South Maurisetza was built on two sides of a huge lobe of rock; on one side, a large cavern with the city’s arts, cultural and bureaucratic quarters; on the other, its harbour. And the sea.

They sat in an outdoor café on a broad avenue, built on the very lobe of rock that held the sea on the other side. South-Takwards, the surface of the city sprawled away above them in the direction they had come. In the distance Noksalika fancied she could see the highway with those mighty stone arches, now just tiny white croquet hoops.

Even in an age when most things seemed ageless, and places were often faceless, South Maurisetza’s architecture breathed heritage. Carved stone from a hundred centuries had been piled on top of itself to make homes and workshops, public kitchens and sacred gardens, elite offices and meditation lounges. Shocking red ivy grew in ancient carved graffiti that itself was millennia old. Where old spaces had become difficult or redundant, engineers had melted and welded the slabs of stone into new, more useful shapes; the foot-high signatures and logos of long-dead engineer clans littered the streets and tunnels. The Ethe coursed through the very rock.

Hanaman eyed her carefully, drumming his fingers on the table. His usual light manner had gone, presumably because of tiredness and ill feeling. She wondered if this was what marriage felt like.

‘So. You’re going to sea.’ He looked straight at her, and grinned humourlessly, baring his large, square yellow teeth.

‘I never said that.’ She tried appearing dismissive, aloof.

‘You’ve been making a well-disguised beeline for the coast for the last three weeks. Where are you going?’

She looked back into his tough glare. ‘Any boat that takes my fancy. I don’t care.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. The one with the prettiest colours. Fuck it, anywhere.’

There was a moment’s silence as they sized each other up in sight, smell and on the Ethe too.

‘Well we’ll see about that.’

Suddenly the seat of her chair changed shape under her buttocks, little ridges – maybe letters - but she couldn’t tell what they said.

‘Miss Suhanrohan?’ Two golems appeared out of nowhere and loomed behind her. The voice on the Ethe was a local official. ‘We need to ask some questions about recent events. Will you step this way?’

Without missing a beat, the golems hoisted her up by her arms and frogmarched her down the street, before she had a chance to look down at her seat. Hanaman smiled to himself, and followed them.

The questioning had made her skin crawl, her skin, Noksalika’s, not the skin of this stupid puppet Tarabonitz Suhanrohanrohanrohan. But she’d never lost her nerve as an actress, and with no-one physically in the room with her it had been especially easy. She’d showed them all the pictures and videos of the beast she’d saved on the Ethe. If the security services had saved any more footage through her eyes without her knowing, they hadn’t shown it.

On the way out, she’d asked the receptionist if there were any hidden exits to the secure facility.

‘Well, obviously,’ replied the young girl over the desk, as if talking to a small child, ‘but they’re not to be used by the public. Otherwise it wouldn’t be secure, would it.’

‘Oh right, okay, thanks anyway stupid bitch,’ she muttered as she left the building.

She rushed out of the front gate and found Hanaman leaning casually by the wall. He pushed the handle of his knife against the inside of his shirt meaningfully. ‘Going anywhere?’

She made a small growl, then looked around at the floor and the walls hurriedly. ‘I think I would like,’ she declared loudly, ‘to go to the docks.’

Hanaman nodded. ‘Let’s.’

They set off at a brisk walk through the city.

The Bay of Maurisetza didn’t disappoint, no matter how many times she saw it.

Emerging into natural daylight, Noksalika used the curved handrail to pull herself over the edge of the dark passage and turn ninety degrees, righting herself and planting her feet squarely on the ground.

She stood in a huge tunnel, a rough oval–shaped cavern several miles across, stretching off to the left into the distance; it was coated in fields and forests and new vegetation like some fragrant green carpet, and thick rivers gushed in blue and white. Far, far straight ahead, she could see the dark grey blot of North Maurisetza, the sister city on the other side of the bay.

And the sea stretched from floor to ceiling, away to her right, a vast vertical surface of choppy translucent water.

On this side of the tunnel, the harbour bordered the sea in a mighty straight line of well-crafted stone and wood. Thousands of people milled about on clean white stone, chattering about in the shops and restaurants, with new arrivals and excited leavers going both ways through security and customs.

She could just see the jetties disappearing into the surface of the sea, and the bizarre variety of ships that seemed to hover, bobbing in and out on the waterline, in and out with the vertical surface of the water. The jetties were long to cope with the tide. Even here at this distance, she could see the tiny figures of people disembarking and breaking the surface, coughing up liquid and learning to breathe with their lungs again.

‘Shall we?’ Hanaman asked, extending an arm towards the departure lounge in the open air complex.

She mumbled an agreement.

‘You okay? You look a bit nervous.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Always looking around. Like you’ve lost something.’

‘Oh, no, just, well…’ She murmured something non-committal. People milled around, coming from many tunnels and passing the two of them by in order to reach the queues first. Security golems stood around malevolently, swinging their arms. Where the hell is Piarowef’s man? They joined one of the queues to the many kiosks.

‘I suggest that you buy a ticket for Thanadolina,’ said Hanaman looking up at her, hand still inside his shirt.

She glared back. ‘Mantrel heartland. What a surprise. What do you want from me? Are you,’ she gave a little laugh, ‘are you kidnapping me?’

‘Don’t be stupid. You’re dead, remember? What value does a dead girl have?’ The mantrel snorted, flaring his nostrils. ‘We want your services. Voluntarily or involuntarily.’

Just then an incoming signal flashed in the back of her head. She couldn’t make out its identity – there didn’t seem to be one.

‘Noksalika?’

‘Piarowef?’

‘The one and only. This is a completely secure line, but I’ve got sixty seconds, no more, so listen carefully.’ The queue moved forwards, mainly made up of couples and groups, laughing and chatting.

‘Where am I going?’ she asked. ‘Where is this place?’

‘Get a ticket for Rhajallington. That’s where.’

‘Rhajallington. Got it.’ She looked ahead, watching people checking themselves in through the security desk. ‘Are you changing my palms? I need them switched for security.’

A negative answer. ‘Nuh-uh. Can’t be done.’

‘What?!’ She forced the muscles in her face to appear neutral under Hanaman’s stony look, as her throat hollowed in panic. ‘You can switch Ethe nodes, you can even make your little face appear in little walls, but you can’t use the Ethe to change someone’s fucking handprints?!’

‘It’s not that simple you stupid little bitch.’ Piarowef seethed through the red mist of her own mind. ‘Ethe nodes are built on the Ethe, they’re actually part of it. Your skin on your own hands is yours. Do you have – fuck, do you have ANY IDEA how hard it is to change biological matter with any kind of precision?’

‘The collectors out on the Migration-’

‘The collectors on Migration take dead people inside themselves, that’s it. And they’ve been doing it since for-ev-er!’ He said “forever” as though speaking to an infant. ‘There’s nothing precise about it, the natural force of the Ethe does the hard work. But changing someone’s handprints? Keeping a biological map of every living cell? Would you want just any old clown messing around with your molecular DNA?’

‘Great, nice to know you’re just “any old clown”.’

‘Just shut the hell-’

And he was gone, the connection closed. She drew mental energy together to call after him, then stopped herself – the connection was closed, anyone would hear her shout on the Ethe.

‘Confident?’ whispered Hanaman behind her, as the security official called her forward. She ignored him and stepped forward to the polished wooden barrier.

‘Good afternoon Miss Suhanrohan,’ said the official with a smile. He was dressed in a smart, clean navy uniform in a “modern” design, which dated it by several centuries. ‘Where are you heading?’

She paused. ‘Thanadolina,’ she said after a while. The back of her head and jaws glowed a gentle green as she paid the money.

‘Palm upwards please.’ The official had a kind of plastic gaze; the smile stayed, but it was superficial. She held out her left hand on the desk, palm upwards.

He ran his palm over it like some kind of magician, and his eyes misted over for a second. He was checking for details on the Ethe.

Her teeth clenched, fingers tensing. Ready to fight or flee.

She was sure she could hear Hanaman chuckle behind her.

‘Thank you Miss Suhanrohan,’ the official smiled, still bland and professional, waving her through. ‘Thanadolina is Dock Twenty-Seven. But I’m afraid the ship is leaving soon,’ he looked at her meaningfully, ‘so you’ll have to hurry. Have a safe voyage.’

Then he buzzed a virtual ticket over the Ethe to her, which read Rhajallington: Dock #39.

Her eyes widened; Piarowef’s man. This was her signal.

Her nerves jangled as she walked briskly into the broad shopping plaza amongst the buzzing people and noisy arcades. She didn’t turn back to see Hanaman at the desk, and when she heard the words-

‘I’m sorry sir, there’s something wrong with your Ethe details…’

-she broke into a run.

Hanaman waited in the queue and glared at her, trying to be as menacing as you could be when you were twelve inches shorter.

‘Combat unit, state your position.’ There was no answer.

Noksalika would no doubt have something arranged to get her through the security barrier – anyone who could fake their own death in this world would surely have no problems here.

He checked the contact details Elder Svokia had given him. ‘Captain? Combat unit, state your position now.’ Still no reply. In the near distance, the great wall of the sea reared above; up along the main concourse of the harbour, he could see mantrels loading goods and supplies onto various ships, but none looked like they belonged to a stealth combat unit.

That was probably the point, he reasoned.

Unsurprisingly Noksalika passed through without problem. He stepped forward and threw his hand against the desk impatiently. ‘Thanadolina please.’ The back of his head and the base of his horns flashed the same dull green.

The security man smiled at him and waved his palm over Hanaman’s, stared into the distance for a second, then frowned. ‘I’m sorry sir, there’s something wrong with your Ethe details.’ A golem nearby groaned and loomed in his direction; he saw Noksalika start running through the crowds beyond.

‘What?’ he snarled. ‘There’s no problem.’ He sent his official Ethe details and authority codes to the man behind the desk, including the permit for his knife.

‘No sir, I can’t find any entries for you on the system-’

‘My name is Freegeneral Hanaman rLodo Gidan and I am on state business regarding that young woman,’ he hissed, leaning in. The golem moved closer, raising its club. ‘I can give you all the clearance you want.’

The official seemed uncertain for a second, pausing to look around and then back at the details in his mind. Then his cheap, professional smile broke out again. ‘I’m so sorry sir, I’m not sure what happened there. Thanadolina is Dock Twenty-Seven. Have a safe voyage.’

Receiving the Ethe ticket, he threw himself ahead and pelted through the crowds, following the trail of slightly disturbed people Noksalika had left on her way to the gate.

‘Combat unit! Target must be taken alive, repeat alive!’

The airwaves remained silent.

He reached the steps marked Docks #20-40 and launched himself up them two at a time, hooves clop-clopping on the bare stone. For a moment the sea was invisible, and the sound diminished, until he reached the concourse-

The vertical sea whooshed above him, just fifty yards away, small waves frothing on the surface. All along the lengthy wooden concourse, jetties plunged forwards into the water with a variety of boats docked, arriving or leaving. Some were great constructions of wood and even stone, while some were lightweight and slim. But all were based on the same oval shape, like stretched spheres covered in fins, rudders and sails floating in the water.

Along the dry side of the concourse were open seating areas, various fast food stands, and Noksalika – still running and heading for Dock #39. He sprinted after her, and nearly caught up; she tipped over a plastic chair behind her making him stumble forward, but an outflung arm caught one of her legs which made her crash into the ground. People were shouting now, but he was oblivious as he took out his knife and walked up to her.

‘Rhajallington?’ he snarled, pulling his arm back and smacking her in the head with his fist and the hilt of the knife. Her head bounced against the stone floor painfully. ‘Secure connection? Nice try. What’s so special abou-’

The crossbow bolt thrummed into his shoulder and threw him back several paces. He cried out in pain and juddered to a halt on the floor; people along the concourse and jetties began to scream and run. Boat crews and passengers began packing up hurriedly, and golems lumbered towards the scene from both directions.

A hand put itself on her shoulder. Noksalika grimaced in pain as she raised her head and looked at a complete stranger, a well-built man with short clipped hair holding a small crossbow. ‘It’s okay, I’m an Ethe soldier. Your contact said I was to make sure you made your journey.’

She looked about, then looked at him. ‘Great,’ she gasped. The bulk of a golem towered behind him looking confused. The man turned and flashed his Ethe credentials at the beast, before pointing down the concourse towards Hanaman. He helped her up and they walked quickly towards Dock #39.

Suddenly the ground began to change shape in front of them – a large crab’s claw emerged from the stone, and the crown of a man’s head…

‘What the hell…’ breathed the soldier.

A high-pitched whine came from Noksalika’s throat, before screaming, ‘It’s not fair!’ The figure of a large man dressed in dark clothes melted upwards from the stone floor.

Hanaman lay on his back panting as blood pooled under his back from the wound. A golem loomed over him like a bulky black tower, wielding its club. But golems knew better than to lash out at employees of the state. Hanaman threw up his authorisation codes; the golem gave a low growl and stamped about in confusion. He rolled over and pushed himself up, gritting his teeth in pain as his left shoulder moved around the crossbow bolt. Giddy, he gripped his knife and staggered towards where Noksalika and the man both stood, and swore as the shape of the beast-thing emerged from the ground.

The soldier stepped back and hurriedly tried to restring the small crossbow. The thing’s eyes seemed even looser now, several horrifying inches wide in a face that was now warped and distorted. Noksalika looked up the concourse – Dock #39 was only a couple of jetties away. She turned her head and cursed as she saw Hanaman behind them, and hurriedly stepped back as one of the things limbs lashed out towards her.

She bolted back for the nearest wooden jetty, running in a kind of daze, her head throbbing in several places. Hanaman saw and pushed himself to chase her; the soldier turned to see as the drawstring snapped into place, then screamed as the beast’s claw closed over his neck and chest, clenching and snapping his bones. He raised the crossbow and fired into its head, which the bolt ripped open to reveal no bone or skull, just thick veiny black flesh that sprayed gunk everywhere. A murky bubbling roar came from the hole, and a tentacle wrapped around one of his legs…

Noksalika stood before the surface of the sea, bits of spray splashing in her face. She hadn’t been to sea in a long time, and it would be difficult, but she had no option. She took several breaths, deeply in, then deeper out – and with one last deep breath out, expelling all the air from her lungs, she stepped forwards into the water.

She opened her eyes, and saw the sea beckon ahead of her with boats coming in and departing. People floated and swam about the large boat moored to the jetty, giving her fearful and panicked looks. Her clothes floated gently about her with the light waves. She opened her mouth, and salty water coursed into her mouth and throat; she fought her gag reflex (easy for any self-respecting porn star), and the water flooded her lungs. She felt her pores open automatically across her body, and let the Ethe breathe for her.

She turned right and pushed herself slowly off the jetty, and started swimming. To her right, back out on the concourse, she could just make out the beast thing devouring the Ethe soldier as golems stood idly by.

Hanaman entered the sea behind her, blood oozing in the water from his shoulder. With one arm out of action, he had little chance of catching her, but he could still make it onto the boat heading for Rhajallington. He swam ungainly, his left arm floating about behind him. He gripped the knife in his teeth.

She never made it to Dock #39. Hanaman watched as figures emerged from the boat tied on the next jetty and swam towards her – mantrels. They wore a variety of shirts and tunics, but all were the same faded black colour with flashes of red. She tried to dodge them but found herself surrounded. They grabbed her thrashing limbs and pulled her away through the water, towards a small dark vessel floating a little way out.

‘Hanaman!’ she called through the Ethe. ‘Hanaman get your men off me-’

He saw one of them make several punches to her head, slowed by the water but strong enough. She went limp.

On the Ethe, he felt a body move behind him in the water…

‘Combat unit?’ he called to them, kicking his tired legs. ‘Combat unit?’

A searing pain tore through his body, centred in his back. He felt weak and watched a mantrel swim gracefully overhead, holding a jagged knife in one hand which leaked a trail of more blood before him. Blood swirled all around him now, thick and crimson. His vision started fading; the last thing he saw was Noksalika’s body being dragged aboard the small craft.