes, the face is non-functional, put there to reassure me.

I can run with the Ghosts. I can fly in space, if I choose to. I don't, much. When I'm not dealing with the Ghosts I spend most of my time in Virtual environments.

So my physical form doesn't matter much. In fact, lately I've come to wish the Ghosts had just rebuilt me as a sphere, as they are: simple, classical, efficient.

A Ghost came soaring up to me. It was a silvery, five-feet-wide globe, complex patterns shimmering over its surface. I recognized it from its electromagnetic signature: contrary to myth, Ghosts aren't all alike, at least not to another Ghost.

I greeted it. "Sink Ambassador."

The Ambassador to the Heat Sink floated before me, shimmering; I could see my own distorted reflection in its hide. "Jack Raoul. It has been many years--"

"More than a decade."

"It is pleasant to meet with you. Even if your journey has been a wasted one."

So it began: the endless diplomatic dance. I've known the Ambassador, on and off, for a long time, and we have a certain -- friendship, I guess you'd call it. But none of that is ever allowed to interfere with species imperatives.

"I presume you want to get straight down to business, Sink Ambassador? It's clear -- I can see -- that you're running fresh quagma experiments down there, on that moon. What are you up to now?"

"We have no need to justify our actions. You have no authority over our activities."

"Oh, yes, we do. By force of treaty we have the right of inspection of any quagma-related project you run. You know that very well. Just as you have reciprocal rights over us."

It was true.

The study of primordial quagma -- relics of the Big Bang -- has proven immensely dangerous. Even to the extent of drawing the attention of the Xeelee.

Humanity -- and the Silver Ghosts, and a host of other spacefaring species -- have grown accustomed to the aloof gaze of the Xeelee, and their occasional devastating intervention in our affairs. For example, fifty years ago the Xeelee disrupted the Ghost and human expeditions which crossed the Universe in search of a fragment of quagma.

Some believe that by such interventions the Xeelee are maintaining their monopoly on power, which holds sway across the observable Universe. Others say that, like the vengeful gods of man's childhood, the Xeelee are protecting us from ourselves.

Either way, it's insulting. Claustrophobic.

In my time with them I've developed a hunch that the Ghosts feel pretty much the same. Which makes them even more dangerous.

Four decades after those first expeditions, we'd turned up evidence that the Ghosts were performing experiments with quagma, in violation of treaties between our races. I was sent to see.

The lead turned out to be accurate. The Ghosts' dangerous project was unfolding in the heart of a red giant star -- concealing their work from the Xeelee, and, incidentally, from us.