and shortly after that the boat skidded to a halt in a few feet of water, bottoming out on rock. They had to get out and wade the rest of the way to dry land. Clavain was shivering by the time he squelched out of the last inch of water. The boat looked a long way away, and Nostalgia for Infinity was nowhere to be seen at all. Antoinette Bax came to meet them, picking her way carefully across a field of rockpools that gleamed like a tessellation of perfect grey mirrors. Behind her, on a higher rising slope of land, was the first encampment: a hamlet of bubbletents stapled into rock. Clavain wondered how it would look in twenty years. More than one hundred and sixty thousand people were aboard Nostalgia for Infinity , far too many to place on one island. There would be a chain of settlements, instead — as many as fifty, with a few hubs on the larger, drier nubs of land. Once those settlements were established, work could begin on the floating colonies that would provide long-term shelter. There would be enough work here to keep anyone busy. He felt an obligation to be part of it, but no sense that it was anything he had been born to do. He felt, in fact, that he had done what he was born to do. ‘Antoinette,’ he said, knowing that Felka would not have recognised the woman without his help, ‘how are things on dry land?’ There’s shit brewing already, Clavain.‘ He kept his eyes on the ground, for fear of tripping. ‘Do tell.’ ‘A lot of people aren’t happy with the idea of staying here. They bought into Thorn’s exodus because they wanted to go home, back to Yellowstone. Being stuck on an uninhabited piss-ball for twenty years wasn’t quite what they had in mind.’ Clavain nodded patiently. He steadied himself against Felka, using her as a walking stick. ‘And did you impress on these people the fact that they’d be dead if they hadn’t come with us?’ ‘Yes, but you know what it’s like. No pleasing some people, is there?’ She shrugged. ‘Well, just thought I’d cheer you up with that, in case you thought it was all going to be plain sailing from now on.’ ‘For some reason, that thought never crossed my mind. Now, can someone show us around the island?’ Felka helped him pick his way on to smoother ground. ‘Antoinette, we’re cold and wet. Is there somewhere we can get warm and dry?’ ‘Just follow me. We’ve even got tea on the go.’ ‘Tea?’ Felka asked suspiciously. ‘Seaweed tea. Local. But don’t worry. No one’s died of it yet, and you do eventually get used to the taste.’ I suppose we’d better make a start,‘ Clavain said. They followed Antoinette into the huddle of tents. People were at work outside, putting up new tents and plumbing-in snakelike power cables from turtle-shaped generators. She led them into one enclosure, sealing the flap behind them. It was warmer inside, and drier, but this served only to make Clavain feel more damp and cold than he had a moment before. Twenty years in a place like this, he thought. They’d be busy staying alive, yes, but what kind of a life was one of pure struggle for existence? The Jugglers might prove endlessly fascinating, awash with eternally old mysteries of cosmic provenance, or they might not wish to communicate with the humans at all. Although lines of rapport had been established between humans and Pattern Jugglers on the other Juggler worlds, it had sometimes taken decades of study before the key was found to unlock the aliens. Until then, they were little more than sluggish vegetative masses, evidencing the work of intelligence without in any way revealing it themselves. What if this turned out to be the first group of Jugglers that did not wish to drink human neural patterns? It would be a lonely and bleak place to stay, shunned by the very things one had imagined might make it tolerable. Staying with Remontoire, Khouri and Thorn, plunging into the intricate structure of the living neutron star, might begin to seem like the more attractive option. Well, in twenty years they’d find out whether that had been the case. Antoinette pushed a mug of green-coloured tea in front of him. ‘Drink up, Clavain.’ He sipped at it, wrinkling his nose against the miasma of pungent, briny fumes that hovered above the drink. ‘What if I’m drinking a Pattern Juggler?’ ‘Felka says you won’t be. She should know, I think — I gather she’s been itching to meet these bastards for quite a while, so she knows a thing or two about them.’ Clavain gave the tea another go. ‘Yes, that’s true, isn’t…’ But Felka had gone. She had been in the tent a moment ago, but now she wasn’t. ‘Why does she want to meet them so badly?’ Antoinette asked. ‘Because of what she hopes they’ll give her,’ Clavain said. ‘Once, when she lived on Mars, she was at the core of something very complex — a vast, living machine she had to keep alive with her own willpower and intellect. It was what gave her a reason to live. Then people — my people, as a matter of fact — took the machine away from her. She nearly died then, if she had ever truly been alive. And yet she didn’t. She made it back to something like normal life. But everything that has followed, everything that she has done since, has been a way to find something else that she can use and that will use her in the same way; something so intricate that she can’t understand all its secrets in a single intuitive flash, and something that, in its own way, might be able to exploit her as well.’ ‘The Jugglers.’ Still clasping the tea — and it wasn’t so bad, really, he noted — he said, ‘Yes, the Jugglers. Well, I hope she finds what she’s looking for, that’s all.’ Antoinette reached beneath the table and hefted something up from the floor. She placed it between them: a corroded metal cylinder covered in a lacy froth of calcified micro-organisms. ‘This is the beacon. They found it yesterday, a mile down. There must have been a tsunami which washed it into the sea.’ He leaned over and examined the hunk of metal. It was squashed and dented, like an old rations tin that had been stepped on. ‘It could be Conjoiner,’ he said. ‘But I’m not sure. There aren’t any markings which have survived.’ ‘I thought the code was Conjoiner?’ ‘It was: it’s a simple in-system transponder beacon. It’s not meant to be detected over much more than a few hundred million kilometres. But that doesn’t mean it was put here by Conjoiners. Ultras could have stolen it from one of our ships, perhaps. We’ll know a little more when we dismantle it, but that has to be done carefully.’ He rapped the rough metal husk with his knuckles. ‘There is anti-matter in here, or it wouldn’t be transmitting. Not much, maybe, but enough to make a dent in this island if we don’t open it properly.’ ‘Rather you than me.’ ‘Clavain…’ He looked around; Felka had returned. She looked
