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wondering about a motive.’
    â€˜Me, too. Maybe one of the recoverables can shed some light on that.’
    â€˜If we’re lucky,’ Dreyfus said. ‘We only got twelve, and most of those are likely to be damaged.’
    â€˜What about back-ups? Ruskin-Sartorious wouldn’t have kept all their eggs in that one basket.’
    â€˜Agreed. But it’s unlikely that the squirts happened more frequently than once a day, if that. Once a week is a lot more likely.’
    â€˜Stale memories may be better than nothing, if that’s all we have.’ Her tone shifted, becoming more personal. ‘Tom, I have to ask another favour of you. I’m afraid it’s going to be even more difficult and delicate than Perigal.’
    â€˜You’d like me to talk to the Ultras.’
    â€˜I want you to ride out to the Swarm. You don’t have to enter it yet, but I want them to know that we have our eye on them. I want them to know that if they attempt to hide that ship - or aid its evasion of justice in any way - we won’t take it lightly.’
    Dreyfus skimmed mental options, trying to work out what kind of ship would send the most effective signal to the Ultras. Nothing in his previous experience with the starship crews had given him much guidance.
    â€˜I’ll leave immediately,’ he said, preparing to haul himself back to the wall.
    â€˜I’d rather you didn’t,’ Aumonier replied. ‘Get some rest first. We’re up against the clock on this one, but I still want the Ultras to stew a little, wonder what our response is going to be. We’re not totally clawless. We can hit them in the trade networks, where it really hurts. Time to make them feel uncomfortable for once.’
    Elsewhere, an object fell through the Glitter Band.
    It was a two-metre-wide sphere, following a carefully calculated free-fall trajectory that would slip it through the transient gaps in civilian, CTC and Panoply tracking systems with the precision of a dancer weaving between scarves. The nonvelope’s path was simply an additional precaution that had cost nothing except a tiny expenditure of computing time and an equally small delay to its departure time. It was already nearly invisible, by the standards of all but the most probing close-range surveillance methods.
    Presently it detected the intrusion of light of a very particular frequency, one that it was programmed not to deflect. Machinery deep in the nonvelope processed the temporal structure of the light and extracted an encoded message in an expected format. The same machinery composed a response and spat it out in the opposite direction, back to whatever had transmitted the original pulse.
    A confirmatory pulse arrived milliseconds later.
    The nonvelope had allowed itself to be detected. This was part of the plan.
    Three hours later, a ship positioned itself over the nonvelope, using gravitational sensing to refine its final approach. The nonvelope was soon safely concealed inside the reception bay of the ship. Clamps locked it into position. Detecting its safe arrival, the nonvelope relaxed the structure of its quickmatter envelope in preparation for disgorging its cargo. As lights came on and air flooded into the bay, the nonvelope’s surface flicked to the appearance of a large chromed marble. Weight returned as the ship powered away from the rendezvous point.
    A figure in an anonymous black spacesuit entered the bay. The figure crouched next to the nonvelope and observed it open. The sphere cracked wide, one half folding back to reveal its occupant. A glassy cocoon of support systems oozed away from his foetal form. The man was breathing, but only just on the edge of consciousness.
    The man in the suit removed his helmet. ‘Welcome back to the world, Anthony Theobald Ruskin-Sartorious.’
    The man in the nonvelope groaned and stirred. His eyes were gummed with protective gel. He pawed them clean, then squinted while