THE DARK SIDE OF THE SUN

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’I do not recall having encountered the earlier science fiction writings of Terry Pratchett, but if The Dark Side of the Sun is a fair sample, then I must admit the loss is all mine. This tale . . . is a continual delight, with its unexpected conceits and original inventions. And if Mr Pratchett’s tongue is frequently in his cheek, his parody of the science fiction idiom is always deft, knowledgeable and good humoured’

The Oxford Times

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Terry Pratchett is, on average, a sort of youngish middle-aged. He lives in Somerset with his wife and daughter, and long ago chose journalism as a career because it was indoor work with no heavy lifting.

Beyond that he positively refuses to be drawn. People never read these biographies anyway, do they? They want to get on with the book, not wade through masses of prose designed to suggest that the author is really a very interesting person so look, okay, he wrote these other books, all right, they were The Carpet People (for kids), The Dark Side of the Sun, Strata, The Colour of Magic, The Light Fantastic, Equal Rites and Mort. The last four were also about the Discworld, and actually quite a lot of people liked them.

He grows carnivorous plants as a hobby; they are a lot less interesting than people believe.

For those people who really need to know, Terry Pratchett was born in Buckinghamshire in 1948. He’s managed to avoid all the really interesting jobs authors take in order to look good in this sort of biography. In his search for a quiet life he got a job as a Press officer with the Central Electricity Generating Board just after Three Mile Island, which shows his unerring sense of timing. He now writes full time. It’s true about the carnivorous plants, though.

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THE DARK SIDE OF THE SUN

Terry Pratchett

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1

’Only predict.’ Charles Sub-Lunar, from The Lights In The Sky Are Photofloods

In the false dawn a warm wind blew out of the east, shaking the dry reed cases.

The marsh mist broke into ribbons and curled away. Small night creatures burrowed hastily into the slime. In the distance, hidden by the baroque mist curls, a night bird screeched in the floating reed beds.

In one of the big lakes near the open sea three delicate white windshells hoisted their papery sails and tacked slowly towards the incoming surf.

Dom waited just beyond the breakers, two metres below the dancing surface, a thin stream of bubbles rising from his gill pack. He heard the shells long before he saw them. They sounded like skates on distant ice.

He grinned to himself. There would only be one chance. Some of those pretty trailing tendrils were lethal. There might never be another chance, ever. He tensed.

And knifed upwards.

The shell bucked violently as he grabbed the blunt prow, and he swung his legs hard over to avoid hitting the dangling green fronds. The world dissolved into a salt-tasting, cold white bubble of foam. Small silver fish slipped desperately past him, and then he was lying across the upper hull.

The shell had gone berserk, flailing with the bony mast in great slow sweeps. Dom watched it, getting his breath back, and then half-leapt, half-scrambled to the big white bulge near the base of the mast.

A shadow passed over him, and he rolled to one side as the mast nicked a furrow in the hull. As it passed he followed it, grabbed at the nerve knot, and pulled himself forward.

His fingers sought for the right spot. He found it.

The shell stopped its frenzied rush through the wavetops, hitting the water again with a slap that jarred Dom’s teeth. The sail wavered uncertainly.

Dom continued stroking until the creature was soothed and then stood up.

It didn’t count unless you stood up. The best dagon fishers could ride a shell with their toes. How he had envied them - and how carefully he had watched from the family barge on feast days, when the fishermen came in two or three hundred abreast on their half-tame shells with See-Why setting, a bright purple star, into the sea. Some of the younger men danced on their shells, spinning and leaping and juggling torches and all the time keeping the shell under perfect control.

Kneeling in front of the nerve knot he guided the big semi-vegetable back through the twisting waterways of the marsh, through acres of sea lilies and past floating reed islands. On several of them blue flamingoes hissed at him and stalked imperiously away.

Occasionally he glanced up and northwards, searching for tell-tale specks in the air. Korodore would find him eventually, but Dom was pretty certain that he wouldn’t pick him up straight away. He’d probably keep him under benevolent observation for a few hours because, after all, Korodore had been young once. Even Korodore. Whereas Grandmother gave the impression that she had been born aged eighty.

Besides, Korodore would bear in mind that tomorrow Dom would be Chairman and legally his boss. Dom doubted if that would influence him one jot. Old Korodore relished duty if it came sternly . . .

He smiled proudly as the shell cut smoothly through the quiet water. At least the fishermen would not be able to call him a blackhand, even if he wasn’t quite a fully-fledged greenhand. That last initiation of the dagon fishermen could only be got out in the deeps, on a moonlit night, when the dagons rose out of the deep with their razor-sharp shells agape.

The shell bumped against the reed bed and Dom leapt lightly ashore, leaving it drifting in the little lagoon.

Joker’s Tower, which had been dominating the western sky, loomed up before him. He hurried forward.

See-Why had risen and bathed the slim pyramid in pink light. The mist had left the reed beds round the base but the apex, five miles above the sea, was lost in perpetual cloud. Dom pushed his way through the dry reeds until he was within half a metre of the smooth, milk-white wall.

He reached out gingerly.

Hrsh-Hgn had once, realizing vaguely that interminable lectures on planetary economics might not be palatable fare for a boy, smiled and switched off the faxboard. He had fetched his copy of Sub-Lunar’s Galactic Chronicles and told Dom about the Jokers.

’Name the races classed as Human under the Humanity Act,’ he began.

’Phnobes, men, drosks and the First Sirian Bank,’ Dom rattled off. ’Also Class Five robots by Sub-Clause One may apply for Human Status.’

’Yess. And the other racess?’

Dom ticked them off on his fingers. ’Creapii are Super-Human. Class Four robots are sub-human, sundogs are unclassified.’

’Yess?’

’The other races I’m not sure about,’ admitted Dom. ’The Jovians and the rest. You never taught me anything about them.’

’It iss not necessary. They are so alien, you undersstand. We share no common ground. Things humanity considers universal among self-aware races - a sense of identity, for example - are merely products of a temperate bipedal evolution. But all the fifty-two races so far discovered arose in the last five million standard years.’

’You told me about that yesterday,’ said Dom, ’Sub-Lunar’s Theory of Galactic Sapience.’

Then the phnobe had told him about the jokers. The creapii had found the first joker tower and, all else having failed to open it, had dropped a live nigrocavernal matrix on it. The tower was later found to be intact. Three neighbouring stellar systems had been wrecked, however.

The phnobes never discovered a joker tower: they had always known of one. The tower of Phnobis, rising from the sea into the perpetual cloud cover, was the cause and basis of the planet-wide Frss-Gnhs religion - literally, Pillar of the Universe.

Earth-human colonists had found seven, one of them floating in the asteroid belt of the Old Sol system. That was when the Joker Institute was set up.

The young races of men, creapii, phnobe and drosk found themselves watching one another in awe across a galaxy littered with the memories of a race that had died before human time began. And out of that awe arose the legends of Jokers’ World, the glittering goal that was to taunt adventurers and fools and treasure hunters across the light years . . .

Dom touched the tower. There was the faintest tingle, a sudden stab of pain. He leapt back, frantically rubbing life back into his frozen fingers. The coldness of the towers was always greatest at noon, when they drank in heat, yet grew icy.

Dom set off round the tower, feeling the cold reaching out towards him. Looking up he thought he saw the air within a foot of the smooth walls darken, as if light was just a gas and was being sucked in by the spire. It wasn’t logical, but the idea had a certain artistic appeal.

Towards noon a security flyer glittered briefly on the western horizon, heading south. Dom stepped sideways into a clump of reeds . . . And wondered what he was doing in the marsh. Freedom, that was it. The last day of real freedom. His last chance to see Widdershins without a security guard standing on either side of him and a score of more subtle protections all round. He had planned it, down to squashing Korodore’s ubiquitous robot insects that spied on him - always for his own protection - in his bedroom.

And now he’d have to go home and face Grandmother. He was beginning to feel just a little foolish. He wondered what he had expected from the tower: some feeling of cosmic awe, probably, a sense of the deeps of Time. Certainly not this sinister, insidious sensation of being watched. It was just like being at home.

He turned back.

There was a hiss of superheated air as something passed his face and struck the tower. Where it hit the frozen wall the heat blossomed into a flower of ice crystals.

Dom dived instinctively, rolled over and over and was up and running. A second blast passed him and a dry seed head in front of him exploded into a shower of sparks.

He stifled the urge to look round. Korodore had schooled him unmercifully in assassination drill. Knowing who was the assassin was small reward for being assassinated. Korodore said, ’The price of curiosity is a terminal experience.’

At the edge of the lagoon Dom gathered himself and dived. As he hit the water the third blast seared across his chest.

Great bells rang, far out to sea or maybe in his head. The cool greenness was soothing, and the bubbles . . .

Dom awoke. With an inculcated instinct he kept his eyes closed and tentatively explored his environment.

He was lying on the mixture of sand, ooze, dry reed stems and snail shells that passed for soil on most of Widdershins. He was in shade, and the thunder of surf was very near. And the soil rocked, gently, to the beat of the waves. The air smelled and tasted of salt, mingled with marsh ooze, reed pollen and . . . something else. It was dank and musty, and very familiar.

Something was sitting a few inches away. Dom opened one eye a fraction and saw a small creature watching him intently. Its dumpy body was covered in pink hair which sprouted from a scaly hide. A snout was a bad compromise between a beak and a prehensile nose. It had three pairs of legs, no two exactly alike. It was almost a Widdershins legend.

Behind Dom someone lit a fire. He tried to sit up and it felt as though a red-hot bar had been laid across his chest.

’O juvindo may psutivi,’ said a gentle voice.

A face out of a nightmare appeared above him. The skin was grey and hung in folds under eyes four times the proper size in which small irises stared out like beads in milk. Great flat ears were turned towards Dom. The musty smell was overpowering. The face was set off by a pair of large sungoggles.

The phnobe was trying to speak Janglic. Dom summoned his resources and answered him in jaw-breaking phnobic.

’A sscholar,’ said the phnobe, dryly. ’My name is Fff-Shs. And you are Chairman Sabalos.’

’Not till tomorrow,’ moaned Dom. He winced as the pain came again.

’Ah. Yess. Do not on any account make ssudden movementss. I have treated the burn. It iss superficial.’

The phnobe stood up and walked out of Dom’s vision. The small creature still watched him intently.

Dom turned his head slowly. He was lying in a small clearing in the centre of one of the floating islands that thronged the marsh rhines. It was moving slowly and, remarkably, against the wind. From somewhere below the reed mat came the occasional deep pulse of an antique deuterium motor.

A coarse woven net was slung across the clearing, hiding it effectively from airborne eyes. With the motor and the ancillary mechanisms that must be hidden under the thick reed mat the little island would not hold its secret long against even unsophisticated search equipment. But there were several hundred thousand islands in the marsh. Who could search them all?

A conclusion began to form in Dom’s mind.

The phnobe passed in front of him and he saw he was holding a double-bladed tshuri knife lightly, tossing it thoughtfully from hand to hand. Dom was mother-naked, except where dry salt rimed his black skin.

The phnobe was embarrassed by his presence. Occasionally he stopped juggling with the knife and stared at him intently.

They both heard the distant swish-swish of a flyer. The phnobe dived sideways, flipped back a section of reed and killed the island’s speed, then on the rebound flung himself down by Dom with the knife pressed against his throat.

’Not to utter a sound,’ he said.

They lay still until the flyer had faded into the distance.

The phnobe was a pilac smuggler. The dagon fishermen under licence from the Board of Widdershins rode out by the hundred when the big bivalves rose up from the deep, to snatch the pearls of nacreous pilac by the light of the moon. They used lifelines, leather body armour and elaborate back-up procedures - like the factory float which included a hospital where a missing hand was merely a minor mishap and even death not always fatal.

There were other fishers. They traded safety for an odd conception of excitement and accepted as the price of an illegal fortune the complete lack of any opportunity to spend it. By nature they worked alone and were highly-skilled. What they snatched from the sea was theirs alone, including death. Occasionally the Board launched a campaign against them and made half-hearted attempts to stop the pilac being smuggled offworld. Captured smugglers were not killed now - that would certainly be against the One Commandment - but it occurred to Dom that to those of their nature the alternative punishment was far worse than the death they courted nightly. So the smuggler would kill him.

The phnobe stood up, still holding the knife by the heavier, forward-facing blade.

’Why am I here?’ asked Dom, meekly, ’The last I remember . . .’

’You were floating among the lilies sso peacefully, with a stripper burn across your chest. The ssecurity has been out ssince dawn. It seemed they were searching, for a criminal maybe, so I am jusst a little curiouss and pick you up.’

’Thank you,’ said Dom, easing himself into a sitting position.

The smuggler shrugged, a strangely expressive gesture in a high-shouldered bony body.

’How far are we from the Tower?’

’I found you forty kilometres from the Sky Pillar. We have travelled maybe two kilometres ssince.’

’Forty! But someone shot at me at the Tower.’

’Maybe you swim well for a drowned man.’

Dom lifted himself gradually to his feet, his eyes on the twisting knife.

’Do you gather much pilac?’

’Eighteen kilos in the last twenty-eight years,’ said the phnobe, watching the sky absently. Despite himself, Dom did a quick calculation.

’You must be very skilful.’

’Many times I die. On other time lines. Maybe this universe is my chance in a million and the other thousands of selves are dead. What is skill then?’

The knife continued its brief flights from hand to hand. Overhead the sun shone like a gong. Dom felt dizzy and was briefly sick but managed to stay upright, waiting for his chance.

The phnobe blinked.

’I seek an omen,’ he said.

’What for?’

’To see, you understand, if I am to kill you.’

A flock of blue flamingoes flapped slowly overhead. Dom gasped for air and readied himself.

The knife was thrown faster than he could follow it. It flashed once, high in the air. A flamingo dipped out of the flock as if coming into land, and crashed heavily among the reeds. The tension in the air snapped like a finely-drawn wire.

Ignoring Dom, the smuggler loped across to it, drew his knife from its breast and began to pluck it. He paused after a minute and glanced up sharply, pointing with the knife.

’A word of advice. Do not ever again even think of a heroic leap at any person holding a tshuri knife. You have about you the air of one with many lives to wasste. Maybe therefore you rissk your life easily. But foolish gestures towards a knife end sadly.’

Dom let the tension flow out of him, aware that a fraught moment had passed and gone.

’Besides,’ the smuggler went on, ’doesn’t gratitude count for anything? Soon we will eat. Then we will talk, maybe.’

’There’s a lot I want to know,’ said Dom. ’Who shot at . . .’

’Tssh! Questions that can’t be answered, why ask them? But do not rule out bater.’

’Bater?’

The phnobe looked up.

’You haven’t heard of probability math? You, and tomorrow you become Chairman of the Board of Widdershinss and heir to riches untold? Then first we will talk, and then we will eat.’

See-Why hung in the mists that had crept out of the marsh. The island sailed dripping through the clammy curtain, leaving a mist-wake that writhed fantastically over the suddenly sinister marsh.

Fff-Shs came out of the woven hut at one end of the island and pointed into the whiteness.

’The radar says your flyer iss hardly more than a hundred metres thataway. Sso I leave you here.’

They shook hands solemnly. Dom turned and walked down to the water’s edge, then turned again as the phnobe hurried after him. He held the little rat-creature, which had spent most of the journey asleep round his neck.

’Tomorrow, maybe, there will be great ceremoniess?’

Dom sighed. ’Yes, I’m afraid there will.’

’And giftss, maybe? That iss the procedure?’

’Yes. But Grandmother says that most will be from those who seek favours. Anyway, they’ll be returned.’

’I sseek no favours, nor will you return thiss small gift,’ said the phnobe, holding out the struggling creature. ’Take him. You know what he iss?’

’A swamp ig,’ nodded Dom. ’He’s one of the bearers on our planetary crest, along with the blue flamingo. But the zoo says there’s only about three hundred on the planet, I can’t. . .’

’This little one has dogged my footsteps these last four months. He’ll come with you. I feel he will desert me soon anyway.’

The ig jumped from the phnobe’s arm and settled around Dom’s neck, where it replaced its tail in its mouth and began to snore. Dom smiled, and the smuggler answered with a brief mucus grimace.

’I call him my luck,’ said the phnobe. ’It’s an indulgence, maybe.’ He glanced up at Widdershins’s one bloated moon, rising in the south.

’Tonight will be a good night for hunting,’ he said, and in two strides had disappeared into the thickening mists.

Dom opened his mouth to speak, then stood silent for a moment.

He turned and dived into the warm evening sea.

The heavy hull of a security flyer rocked in the swell beside his own craft. A figure appeared on the flat deck as he hauled himself aboard. Dom found himself looking first at the crosswires of a molecule Stripper and then at the embarrassed face of a young security man.

’Chel! I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize. . .’

’You’ve found me. Good for you,’ said Dom coldly. ’Now I’m going home.’

’I’ve got orders, er, to take you back,’ said the guard. Dom ignored him and stepped aboard his own craft. The guard swallowed, glanced at the stripper and then at Dom, and hurried into the control bubble. By the time he had reached the radio, Dom’s flyer was a hundred metres away, bouncing lightly from wavetop to wavetop before gliding up and over the sea.

Extract from 2001 and All That: an Anecdotal History of Space-Travelling Man, by Charles Sub-Lunar (Fghs-Hrs & Calligna, Terra Novae)

’Mention should be made of Widdershins and of the Sabalos family, since the two are practically synonymous. Widdershins, a mild world consisting largely of water and very little else, is one of the two planets of CY Aquirii. Its climate is pleasant though damp, its food a monotonous variation on the theme of fish, its people intelligent, hardy and - due to the high-ultraviolet content of the sunlight - universally black and bald.

’The planet was settled in the Year of the Questing Monkey (A.S. 675) by a small party of earth-humans and a smaller colony of phnobes and there, perhaps, pan-Human relations are better than on any other world.

’John Sabalos - the first of his dynasty - built himself a house by the Wiggly River, looking over the sea towards Great Creaking Marsh. His only skill was luck. He discovered in the giant floating bivalves that dwelt in the deep waters a metre-wide pearl made up largely of crude pilac, which turned out to be one of the growing number of death-immunity drugs. But pilac was found to be without many of the unfortunate draw-backs of many of the other twenty-six. It became the foundation of the family fortunes. John I extended his house, planted an orchard of cherry trees, became the first Chairman when Widdershins adopted Rule by Board of Directors, and died aged 301.

’His son, John, is considered a wastrel. One example of his wastefulness suffices: he bought a shipload of rare fruits from Third Eye. Most were rotten on arrival. One mould was a strange green slime. By an unlikely combination of circumstances it was found to have curious regenerative properties. Within a year, just when dagon fishing was becoming almost impossible because of the high injury rate among the fishermen, it became a mark of manhood to have at least one limb with the peculiar greenish tint of the cell-duplicating googoo.

’John II bought the Cheops pyramid from the Tsion subcommittee of the Board of Earth and had it lifted in one piece to an area of waste ground north of his home domes. When he made an offer for Luna, to replace Widdershins’ smaller but still serviceable moon, his young daughter Joan I packed him off to a mansion on the other side of the planet and took over as Managing Director. In her the Sabalos fortunes, hitherto dependent on a smiling fate, found a champion. They doubled within a year. A strict Sadhimist, she executed many reforms including the passage of the Humanity Laws.

’Her son - she found time for a brief contract with a cousin - was John III, who became a brilliant probability mathematician in those early, exciting days of the art. It has been suggested that this was a peaceful escape from his mother and his wife Vian, a well-connected Earth noblewoman to whom he had been contracted in order to strengthen ties with Earth. He disappeared in strange circumstances just prior to the birth of his second child, the Dom Sabalos of legend. It is understood that he met with some kind of accident in the planet-wide marshes.

’A body of myth surrounds the young Dom. Many stories relating to him are obviously apocryphal. For example, it is said that on the very date of his investiture as Chairman of the Planetary Board, he. . .’

The stars were out as Dom reached the jetty which stretched from the home domes far out into the artificial harbour where the feral windshells were kept.

Lamps were burning. Some of the early-duty fishermen were already preparing the shells for the night’s fishing; one old woman was deep-frying King cockles on a charcoal stove, and a tinny radio lying on the boards was playing, quite unheeded, an old Earth tune with the refrain, ’Your Feet’s too Big’.

Dom tied up at the jetty alongside the great silent bulk of a hospital float, and scrambled up the ladder.

As he walked towards the domes he was aware of the silence. It spread out from him like a wake, from man to man. Heads rose in the lamplight and froze, watching him intently. Even the old woman lifted the pan from the stove and glanced up. There was something acute about the look in her eyes.

Dom heard one sound as he slowly climbed the steps towards the main Sabalos dome. Someone started to say: ’Not like his father, then, whatever they-’ and was nudged into silence.

A Class Three robot stood by the door, armed with an antiquated sonic. It whirred into life as he approached and assumed a defiant stance.

’Halt - who goes there? Enemy or Friend of Earth?’ it croaked, its somewhat corroded voicebox slurring the edges of the traditional Sadhimist challenge.

’FOE, of course,’ said Dom, resisting the urge to give the wrong answer. He had done it once to see what would happen. The blast had left him temporarily deaf and the resonance had demolished a warehouse. Grandmother, who seldom smiled, had laughed quite a lot and then tanned his hide to make sure the lesson was doubly learned.

’Pass, FOE,’ said the guard. As he passed, the communicator on its chest glowed into life.

’Okay,’ said Korodore, ’Dom, one day you will tell me how you got out without tripping an alarm.’

’It took some studying.’

’Step closer to the scanner. I see. That scar is new.’

’Someone shot at me out in the marsh. I’m all right.’

Korodore’s reply came slowly, under admirable control.

’Who?’

’Chel, how should I know? Anyway, it was hours ago. I . . .uh. . .’

’You will come inside, and in ten minutes you will come to my office and you will tell me the events of today in detail so minute you will be amazed. Do you understand?’

Dom looked up defiantly, and bit his lip.

’Yes, sir,’ he said.

’Okay. And just maybe I will not get sent to scrape barnacles off a raft with my teeth and you will not get confined to dome for a month.’ Korodore’s voice softened marginally. ’What’s that thing round your neck? It looks familiar.’

’It’s a swamp ig.’

’Rare, aren’t they?’

Dom glanced up at the planetary coat of arms over the door, where a blue flamingo and a bad representation of a swamp ig supported a Sadhimist logo on an azure field. Under it, incised deeply into the stone - far more deeply in fact than was necessary - was the One Commandment.

’I used to know a smuggler who had one of those,’ Korodore went on. ’There are one or two odd legends about them. I expect you know, of course. I guess it’s okay to bring it in.’

The communicator darkened. The robot stood aside.

Dom skirted the main living quarters. There was an uproar coming from the kitchens where preparations were being made for tomorrow’s banquet. He slipped in quietly, snatched a plate of kelp entrees from the table nearest the door, and ducked back into the corridor. A phnobic curse-word followed him, but that was all, and he wandered on down to the corridor until it petered out in a maze of storerooms and pantries.

A small courtyard had been roofed over with smoked plastic that made if gloomy even under a See-Why noon, and the plastic itself was set with thin pipes that sprayed a constant fine mist.

In the middle of the yard a rath had been built of reeds. An attempt to grow fungi had been made on the patch of ground surrounding it. Dom pulled aside the drenched door-curtain and stooped inside.

Hrsh-Hgn was sitting in a shallow bath of tepid water, reading a cube by the light of a fish-oil lamp. He waved one double-jointed hand at Dom and swivelled one eye towards him.

’Glad you’re here. Lissten to thiss: "A rock outcrop twenty kilometres south of Rampa, Third Eye, appearss to reveal fossil strata relating not to the passt but to the future, which . . ." ’

The phnobe stopped reading and carefully placed the cube on the floor. He looked first at Dom’s expression, then at the scar, and finally at the ig which was still twined round his neck.

’You’re acting,’ said Dom. ’You are doing it very well, but you are acting. You’re certainly acting better than Korodore and the men on the jetty.

’We are naturally glad to see you ssafely back.’

’You all look as though I’ve returned from the dead.’

The phnobe blinked.

’Hrsh, tomorrow I shall be Chairman of the Board. It doesn’t mean much-’

’It iss a very honourable position.’

’-It doesn’t mean much because all the power, the real power, belongs to Grandmother. But I think the Chairman is entitled to know one or two things. Like, for example, why haven’t you ever told me about probability math? And what happened to-how did my father die? I’ve heard fishermen say it was out there on Old Creaky.’

In the silence that followed the ig awoke and began scratching itself violently.

’Come on,’ said Dom, ’you’re my tutor.’

’I will tell you after the ceremony tomorrow, it iss late now. Then all will be explained.’

Dom stood up, ’Will I ever trust you again, though? Chel, Hrsh, it’s important. And you’re still acting.’

’Oh, yess? And what emotion am I trying to conceal?’

Dom stared at him. ’Uh . . . terror, I think. And-uh- pity. Yes. Pity. And you’re terrified.’

The curtain swung to behind him. Hrsh-Hgn waited until his footsteps had died away, and reached out to the communicator. Korodore answered.

’Well?’

’He hass been to ssee me. I almosst told him! My lord, he wass reading me! How can we let thiss thing happen?’

’We don’t. We will try and prevent it, of course. With all our power. But it will happen, or seventy years of probability math go down the hole.’

Hrsh-Hgn said, ’Someone hass been telling him about probability math, and he assked me about his father. If he assks again, I warn you, for pity’s ssake I will tell him.’

’Will you?’

The phnobe looked down and fell silent.

Out to sea the dagon rose by the score, in response to their ancient instincts. The catch was unusually large, which the fishermen decided was an omen, if only they could decide which way fate’s finger pointed. They found, too - when the last ripple had died away towards dawn - a small reed island, empty, half swamped, drifting aimlessly over the deeps.

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2

Korodore strolled silently along the empty corridor, which was lit faintly by the first glow of dawn.

He was thick-set and, as a sly gesture, heredity had given him a round cheerful face so that he looked like an amiable pork-butcher. But there were advantages to that, and no butcher - certainly not of pork - walked by instinct from shadow to shadow.

A door opened soundlessly and he turned along a short side corridor and into a large round room.

A peat fire was collapsing soundlessly into a pile of white ash in the central hearth. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished: a narrow bed, a table and chair made of sections of dagon shell, a wardrobe and a Sadhimist logo on sheet copper on one curving wall comprised its main geographical points.

There were one or two signs of Directorship, a large rolled map of the equatorial regions, an open filing cabinet, and a Galactic Standard clock on top of it.

But it was the trappings of probability math that clashed heavily with the strict simplicity of the room. Korodore’s eye followed a trail of Reformed Tarot cards across the room to where the bulk of the pack, crystal faces now bland, lay against the wall where it had been thrown. A vaguely disturbing visual array on a portable computer glowed on another wall. Charcoal glowed faintly in a tiny brazier on the shell table, and the air was acrid with the fumes of - Korodore sniffed - the curious Sinistral incense. So Joan had taken refuge in being a cool-head . . .

Joan I looked up from the table, where a large black book lay open.

’Couldn’t you sleep either?’ she said.

Korodore rubbed his nose diffidently.

’As you know, madam, security officers never sleep.’

’Yes . . . I know.’ She shook her head, ’It was a figure of speech, is all. There’s some coffee by the fire.’

He poured her a cup, and slowly began to pick up the cards. She eyed him carefully as he moved soundlessly across the room.

’I’ve been looking at the equations again,’ she said, ’There’s no change. My son’s calculation was correct. Of course, I knew. They’ve been checked enough times. Even Sub-Lunar looked at them. Dom will be killed today, at noon. They won’t let him live.’

She waited. ’Well?’ she said.

’You mean, how do I feel as the security officer in charge? You mean, what are my reactions to the knowledge that whatever precautions I may take my charge will still be murdered? I have none, madam. I will still work as though I was in ignorance. Besides,’ he added, dropping the pack on the table, ’I cannot believe it. Not quite. You could say my reaction is hope.’

’It’ll happen.’

’I can’t pretend to understand probability math. But if the universe is so ordered, so - immutable - that the future can be told from a handful of numbers, then why need we go on living?’

Joan stood up, crossed to the wardrobe, and took out of it a waist-length white wig.

’It’s obvious you do not understand p-math, then,’ she said. ’We go on because to live is still better than to die. That has always been the choice of Humanity, even when we thought the future was a cauldron of possibilities.’

She combed out the wig. ’We cannot be certain how he will die,’ she continued, ’You or I, perhaps, may be the ones the Institute chooses to-’

Korodore spun round. ’I have checked us all by deep-reach, RGD-’

’Oh, Korodore! I’m sorry. But you have such a touching faith in cause-and-effect! Don’t you know that in an infinite Totality all universes will happen? There is a universe somewhere where at this moment you will turn into a-’

’Such things are said, madam,’ he muttered.

’You disapprove of me,’ she said, and pouted.

He raised his eyes to the gold century disc on her forehead and smiled thinly.

’Now, you are too old, madam, to try wiles of that kind. But I do disapprove. This meddling is not a good thing. It stinks of magic, witchcraft.’

’I haven’t studied the pre-Sadhimist religions in any great depth, Korodore.’

’All right, madam. What happens if Dom doesn’t die?’

’It’s unthinkable. This is the datum universe - he’ll die. In a sense, the whole universe depends on the fact. If he didn’t die, perhaps he’d discover the jokers world and that could be terrible.’

’And if he doesn’t?’

Joan adjusted the wig and opened the window looking out over the sea. The fishing fleet was coming in with the tide, lit by the hanging pinpoint of Widdershins’ blue sun. On the horizon the light glinted sharply off the Tower in the marshes.

’It’s too hot to sleep,’ she said, ’I’ll finish this, and then I’ll go down to the jetty.’

’Mystic law of the universe?’ asked Korodore, as she reopened the book.

’They are the household accounts, sir,’ she said sharply, ’A great comfort in times of trial.’

She wondered why she had never dismissed the man as security chief, and the answers queued up in her mind, ranging from his proven efficiency to the mitigating circumstance that he was Earth-born. Perhaps there were many other reasons.

As he turned to go she called him back.

’With regard to your question about Dom,’ she said, ’In all humility, p-math is a young art. I doubt if there is anyone adept enough to know. Even the Institute doesn’t know everything.’

’Dom might. His tutor says he is showing a disconcerting insight. Oh, I don’t question your reasoning. If it is inevitable, perhaps it is better he shouldn’t know. You can see he is the type the Institute hunts down.’

’You see, we can’t answer all the questions.’

He shrugged. ’Perhaps you are asking the wrong questions.’

PROBABILITY MATH:

’As with the first Theory of Relativity and the Sadhimist One Commandment, so the nine equations of probability math provide an example of a deceptively simple spark initiating a great explosion of social change.

’ "Probability math predicts the future." So says the half-educated man. A thousand years ago he would have mouthed "E equals MC squared" and believed he had encompassed the soaring castle of mathematical imagination . . .

’Probability math arises from the premise that we dwell in a truly infinite totality, space and time without limit, worlds without end - a creation so vast that what we are pleased to call our cause-and-effect datum Universe is a mere circle of candle-light. In such a totality we can only echo the words of Quixote: All things are possible . . .’

’. . . vindicated with the predicted discovery of the Internal Planets of Protostar Five. Then humanity could be sure - even from this tiny grain of proof. On either "side" were ranged the alternate Universes, uncounted millions differing perhaps by the orbit of an electron. Further, the difference must be greater - until in the looming shadows on the edge of imagination came the universes that had never known time, stars, space or rationality. What p-math did was quantify the possible time-lines of our datum universe. It did much more than that, however. Perhaps it brought back the essence of science from the days when it was half an art, when Creation was seen as a marvellous, carefully regulated clock - with all parts harmonizing to make the whole . . .’

’. . . As Sub-Lunar pointed out in those early years, p-math depended on a certain innate mental agility. Many superb practitioners were also incurably insane, possibly because of that very fact. Leaving aside that very special sub-group to which Sub-Lunar himself belonged - I say no more - the rest were usually highly educated and, in a word, lucky. (Luck being a function of the p-math talent, of course.) Many of them worked for the Joker Institute.

’Such a streak ran through the Sabalos family of Widdershins. For those of you who do not know the world, it is . . .’

’. . . just before the birth of his son and his own assassination in the marshes, John III predicted that the boy would die also on the day of his investiture as Chairman of the Planetary Board. The chance of this not happening was so remote as to make a billion-to-one long shot appear a fifty-fifty bet. Yes? I’m sorry. Perhaps I should explain.

’Suppose p-math had not been discovered. Now, on Earth there was a creature called a horse. Long ago it was realized that if a number of these animals were raced over a set distance one must surely prove faster than the others, and from this there was . . .’

’. . . back to the subject in hand. One anomaly in p-math concerned the Jokers, those semi-mythical beings who had left artifacts strewn around half the galaxy. Solid artifacts, indeed, most of them gigantic. According to probability math, the builders of these latter-day tourist attractions had never, ever existed . . .’

His Furness Dr CrAarg + 458°, in an informal lecture to students at Dis university, A.S. 5,201

Dom woke early, and spent a long time staring at the familiar ceiling paintings of his dome. They had been done by his great-grandfather, in gaudy blues and greens, and depicted a trio of overmuscled fishermen battling an enraged dagon. That was a slander on the dagons, Dom knew: they lacked a nervous system and it was doubtful if they ever thought. They just reacted.

The little swamp ig was sitting in the handbasin. It had managed to turn on one of the taps with its disconcertingly human forepaws, and was enjoying the trickle of water. When it saw he was awake it made a noise like a fingernail being dragged across glass. The smuggler had said it was a sign of happiness.

’Intelligent little thing, aren’t you?’ said Dom, switching off the warm air field and swinging himself off the bed.

He saw the clothes laid out neatly on the stand, and bit his lip. The swamp ig, a neatly healed scar on his chest and a few painful memories of his interview with Korodore were all that remained of yesterday.

Planetary Chairman. He’d own three per cent of the pilac industry, but on Sadhimist terms, and if you were a Sadhimist and rich you worked heavily to obscure the fact. He’d preside over innumerable committee meetings, and once a year would give the traditional annual report at the traditional Annual General Meeting. And that would be written for him. Hrsh-Hgn had made it clear, many times. A Chairman was as necessary to a Board planet as the zero was in mathematics, but being a zero had big disadvantages . . .

Mathematics. There was something about mathematics he should remember. Well, it’d come. He washed and struggled into the thick grey suit, and selected a short wig of golden fibres.

There was a polite knock at the door.

’All right,’ said Dom.

The door burst open and Keja ran into the room and hugged him. She was laughing and crying at the same time. For an embarrassing moment he was suffocated by the silks of her dress, and then his sister stood back and looked at him.

’Well, Mr Chairman,’ she said. Then she kissed him. He disentangled himself as tactfully as he could.

’I’m not actually Chairman yet,’ he began.

’Oh fie! What’s a few hours? You don’t seem very pleased to see me, Dom,’ she added, reproachfully.

’Honestly I am, Ke. Things have just been a bit hectic lately.’

’I heard. Smugglers and so forth. Exciting?’

Dom thought about it. ’No,’ he said, ’More, well, strange in a way.’

Keja swept the dome with her eyes. It was cluttered with Dom’s things: an old Brendikin analyser, a bench littered with shells, a hologram of the Joker’s Tower, and memory cubes on every flat surface.

’How the old place has changed,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. She pirouetted in front of the tall mirror. ’Do I look like a married woman, Dom?’

’I don’t know. What’s Ptarmigan like?’ He remembered the contractual ceremony two months before, and a vague impression of a very large fierce old man.

’He’s kind,’ said Keja. ’And rich, of course. Not so rich as us, but he sort of flaunts it more. His children haven’t really taken to me yet. You should come on an official visit, Dom - Laoth’s so hot and dry. That reminds me, I’ve brought you a present.’

She tiptoed to the door and returned with a servant robot, which carried a small box.

’He’s a Class Five. One of our best,’ she said proudly.

’A robot?’ said Dom, who had been looking expectantly at the box.

’Strictly speaking, he’s a humanoid. Completely alive, merely mechanical. Do you like him?’

’Very much!’ Dom walked up to the tall metallic figure and prodded the broad chest. The robot glanced down at him.

’I wonder what makes us build inefficiently-shaped human robots instead of nice streamlined machines?’

’Pride, sir,’ said the robot.

’Hey, that’s not bad. What’s your name?’

’I understand it is Isaac, sir.’

Dom scratched his head. The home domes swarmed with robots, mostly kind but stupid Class Threes whom Dom remembered from earliest childhood as sad, boring voices with firm, child-minding hands. His mother, who seldom left her own dome, disliked them generally and did her own cooking. She said they were morons, and not a bit like the real things from Laoth. He was at a loss.

’Uh, can you be a bit more informal, Isaac?’

’Sure thing, boss.’

’I can see you two are going to get along fine, trying to out-think each other,’ said Keja. ’Now I’ve got to go. And Grandmother says you’ve got to go down to the main dome, Dom. For the Working Breakfast.’

Dom sighed. ’I’ve had about twenty lectures about it from Hrsh-Hgn in the last few days.’

Keja stopped dead.

’What’s that thing?’ she cried, pointing to the basin.

Dom lifted the damp creature out by the scruff of its neck.

’It’s a swamp ig. I call him Ig. I was-I found-I, er . . .’ he blinked nervously. ’I think I found him in the marshes yesterday. I-er-things seem a little confused.’

She looked at him, and Dom saw the concern in her eyes.

’It’s all right,’ he mumbled, ’It’s just the excitement.’

’I guess so,’ Keja said, and looked down at Ig.

’Anyway, he’s so ugly!’

’Excuse me, madam, sir, but he is an it,’ boomed the robot. ’Hermaphrodite. Oviparous. Semi-poikothermic. I have been supplied with a complete program on Widdershins life forms, sir. Chief. Right on.’

’Well, don’t blame me if you catch a zoonose,’ said Keja, and flounced out of the dome. Dom looked at Isaac.

’Zoonose?’

’Disease communicable to humans. No chance, buster.’ Isaac strode up to Dom and held out the box. The boy dropped his pet, who began to sniff at the robot’s foot, and opened it.

’It’s the certificate of warranty, workshop manual and deed of property,’ said Isaac. Dom looked at them blankly.

’Do you mean I have to own you?’

’Body and hypothetical supernatural appendage, boss,’ said the robot hurriedly, stepping backwards when Dom held the box towards him.

’Oh no, chief. You’ve got to. I don’t approve of self-ownership.’

’Chel, that’s what most humans fought for for three thousand years!’

’But we robots know exactly why we were created, boss. No striving to find the innermost secrets of our creation. No problem.’

’Don’t you want to be free?’

’What? And have God blame the Universe on me? Shouldn’t you go down to the main dome now?’

Dom whistled, and Ig scrambled up and went to sleep round his neck. He glared up at the robot and strode out of the dome.

Tradition decreed the Working Breakfast be taken alone by the Chairman on the day of his investiture. As he walked along the deserted corridors Dom had the comfortably familiar feeling he was being watched. Old Korodore had the place seeded with pinheads and robot insects - it was dome gossip that he even ran security checks on himself.

The main dome was half clear plastic, facing out across the orchards, the lagoon and marshes and finally, a thin line on the horizon, the Joker’s Tower with a wisp of white cloud streaming from its tip like a banner. Dom stared at it for a few seconds, trying to hold an elusive memory.

A pile of presents - he was, after all, half a whole Widdershins year old - were heaped around the long table. Two robots-in-waiting stood on either side of the single place setting.

Dom had planned the meal time and again. In the end he had chosen the menu that had been eaten by every Chairman of Widdershins. It was a famous meal. According to the Newer Testament, it was the same meal that Sadhim Himself ate when he became Lord of Earth - a quarter-loaf of brown bread, a strip of salt dried fish, an apple and a glass of water.

There were some slight differences. The flour for Dom’s loaf had been freighted in from Third Eye. The fish was truly Widdershin, but the salt had been mined on Terra Novae. The apple was from the Earth’s Avalon, the water melted from a particle of comet. In all, the meal cost about two thousand standards. Some kinds of simplicity cost more than others.

Korodore, a true-born Terra Novaean, which meant food concentrates, watched Dom eat with a slight feeling of nausea. The camera was in a metal mosquito, high in the dome. He thumbed a switch, and the screen faded in a view from a mechanical shrew in the branches of a tree on the edge of the west lawn. Most of the guests had already arrived, and were mingled around the long buffet table.

At least half of them were phnobes, many of them from the buruku colonies around Tau City. Korodore recognized the diplomats - they were tall, dark alpha-males, carrying sunshades. The less exalted, who were more acclimatized to the light, stood in small, silent groups around the lawn. Korodore switched from pinhead to pinhead until he located Hrsh-Hgn, reading a memory cube in the shade of a balloon tree. The Stoics, probably.

Behind Korodore the darkness of the big security room glowed here and there as the other security officers watched. Only Korodore knew that under the horticultural dome by the north lawn was another, smaller security room checking on this one. And occasionally he switched to his own private circuit and watched the officers there. And, hidden by him in a place the exact location of which he had scrubbed from his mind, was a small biocomputer. He had programmed it carefully. It watched him.

He turned back to the guests. Here and there a big gold egg now showed in the crowd - the Creapii ambassadors. Experience suggested that there was no risk in them. They seldom meddled in the affairs of worlds where water liquefied.

One was holding a dish of silicate-salt hors d’oeuvres in a single armoured tentacle. Occasionally it held one to the complicated airlock on its circumference. It was chatting to Joan I, who stood majestic in the black memory velvet and purple tabard of a Sadhimist Dame-Priestess in the negative aspect of Nocticula-Hecate. Lady of Night and Death, thought Korodore. It was not a tactful choice.

She smiled at the Creapii and turned to face the hidden camera, raising one hand. Korodore reached out and tipped a switch.

’How goes it?’ Joan asked. Korodore watched fascinated - she had a remarkable talent for sub-vocalizing.

’He is breakfasting. We have treble-checked the food and everything else.’

’Has he shown any effects from yesterday?’

Korodore paused. ’No. While he slept I used a brain scrubber on him. I-’

’How dare you!’

’It will keep yesterday’s memories in a state of flux for a few hours. Would you prefer him to learn the truth? He would, had I not done so - even if he had to brow-beat it out of Hrsh-Hgn.’

’You should have asked me!’

Korodore sighed, and picked up a memory cube on the console. ’I’m sorry, madam, but you have a security rating now of only 99.087 per cent. I checked. Probably it’s only deep Freudian impulses - but from now on I am afraid I must run this show.

’Like I said, madam, I’m not inclined to accept probability maths. You may, if you like.’

He switched off. She stood rigid for a moment, trying to contact him, then turned and began to talk brightly to a tall diplomat from the Board of Earth.

Korodore turned his attention to the main hall. Dom wasn’t there. His heart stopped until he realized that the boy had also moved out of one camera’s range to look at his presents.

Dom opened the first package and drew out a pair of gravity sandals, glistening under their thin coat of oil. The tag said: ’From your Godfather. Come up and orbit me some time. It gets damn lonely.’

Dom grinned and buckled them on. For a hectic few minutes he bobbed and swooped among the struts of the dome, gliding to an unsteady halt six inches above the floor. He felt that the sandals would probably be the climax - most of the other presents would be much less interesting.

From Hrsh-Hgn came a fat rectangle. Dom unwrapped a memory cube and ran his finger over the index face. The cube lit up, the title page standing out in white letters a few centimetres above the surface and revealing: The Glass Castles: A History of Joker Studies, by Dr Hrsh-Hgn. Dedicated to Chairman Dominickdaniel Sabalos of Widdershins.’

In smaller letters Dom read: ’Number One in a limited edition of one (1) imprinted on Third Eye saffron-silica.’

’A high honour, indeed,’ said Isaac. Dom nodded, and thumbed the cube at random to read: ’. . . mystery of the galaxy. As Sub-Lunar has said, to the imaginative mind they form part of galactic mythology: the Glass Castles at the back of the Galactic North Wind. These towers, built before the oldest of the official Human races had discovered the uses of stone, are memorials to a race which-’

Dom laid the cube down slowly and opened the present from Korodore.

’That looks dangerous,’ said Isaac.

Dom wielded the memory sword carefully, staring up at the almost invisible blur as it changed under his touch from sword to knife, from knife to gun.

’Hm,’ said Dom, ’They use swords on Earth and Terra Novae, don’t they? And on Laoth, too?’

’Yes, with metal blades. They’re more ceremonial and satisfying than guns. But that thing is made to kill people with. Not that I’m putting it down, boss.’

Dom grinned. ’You’re mighty uppity for a robot, aren’t you? In the old days you’d have been dismantled by the mob.’

’In the old days robots were considered to be non-living, chief.’

Joan’s present was a simple black Sadhimist athame against the time when he should be admitted to membership of a ceremonial klatch, while from his mother he received the deeds of one of her personal estates on Earth. It was far too generous, and typical of Lady Vian on those occasions when she remembered Dom.

There were other presents from the minor directors and heads of sub-committees, most of them expensive - far too expensive to be allowed to keep, even if Joan would permit it. But Dom looked wistfully at the deeds of a robot horse, presented by Hugagan of Planetary Relations. Isaac peered over his shoulder and sneered audibly.

’Lunar manufacture,’ he said, ’All right, I suppose, but not a patch on the ones we make on Laoth. They live.’

Dom glanced at him.

’I shall have to visit Laoth,’ he said.

’The jewel of the universe, take it from me.’

Dom laughed and made sure that Ig had a good purchase on his shoulder. Then he thumbed the control ring and the sandals lifted him up, through the dust-laden beams that filled the dome, and out over the sea.

He spiralled low over the lagoon, where Lady Vian’s little tame windshells grazed, and felt Ig scramble around his neck. He glanced backwards and saw the little animal was riding him comfortably, pointed snout sniffing the wind.

Below him he watched the shells cease their grazing and swing into a pattern so that, prow to stern, they formed a circle. Vian spent hours drumming simple tricks into their microscopic minds.

Something stirred restlessly at the back of his memory, but he dismissed it carelessly and sought altitude.

He burst through the balloon trees ringing the lawn, bursting the fruits recklessly, and braked a bare inch above the grass.

Joan I strode across the lawn to meet him, and kissed him with rather more tenderness than usual. He looked into her grey eyes.

’Well, grandson, and how do you feel this day?’

’I feel on top of the world, madam, thank you. But I must say you look rather tired.’ She’s acting like a cool-head, he thought - why is she so worried?

She smiled wanly. ’It is always hard when one’s descendants make their way out into the world. Now you must come and meet people.’

Lady Vian had walked slowly up, her face hidden in a heavy grey veil. She extended a white hand. Dom knelt and kissed it.

’So,’ she said, ’Enter the master of the world. Who is your ferrous friend?’

’Isaac, my lady,’ said Dom, ’An uppity robot who doesn’t want his freedom.’

’But of course,’ said Vian, ’We are all of us in chains, even if they be only of chance and entropy. Have not the Jokers put even the stars in chains?’

’You have a fine grasp of essentials,’ said Isaac, bowing.

’And you are presumptuous, robot. But I thank you. Dom, I wish you would donate that swamp creature to a museum or a zoo or something. It is so animal.’

Ig scratched himself and sniffed - then gave a long drawn out hiss. Dom looked over his mother’s shoulder and caught the eye of a tall man in a long blue cloak, who wore a heavy gold collar at his neck. The man’s face was creased with laughter lines, and he winked at Dom and gestured upward with his glass. Dom followed his gaze and saw a flock of flamingoes wheeling high over the domes. For a moment they formed a circle. Then, with long slow wingbeats, they flew out to sea.

Korodore sat back and breathed deeply. Short of poisoning the air - and a filter haze surrounded the lawn - the only way someone could attack Dom now was with bare hand or tentacle. At least, they could try, before concealed strippers separated them from their component molecules.

There remained the official progress through Tau City. Dom would walk while the others rode, and would wear nothing but the lead and iron chain of office and seven invisible shields of various types, incorporated in the links. Most of the human worlds and one or two alien ones would have the route bugged, of course, and several had bribed Korodore. He ...

. . . leant forward. Someone had walked into the field of one pinhead and was looking at him. Korodore had an uneasy certainty that the man was laughing. He looked like a man who had laughed all his life.

Korodore thumbed through the guest list. Blue cloak, tall . . . the man was a minor official at the Board of Earth’s agency in Tau City, newly-appointed . . .

The man in the screen had lifted one foot so that he was balancing on his right leg.

’Madern, get a focus on the guy in the blue cloak. No, better - Gralle, can you get a beam on him?’

’Got it, Ko. Shall I take him out?’

Korodore considered. Earth was still powerful. Standing on one leg wasn’t a killing matter per se.

’Hold it.’

The figure had extended its left arm, pointing the first and fourth fingers directly towards, it appeared, the security room. He had closed one eye and was sighting along the extended arm like a weapon.

Let’s see how you look without an optic nerve, thought Korodore.

The explosion knocked him sideways. He landed at the crouch, stripper levelled in a reflex action, and dived again as a second explosion and the beginning of a scream marked the weapon control console’s transformation into a plume of incandescence.

The guests applauded politely. Dom, at his grandmother’s nod, rose a few metres above the ground and said: ’I thank you all. And I ask that the spirit of holy Sadhim and the small gods of all races give me-give me-’ he stopped.

A low boom echoed from the home domes.

Dom stared, and heard again in his inner ear the thin crack of a stripper shot in the transparent air around Joker Tower. Images flooded into his mind, with fragments of speech that joined and became coherent, and the memory of the hot pain and the cool green relief of the swamp water . . .

A dot in the air grew rapidly. He heard his mother cry out, a long way off.

Korodore dived with his clothes smouldering. Raw blisters were his hands, blood was his face.

He landed heavily by Dom and shouted incoherently at him. Dom nodded, lost in a dream.

The man in the blue robe stepped lightly towards them, and took his theatrical stance. Ig shrilled.

Korodore lurched forward, raised the stripper in both hands, and gave a growl and dropped its smoking butt. In the same motion he flung himself towards the outstretched arm.

The ball of non-light spun up above the blackened lawn and the landscape twisted. See-Why was a bright sun. In the painfully light sky it showed now as a darker speck.

---

3

’Understanding is the first step towards control. We now understand probability.

’If we control it every man will be a magician. Let us then hope that this will not come to pass. For our universe is a fragile house of atoms, held together by the weak mortar of cause-and-effect. One magician would be two too many.’

Charles Sub-Lunar, Cry Continuum.
’The fish swims - vsss!
The bird flies - rsss!
The fungi-squirrel run - gsrss!
The wheel turns and
All is one.

’I must scream yet I have no mouth.
I must run yet I have no feet.
I must die yet I have no life.
The wheel turns and
All is one.’

Funeral song of the Deep Rocky region, Five Islands, Phnobis.

The sound of the sea. Breathe? But he could not breathe.

It came and went like the surf. It was only a sound, but it carried strange harmonies - warmth, and softness.

Dom floated somewhere on the breathing sea.

A man appeared, dressed in the old brown robes of a Sadhimist adept garbed for the ceremonies of Hogswatchnight. The face was familiar. It was his own.

’Don’t be so damn silly. I am your father.’

’Hullo, dad. Is it really you?’

John Sabalos gestured aimlessly. ’No, I am an extension of your own deep mind. Hasn’t Hrsh-Hgn taught you anything? Chel! Down all the stars, boy, you should be dead. So much for probability math, therefore.’

’Dad, what’s happening to me?’

The familiar face faded. ’I don’t know - it’s your dream,’ was left hanging in the air.

Hrsh-Hgn appeared, standing in front of the familiar faxboard.

’In an infinite universe all things are possible, including the possibility that the universe does not exisssst,’ he purred, ’Expand this theory, with diagramsss-’

Dom heard himself say: ’That is not a theory. That is a mere hypothesis.’

’Ahh, beware of paradox!’ the phnobe shook a finger, ’For once you have a paradox let loose in the universe you have a poiyt.’

’Poiyt?’

’And let uss consider . . .’

Isaac appeared, doing a soft-shoe shuffle through the mists.

’Goodness, are robots allowed in this dream? Or do they have to sit in the second-class dream at the back? Now here’s the plot, boss, see, really you are the hereditary chairman of Earth itself but because of a palace coup you were sent here-’

’No,’ said Dom firmly. That wasn’t right.

’No, you have this wild talent which is the result of generations of careful breeding and all you have to do is give the word and hordes will-’

’Not me. Try the Infinity next door.’

’No, well, the universe doesn’t really exist - we can’t hide this from you - except in your imagination, and so this secret organization called the Knights of Infinity, they-’

’Try some other universe, robot.’

’Well, okay, if you want it straight from the shoulder, you are not important at all but you happen to have this magic bracelet which was made by the God of the Universe and He wants it back and you have got to get together a few trusted friends, such as me, and travel many a weary light year to the searing fires of Rigel and-’

’Uhuh.’

’I was only trying to cheer you up, chief,’ the robot shed a tear of mercury, ’We Freudian extensions of personality have feelings too, you know!’

Dom.

’Who are you?’

Dom, can you hear me?

’I can hear you. What are you?’

Dom, if you can’t hear me, what can you seel

See?

He sensed a light above, tinted with green.

Good, Dom, you are in pseudodeath. You do not know what that means. We need your earnest co-operation. We need access to your self-memory. Will you perform these exercises? Good. Now we want you to form a mental picture of yourself. We will show you how . . .

A long time passed. Before Dom’s mind swam himself, a perfect copy. It danced, and sang, and flexed embarrassing muscles. Then the voice made him go through it all again. And again.

Understanding was allowed into his mind. The voice was that of a googoo tank operator. Or, rather, a series of them.

He had seen the men of the hospital rafts after a hard night with the dagons, grinning foolishly under the pallid nutrient bath as they flexed the muscles of their new green-grown limbs. Googoo was one invention Widdershins hugged to itself. The surgeons said that if no more of a body was left than that tiny sliver of brain they called the mommet, a new body could be ...

No!

Dom thought it again. He could sense the tank man’s panic. Dom started to think questions. Darkness fell swiftly, and was replaced by the green light and no desire to ask questions at all. A new voice said:

Think coherently. You must breathe. We have some more building to do. Think of something, say it in your mind, now.

Unbidden, the Green Paternoster floated up through Dom’s consciousness, the last words he would say before climbing into his cot as a child, after ending the night prayer with ’God bless the household robots.’

He galloped through it. It was senseless gibberish now, the centuries had twisted the words, but it still had power.

’Green Paternoster, Sadhim was my foster, he saved me under the poisoned tree, He was made of flesh and blood to send me my right food, mine right food and air, too . . .’

Good.

’. . . that I might be a FOE, and stop at two, To read in that sweet book which the great gods shoop. . .’

Good.

Dom plunged on recklessly, tasting the words: ’. . . open, open, save me, Dead, Dead Chel Sea, Halve the population roster and say the Green prayer PATER NOSTER!’

In the silence the tank man said: ’Dom, you now have vocal chords. You are breathing. You have built yourself a mouth. There is something you must want to do.’

Dom screamed.

He examined himself in the full-length mirror. Everything was there, and in full working order. The tank, working from his body memory, had duplicated nails, teeth, DNA patterns and even healed the scar on his chest. Dom rubbed the place bitterly, remembering the flight in the marsh.

Isaac creaked across the room and handed him his clothes. He dressed himself slowly.

There was one alteration. Before he had been jet black and decently hairless, the result both of See-Why’s healthy ultra-violet and the tannin injections. Now he had hair to the waist and, like the rest of him, it had a greenish tint.

The bouncy little Creapii doctor in charge of the hospital tanks had explained it carefully, with a rare grasp of colloquial Janglic. But then Creapii could so easily assume the mannerisms of other races.

’It’s called googoo. Of course, I needn’t tell you that. I used to go out on the hospital rafts once, but we’ve come a long way from those primitive limb replacement tanks.

’Anyway, Mr Chairman, it is alive in its own right. It is in fact a highly-complex organism under your control. I can guarantee that it matches your body almost on the atomic level. It will have certain advantages, of course - your heat tolerance, for example . . . ah, yes, at your age I’m not surprised you should ask. Yes, your children will be human in every respect-’ and the doctor made a surprisingly apt dirty joke. ’But be careful of misunderstandings. It is now you, not some alien slime. The colour? The state of the art, I’m afraid . . . come back in, oh, ten years and I guarantee that we can turn out a body with not even a trace of green. As for the hair, well, absence of hair is not yet a generic characteristic of a Widdershins. I’m sorry, at the moment it’s a warts-and-all process.

’Before you go, Mr Chairman, I would like to show you the hospital. I’m sure the staff would like to meet you, uh, unofficially. As for myself, I am proud to shake you by the manipulatory appendage.’

Dom fastened his choker collar and turned round.

’How do I look?’

’Pale green, boss,’ said Isaac soberly. He indicated a small plastic case.

’There are some body cosmetics here, boss. Your mother sent them.’

Dom turned again and ran his pale green fingers over his face. The googoo had tried to follow body pigmentation as far as possible, but even so he looked as if he had been on a copper-rich diet for a year. He had watched himself on the newscasts while he was recuperating. The fishermen were already fiercely proud of a Chairman who was completely green, and didn’t seem to mind that it was not as a result of prowess on the hunting sea. But his mother’s unspoken comment was that it would offend offworld dignitaries.

’Beng take them!’ he said out loud, ’What do they matter. Anyway, green is a holy colour.’

Outside the little hospital six security guards stood to attention as Dom walked out, followed by Isaac and, at a discreet distance, some of the hospital staff.

Hrsh-Hgn waited beside them. He was holding a high-velocity molecule stripper, and looking sheepish.

’It suits you,’ said Dom.

’I am a pacifist, ass befits a philosopher, and thiss is barbaric.’

They boarded the Chairman’s barge, which was joined by five flyers as soon as it was airborne.

Dom stared unseeing at the seascape.

’Who is replacing Korodore?’ he asked after a while.

’Darven Samhedi, from Laoth.’

’A-a good man.’ But still, it took more than efficiency to be security man on Widdershins. ’Will the phnobes take to him?’

’He is rumoured to have shown shape-hatred. We will ssee,’ Hrsh-Hgn looked down at Dom, ’You were fond of Korodore.’

’No. He didn’t encourage friendship, but . . . well, he was always there, wasn’t he?’

’Indeed.’

Dom turned in his seat and looked at Isaac.

’And if you say one sarcastic word, robot . . .’

’No, chief. It crossed my mind that Lord Korodore was somewhat over-enamoured of miniature cameras but that was his job. He was a regular guy. I mourn.’

Four months ago, thought Dom, someone killed him and tried to kill me.

I am going to find out why.

A light drizzle was blowing when the squadron landed at the second Sabalos home, a small walled dome near the administrative centre of Tau City. Even Lady Vian came out to meet him, bundled in a heavy cloak, and looking slightly happier for being in a city. Tau was not overwhelmingly cosmospolitan, though a sight more so than the Home domes.

’That is not a becoming colour,’ were her first words.

They dined in the small hall. Down the table Samhedi and the senior members of the household eavesdropped respectfully. Joan, after a polite inquiry about the hospital, was silent.

Vian looked across at her son. ’Why don’t you try those body cosmetics?’

Dom caught the eye of a security man standing against the wall. He had one green hand and a green patch extended all down one cheek and into the colour of his uniform. The man saw him and winked.

’I prefer it this way.’

’Perverse vanity,’ said Joan, ’But still, I agree. A piebald grandson I could not bear, but at least he is a uniform colour.’

She pushed her plate aside and added: ’Besides, green is a holy-’

’Green is the colour of chlorophyll on Earth, certainly,’ said Vian, ’But here the vegetation is blue.’

Joan glanced up quickly at the Sadhim logo inscribed on the ceiling and then gazed at her daughter-in-law, her eyes narrowing. Dom watched them interestedly - too much so, for Joan sensed him and folded her napkin deliberately. She stood up.

’It is time,’ she said, ’for our evening devotions. Dom, I will see you in my office in one hour’s time. And we will talk.’

---

4

Dom entered. His grandmother glanced up, and nodded towards a chair. The air was musty with incense.

The large white-painted room was completely empty except for the small desk and two chairs and the little standard thurible and altar in one corner, though Joan had a way of filling up empty spaces with her presence.

In foot-high letters along the facing wall the ubiquitous One Commandment glared down on them.

Joan closed her account book and began to play with a white-hilted knife.

’In a few days it’ll be Soul Cake Friday, and also the Eve of Small Gods,’ she said. ’Have you given much thought to joining a klatch?’

’Not much,’ said Dom, who hadn’t thought at all about his religious future.

’Scares you, eh?’

’Since you put it like that, yes,’ said Dom. ’It’s a rather final choice. Sometimes I’m not sure Sadhimism has all the answers, you see.’

’You’re right, of course. But it does ask the right questions.’ She paused for an instant, as if listening to a voice that Dom could not hear.

’Is it necessary?’ prompted Dom.

’The klatch? No. But a bit of ritual never did anyone any harm, and of course it is expected of you.’

’There is one thing I’d like to get clear,’ said Dom.

’Go ahead.’

’Grandmother, why are you so nervous?’

She laid down the knife and sighed.

’There are times, Dom, when you raise in me the overwhelming desire to bust you one on the snoot. Of course I’m nervous. What do you expect?’ She sat back. ’Well, shall I explain, or will you ask questions?’

’I’d like to know the story. I think I’ve got some kind of right. A lot has been happening to me lately, and I kind of get the impression that everyone knows all about it except me.’

Joan stood up, and walked over to the altar. She hoisted herself on to it and sat swinging her legs in an oddly girlish way.

’Your father - my son - was one of the two best probability mathematicians the galaxy has ever seen. You have found out about probability maths, I gather. It’s been around for about five hundred years. John refined it. He postulated the Pothole Effect, and when that was proved, p-math went from a toy to a tool. We could take a minute section of the continuum - a human being, for example - and predict its future in this universe.

’John did this for you. You were the first person ever quantified in this way. It took him seven months, and how we wish we knew how he managed it, because even the Bank can’t quantify a person in less than a year with any degree of accuracy. Your father had genius, at least when it came to p-math. He ... wasn’t quite so good at human relationships, though.

She shot an interrogative glance at Dom, but he did not rise to the bait. She went on: ’He was killed in the marshes, you know.’

’I know.’

John Sabalos looked out over the sparkling marshes, towards the distant tower. It was a fine day. He surveyed his emotions analytically, and realized he felt content. He smiled to himself, and drew another memory cube towards him and slotted it in the recorder.

’And therefore,’ he said, ’I will make this final prediction concerning my future son. He will die on his half-year birthday, as the long year is measured on Widdershins, which will be the day he is invested as Planetary Chairman. The means: some form of energy discharge.’

He switched off for a few seconds while he collected his thoughts, and then began: ’The assassin: I cannot tell. Don’t think I haven’t tried to find out. All I can see is a gap in the flow of the equations, a gap, maybe, in the shape of a man. If so, he is a man around whom the continuum flows like water round a rock. I know that he will escape. I can sense him outlined by your actions like - damn, another simile - a vacuum made of shadow. I think he works for the Joker Institute, and they are making a desperate attempt to kill my son.’

He paused, and glanced down at his equation. It was polished, perfect, like a slab of agate. It had an intrinsic beauty.

The distant glint of the Tower drew his gaze again. He glanced up. Not the right time, not yet. Another hour . . .

’And now, Dom, as you stand there torn between shock and astonishment, what do you see? Does your grandmother have that tight-lipped, determined look she wears at times of stress? How was the party, anyway?

’Dom, you are my son, but as you are perhaps learning, I have many sons - untold millions. Have, I say, but "had" I mean. For in those billions of universes that hedge us about on every side, they are dead as I predicted. You, who are flesh and blood, are also that one chance that lies a long trek behind the decimal point. That chance that I am wrong. But a student of probability soon realizes that by its nature the billion-to-one chance crops up nine times out of ten, and that the greatest odds boil down to a double-sided statement: it will happen, or it will not.

’I have studied you, and the billion-to-one universe in which you now stand. It left the main-sequence universe at the point of your non-death. Universes are like the stars which some of them contain. Most follow the well-beaten path. But some, by the twist of a photon, career down strange histories which end in super-novae or impossible holes in space. Rogue universes now, crack under the stress of paradox or - what?

’I will try to give you some help, because you will need it. Your assassin came from your present universe, can you understand that? He wanted to prevent you discovering something that will make your chance-in-a-billion universe the greatest in all the alternate creations. But I’ve an inkling that whatever saved you from death came from your universe, too. I’ve seen a lot in your universe but how can I tell you because, believe me, Dom, if I did the paradox burden would split your universe at the seams.’

He laid down the recorder and wandered idly into his outer office. The secretary robot clicked into life.

’If anyone calls I am going out to the Tower. I, uh, shouldn’t be long.’

’Yes, Mr Chairman.’

’You’ll find a cube on my desk. Please send it to Her Managing Directorship.’

’Certainly.’

John Sabalos closed the door and went back to his desk. He was still wearing his black and brown robes from the Hogswatch celebrations of the night before. He hadn’t slept, but he felt exhilarated. It was false, of course. Knowing the future wasn’t the same thing as controlling it. It just felt like it. He picked up the recorder.

’This I can say, however. Three things. You will discover the Jokers World, if you look in the right directions. Your life will be in danger. And, thirdly . . . look up in the corner of the room! Run for your life!’

He switched off, and laid the cube on his desk.

Somewhere outside, over towards the east lawn, someone was playing the phnobic chlong zither, badly. John stepped outside. The clatter of Joan’s old electric computer floated up from the kitchen domes, which meant she was processing the eighth-year household accounts.

He breathed deeply. Something was adding a third dimension to his senses, etching the external world in high relief. With a probability adept’s skill he located the cause. The world was like wine, because this was his last day in the world. The last of the wine. And, they would kill him before he discovered Joker’s World. Dom should be luckier.

His personal flyer bobbed in the swell, down by the long jetty.

The door slid to. With a light tread, he set off, quelling the wild elation that ran through him, because death was a serious matter.

His father’s voice stopped and the cube projection stopped. Dom shot a glance upwards.

Something small glittered in the air, like a mote of metallic dust. He heard Joan’s voice, every word as crisp as frosty air.

’Samhedi, there’s another one in here. Be ready.’

’What is it?’ asked Dom. The fleck appeared to have grown.

’A collapsed proton. Does that help you?’

’Sure. Like in a matrix engine.’

’Something like that. By the look of it it’s already ingested its own atom. What you can see is angular light effect. It’s being controlled.’

The first thing that Dom realized was that both of them were standing like statues. The second was . . .

’I have seen that before.’

’It was the gravity whirlpool that got you before, though. Take one step now and it’ll be a bullet with teeth. Ever been sucked through a hole one micron across?’

’Uhuh.’

’I’m sorry, that was tactless. If Samhedi doesn’t get here soon you won’t have to bother about that, though.’

’Asphyxiation? It’ll suck the air out of the room.’ She nodded.

’Samhedi’s voice came from the wall grille.

’When I say so, please to lie flat on the floor, keeping away from the approximate centre of the room . . . now!’

Dom caught a glimpse of a flying silver ball the size of a grape before he hit the floor.

When he rolled over it was floating a metre above his head. There was an odd sensation of heat along his spine. They had caught it in a matrix field. It was still sucking up air like a miniature tornado. Presently it drifted out through the wall, leaving a hole with its edges twisted into high-stress shapes. He could hear shouts outside, and the whine of the matrix generator.

He helped Joan to her feet.

’You seem to have it all figured out,’ he said.

’It was a sensible precaution. After your - your party, it was days before we figured out how to get rid of the damn thing. It was your robot who came up with the answer.’

’You couldn’t put it on a ship because it would eat its way through the floor . . . Isaac? What did he suggest?’

They watched through the hole. On the lawn outside Samhedi’s equipment was clustered around the baby black hole. The silvery sheen had disappeared now. It appeared as a point in space that wrenched at the optic nerves, and the men working around it had to hang on against the wind that was driving into nowhere.

Three of them manhandled a tall cylinder until it was standing upright under the thing. The cylinder was thick with matrix coils.

’This should be quite impressive,’ said Joan.

’I’m getting the idea, I think,’ said Dom. ’The bottom of the tube is sealed, the matrix field stops it touching the edges, the air rushes in at the top . . .’

Samhedi bellowed an order against the gale. The thing - it looked like an eye now, a malevolent one staring straight at Dom - dipped into the cylinder.

There was an explosion.

It was the cylinder, reaching Mach One a mile overhead. It sucked itself on towards the stars.

’Neat,’ said Dom. ’Suppose it hits the sun? No, you’d have a ship up there. Then what?’

’Seal it up and dump it in deep space. Isaac suggested finding a genuine black hole and dumping it there. That sounds like an invitation to blow up the universe, though, so Hrsh-Hgn suggested accelerating it to about half as light as it was. It’d accelerate, he believes, on interstellar hydrogen.’

’And end up drilling a hole in someone’s planet on the other side of creation,’ said Dom. He was trying to smile.

His grandmother reached out and took his shoulder.

’You’re not doing badly at all, Dom.’

’You neither, grandmother.’

’Just because I am reasonably adept at Disassociation. You won’t see me when I choose to turn off.’

Dom shuddered despite himself. He had been with friends when they turned off after DA trips. It was a discipline only taught within the Sadhimist klatches. A man could go for days, weeks, without being affected by his emotions. One or two had told him it was a great sensation - there was a feeling of icy intellectual power, an ability to face problems shorn of the deceptive roccoco of feelings. Cool-heads, they were called. And then you turned off, and the backlash hit you, and you were glad to have an emotional friend around to unroll you with a crowbar and put you to bed - preferably with a bullet.

’How long have you been cool?’ he asked.

’Since dinner. And for most of the last four months. But that doesn’t matter. You seem to have mastered the technique, anyway. Without drugs, too.’

’Don’t you believe it.’

’One thing I’ll ask you to believe is that I never heard that second part of that cube before. He was talking to you. He did it-’

’He did it for the million-to-one chance. Oh, there’s lots of ways. If he’d foreseen all this, he could have put a simple time delay into the cube. Lots of ways,’ he said reassuringly.

’And what will you do now?’ Dom tensed at the undertone in her voice.

’It seems I’ve got to discover the Joker’s World. Half the history cubes say it never could have existed.’

’I can’t let you,’ said Joan.

’I’ll be safe until I discover it. You heard the prediction.’

’Your father could have made another mistake. There might be a million-to-one chance, another one. Dom, someone is trying to kill you! That was the third attempt!’

Dom backed away as she walked forward.

’But the first time I dived into the marsh and I turned up forty kilometres away. The second time something saved enough of me from that thing - someone’s trying to save me, too! I want to find out who, and why.’

He took another step back and let the door slide across. Then he turned and ran.

’SADHIMISM: the pantheistic/conservation religion founded in cold blood by Arte Sadhim (q.v.), the ruler of Earth from 2001-12. Contemporary documents suggest that he devised the dogmas, beliefs and rituals of Sadhimism in a day and a night, incorporating gobbets wrenched wholesale from druidism, the marginally-surviving witchcraft practices, voodoo and the Survival Handbook for Spaceship Earth. As a religion it worked well and achieved its purpose, which was solely to impress environmental thinking deeply on human minds, and then developed a life of its own and became greater than its creator. Sadhim himself was ritually murdered by a breakaway sect called the Little Flowers of the Left-hand Path on the eve of Good Friday - the Night of the Long Athames . . .’

Charles Sub-Lunar: Religions of a Hundred Worlds.

Dom lay on his bed, reading a long rambling letter from Keja. She was glad to hear that he was better; life on Laoth was quite pleasant, and there would be a state visit to Earth soon, and she had seen snow for the first time - and enclosed a refrigerated cube in which several snowflakes were preserved - and dear Ptarmigan had built her a garden that Dom really ought to see ...

Isaac slipped in on well-oiled feet.

’Well?’

’There’s guards all over the place, boss. I can’t find that gecky frog anywh-’

’That’s shape-hatred talk, Isaac.’

’Sorry, chief. The cook says he’s left the domes and moved down to the buruku.’

Dom buckled on his grav sandals. ’We’re going to fetch him. He’s the only one round here that knows more than three facts about the Jokers. And then I kind of think we’re going to look for the Joker’s World.’

The robot nodded impassively.

’Well? Aren’t you going to ask why?’

’Up to you, boss.’

’It’s just as well. It seems I’ve got to fulfil a prediction. I’ve been pretty bad at fulfilling them lately. I think I will find one or two answers on the way. You know about the third attempt to kill me?’

’Oh yes, and all the others.’

Dom froze. He looked up from stuffing clothing into a back-pouch and spoke slowly.

’How many others?’

Isaac hummed. ’A total of seven. There was the poisoned food in hospital, the meteorite that just missed the power plant, two attacks on the flyer that brought you here. And another artificial black hole. That turned up in the hospital. You were still in the tank then.’

’They all failed-’

’By luck only, chief. The hospital food - I think you didn’t eat it, but one of the cooks did. The meteorite -’

’Odd attempts. Inefficient, too.’ He thought for a moment, and then packed the memory sword that Korodore had given him. As he turned, his eye caught the pink cube resting on the cubecase. Hrsh-Hgn’s Joker thesis. He packed it.

’I’m not safe here, that’s for sure. We leave now, while it’s still night.’

’If you try and fly you’ll fry. Samhedi’s got the force screens up around the walls. We could try walking out. You’ll have to order me to use necessary force, though.’

’Right,’ said Dom.

’In full, please. If the fuzz get me afterwards, it’ll all be down on my recorders. Can’t disassemble a robot for obeying orders: Eleventh Law of Robotics, Clause C, As Amended,’ said the robot firmly.

’Then get me out of here, using no more force than is necessary.’

The robot walked over to the door and called in the security man who was standing guard down the corridor. Then he pole-axed him.

’Not bad,’ he said. ’Enough to stun but not enough to shatter. Let’s split, boss.’

The buruku was built on the outskirts of the city, where the dry land sloped towards the marsh. It looked like a field of mushrooms under a grey dome. Each mushroom was a reed-woven rath, some of them several times larger than a human geodome. The grey dome was the low-degree force screen, just powerful enough to keep the atmosphere within damp and still. It was polarized too, so that the light that filtered through was dim and subterranean. Inside the air was warm, clammy and smelled of decay .Dom felt that if he breathed deeply horrible moulds would sprout in his lungs. It was what ten thousand phnobes called home.

Towards the centre of the colony the raths huddled together in a fungal township riddled with alleyways and sprouting several distressingly organic-looking towers and civic buildings. Shops were still open, though it was well past midnight; they mostly sold badly-dried fungi, fish or second-hand cubes. From some of the larger raths, bulbous as fermenting pumpkins, came snatches of haunting chlong music. And all around Dom phnobes filled the streets.

In a purely human environment a solitary phnobe looked either pathetic or disgusting, from its goggled eyes to the slap of its damp feet on the floor. In the rath they loomed like ghosts, self-assured and frightening. Most of the alpha-males carried long double-bladed daggers, and any visitor with a concealed inclination towards shape-hatred ended up walking with his back pressed firmly against a comfortingly solid wall.

At one point they had to press into the crowd as a wicker-work delivery truck trundled by. It stank: it was powered by a ceramic engine fuelled with fish oil.

And the air was filled with hissing, a susurration like the wind, the sound of phnobic speech. Dom enjoyed the buruku. The phnobes had a way of life divorced entirely from the carefully stylized penury of a Sadhimist ruling family.

Dom found Hrsh-Hgn seated in a communal jasca, playing tstame. He glanced up at the two of them, and waved them into silence.

Dom sat down on the stone seat and waited patiently. Hrsh-Hgn’s opponent was a young alpha-male, who looked at Dom disinterestedly before turning back to the board.

The tstame men were crude and badly co-ordinated, which was to be expected from a public set. Even so, they were being directed across the squares with a gawky grace.

Red’s pawns had dug a defensive trench across one corner of the board. White had tried the same tactic, but had stopped work and the pawns were clustered around one of Red’s knights, who was haranguing them. As Dom watched, Red’s Sacerdote-Shaman brought his mitrepike down on the kill-button of White’s Accountant, and in the ensuing melee managed to get several pawns through the crossfire from the Rooks. The King made a brave attempt to run for it but was brought down by a flying tackle from the leading pawn.

Hrsh-Hgn’s opponent removed his helmet and made a grudgingly complimentary comment in phnobic before loping away. Dom’s tutor turned.

’I want you to help me find Joker’s World,’ said Dom.

He explained.

The phnobe listened politely. At one point he said: ’I’d be interessted to know how you survived a black hole that removed Korodore.’

’Yes, and Ig.’

’But no, that is not sso . . .’ He reached down beside him and picked up a wicker cage. Inside, Ig fizzled.

’I found him in the busshess at the edge of the lawn. He was badly sshaken. He must have left your sshoulder somehow.’

’And you looked after him - that’s surprising, for you.’

Hrsh-Hgn shrugged. ’No one elsse would. The fisshermen are supersstitious of them. They ssay they are the ssouls of dead comrades.’

The swamp creature looped itself around Dom’s neck.

’Are you coming with me . . . us?’

’Yess, I think sso. I accept bater.’

’I never did find out what that word meant.’

’It refers to the inexorable processesss of what you humans are pleased to call Fate. Where did you think of starting? Don’t look so blank.’

’It’s just that I expected a lecture on my duties as Chairman. As my tutor you were hot on the subject, I seem to remember.’

The phnobe smiled, switched his headset on and turned to the board. The tstame mannikins stood up, ranged themselves into two neat rows, and marched down a flight of steps that appeared in one of the neutral squares, carrying the temporarily disabled.

’The point doess not arise now,’ he said, ’Ass a mere frog’ - he looked sharply at Isaac - ’I suggesst you follow the path predicted. Bessides, ass a Joker student of ssome repute, and an amateur probability mathematician to boot, I feel intrigued. Tell me, are you embarking upon thiss because it hass been seen to happen in the future, or has it been seen to happen in the future because you are following the prediction now?’

’I don’t know,’ said Dom, ’But I know where there’s a ship-’

’Mr Chairman!’

Impressions crowded in on him. The low-ceilinged room had gone quiet, suddenly, like the switching off of a music cube, leaving the sort of silence that is even louder and hangs in the air like fog. The players bent over the tstame tables did not move, but now they seemed tense.

The chlong trio stopped playing. Ig whined.

Samhedi stood in the doorway, flanked by two minor security men. And they were armed. Dom remembered Korodore’s advice, one day when the dead man was feeling expansive, that only the foolhardy or unimaginative carried projectile weapons into a buruku. Korodore had in fact hefted a regulation double-bladed knife, and then diffidently, on the rare occasions he went in.

’We have come to escort you home, Mr Chairman.’

Dom strode towards him and said politely, too politely: ’You were number two on Terra Novae, weren’t you?’

’I was.’

’Who told you to carry stunners into a buruku?’

Samhedi swallowed, and glanced sidelong at the guards. The room seemed to sprout ears.

’Your predecessor would not have done such a thing. You might just have precipitated an inter-racial incident. Now unbuckle those things and throw them on the floor.’

’I have orders to see you safely home-’ began Samhedi.

’From my grandmother? She has no authority. What law am I breaking? But you’re breaking phnobic custom-’

He had driven the man too far. Samhedi growled.

’What gecky customs do these frogs have, anyway?’

He said it in bad phnobic. One by one the phnobes stood up, tshuri knives glinting in the deep gloom.

The alpha-male that had played tstame with Hrsh-Hgn loped up to Samhedi and threw his knife into the floor between them. Samhedi looked at Dom.

’It’s a challenge,’ said Dom.

’Suits me.’ The security man raised his stunner until it was level with the phnobe’s face. The phnobe blinked impassively.

Samhedi fired. It was a low-intensity beam, just enough to stun. The phnobe fell backwards like a sapling.

’And that’s my-’

Dom had disappeared. A knife took the stunner and two fingers from the man’s hand. He gaped, and looked up at the ring of blank, large-eyed faces . . .

Isaac helped the two of them through a small rear window as the noise in the jasca rose suddenly. They darted across the road just ahead of two flatcars laden with security men.

’The stupid geck,’ said Dom, ’Oh Chel, the stupid geck!’

’Intelligence is humanity’s prime ssurvival trait, therefore it iss as well that those who don’t sshow it be weeded out,’ said Hrsh-Hgn, philosophically.

’Where to now, chief?’ said Isaac, ’Round here it’s beginning to look like Whole Erse on Slain Patrick’s Eve.’

’Great-great-grandfather was occasionally less than honest in his business dealings. There’s a private yacht at the spacefield. It’s there for use if any high ranking Sabalos feels the need for a-a-’

’An impromptu vacation?’ suggested Hrsh-Hgn.