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session needed to go right or their funding woes would only increase. He just wished the nightmares hadn’t picked this particular week to return.
    Will had suffered from war-dreams for most of his life and had developed strategies to handle them. This time, though, they were worse than ever. Instead of seeing Amy screaming in the Truists’ torture chair, which had actually happened, he saw Rachel. Her last word before they fried her brain was always Mark . He felt sick just thinking about it.
    When he’d told Nelson about it, his friend had calmly suggested that Will had unresolved guilt issues relating to the loss of his wife’s ship and his almost-son ’s subsequent attempt to rescue her. No shit. He didn’t need a trained psychologist to tell him that. He’d not been able to sleep properly ever since the tribunal that had crippled Mark’s career. What Will craved was some way to get the screaming in the back of his head to stop. He rubbed his tired eyes.
    Behind him, the door to the session chamber slid open. Will turned to see Parisa Voss, the senator for Antarctica and his staunchest political ally, step out and stride across the slowly evolving gold-patterned carpet to meet him. Like most home-system politicians, Pari always looked both immaculate and overdressed. She’d changed outfit since their last session together and now wore a magenta foil skirt-suit and a gold Martian Renaissance tiara. Her contact lenses had been tinted a shocking turquoise to match her shoes. Will could make out the subtle play of data light across her pupils. She’d looked about thirty years old for the entire thirty years Will had known her.
    ‘Are you ready?’ she said.
    He nodded.
    She peered at him. ‘You okay, Will?’
    ‘Just more dreams, that’s all.’
    She winced and laid a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry. Did you talk to Nelson about it?’
    ‘Yes, but I think he’s a bit preoccupied with the refurb of the Ariel Two at the moment. He’s got his starship-captain hat on this week and doesn’t have much time to play therapist. Don’t worry, I can manage.’
    ‘Let me know on the private channel if you need a time out,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll cover for you. The committee’s in fine form today. They’re even more annoying than usual.’
    Will tried for a smile. ‘Great.’
    ‘Speaking of which, we have to change your ten o’clock. Representative Bose has ducked out on us. I think Ochoa is pressuring him.’
    Will groaned. In the virtual space of his home node, he brought up the bewildering multicoloured mess of his calendar. A wide lane of appointment slots peppered with thousands of memory keys led off into the distance.
    ‘I’m thinking we slide that session with the Transcendist bishops in there,’ said Pari. ‘They’ll take what they can get.’
    ‘Done.’
    As Will’s time-management SAP dutifully moved the slots about, he couldn’t help glancing off into the far, unbooked future. Somehow, that wonderful empty land always receded as he moved towards it. Apparently, you couldn’t be the first person in human history to make contact with an alien civilisation, end an interstellar war and claim control over a planet-busting starship the size of a small country without people noticing. And since they’d noticed, his involvement in government had proved unavoidable.
    The promises Will had made to Gustav Ulanu after the fall of Truism didn’t help, either. When Gustav ascended to the ecclesiastical throne as Prophet, he’d begged Will to ensure that Earth remained a fair partner in IPSO affairs. Since Gustav’s assassination at the hands of his own people, Will had felt more duty-bound than ever to maintain that balance. Consequently, he had little time these days to function as a starship captain or even a roboteer. He was, as Gustav had once put it, ‘an icon of incontestable power’. His duty was to the entire human race. And apparently that meant meetings – lots and lots of