by John Meaney
‘Yes, of course.’
Finally, amid the crowd, Roger saw someone he knew, and slipped past people who did not even notice him, until he was standing in front of Pilot Jed Goran.
‘Jed.’
‘Roger.’
They clasped hands in the Labyrinthine fashion.
‘I’m sorry, my friend,’ added Jed. ‘You’ll survive today, because you have to.’
‘Yes. I will.’
‘But no one will miss you for a while. Come with me.’
‘I shouldn’t—’
‘Come.’
They walked together, through giant gold-and-sapphire doors into a high ornate corridor. There, Jed summoned a fastpath rotation.
‘Trust me,’ he said.
Roger followed him through.
They came out into a vast blue chamber. At its geometric centre, a small convex triangle was floating: black, webbed with red and gold.
‘What is this?’ asked Roger.
But it was not Jed who answered.
=Your father’s legacy, young Pilot.=
Jed’s hand clasped Roger’s shoulder. From him, it was a gesture of support.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘There’ll be time. But I thought you should see it now.’
Panes of nothingness rotated, and they stepped inside.
