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black thing was rising to meet him. It was a wonder he could see it at all; even more of a wonder that the trail of bubbles was still silver-bright. He redoubled his efforts, grasping for it even as he pulled himself deeper. The knight was headed straight for the rising blackness. Within the blackness, a mouth began to open and kept opening, angling ever wider, a tunnel of blackness within blackness. The knight descended into it and the mouth clamped suddenly shut, scissoring the chain of bubbles.
    ‘You ought to turn around, Kanu.’
    He knew her voice, and he knew her name.
    Arethusa.
    ‘I have your knight. I’ve swallowed it. I’ve Jonahed it into the belly of the whale. Would you like it back?’
    ‘It’s Swift’s knight, not mine.’
    ‘You can have it if you swim into me. Look, I’m opening my mouth again. Just swim inside and collect what’s yours. Or give up and turn back to the light.’
    ‘I don’t know what to do.’
    ‘You could die. That would solve a lot of problems. You want to die, don’t you? You were hurt so very badly, Kanu – no one would blame you.’
    ‘I wasn’t hurt.’
    ‘You died on Mars. Or don’t you remember?’
    He pulled himself away from the whale. The knight was unimportant. He rose and rose. His heart quickened, his blood resuming its normal circulation. He caught up with the knight’s bubble trail and clung to it like a rope, so that it hauled him all the way to the bright trembling of the surface waters.
    And then he broke free into air and daylight, except that Swift was gone and so was the chessboard.
    There was a boat nearby. He swam to it, and a beautiful woman with a broad face and kind eyes leaned over the side and made to help him out of the water.
    ‘I’m strong enough to do it myself.’
    ‘No, you’re not,’ she said. ‘You’re on Mars, and you’re dead.’
     
    ‘Kanu,’ the voice was saying. ‘Can you answer me? The neural traces suggest the presence of deep-level comprehension, but I would be very happy to have it confirmed. Try to speak. Try to say a word or two.’
    After an age, he felt he had the strength and focus to oblige. ‘Swift.’
    ‘Yes!’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘ That’s your question – what happened? Not where am I? What kind of condition am I in?’
    ‘I’m alive.’
    ‘You are alive, yes. But only by the narrowest of margins.’
    After a while, Kanu repeated: ‘What happened?’
    ‘Do you remember the terrorist incident? There was an explosion, quite a big one.’
    Kanu did his best to remember. ‘Dalal . . . Korsakov. Lucien.’
    ‘It was very bad.’
    Something important occurred to him. ‘I can’t see.’
    ‘You will, shortly. Some wiring still needs to be reconnected.’
    ‘What about the others?’
    ‘Regrettably,’ Swift said, ‘there were fatalities.’
     
    A room, this time. He thought for a moment that he was in the embassy, but the view through the window was wrong. Beyond the glass was a kind of cityscape, except it was no city he had ever known. There were illuminated buildings, conforming less to human architecture than the flanged, angular proportions of ancient radio components. Between the buildings, and linking them, were thick, glowing arms. In place of a sky was a rising vault of excavated rock.
    Swift was sitting opposite him. A low table had been set between their chairs, but it was mercifully free of a chessboard.
    ‘I had the strangest dream.’
    ‘I feel obliged to point out that not all of your dreams were dreams.’ Swift gestured at a pitcher of water and a glass on the table. ‘If you’re thirsty.’
    Kanu continued looking around. ‘Am I really in this room, or are you feeding information into my skull?’
    ‘This is real. That thing you are wearing is your actual body. It needed rather a lot of repair, so I trust you still find it to your liking.’
    Kanu looked at his forearm, the loose fit of the green-embroidered sleeve. He spread his fingers. The webs between them were