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a souvenir.
    They handed the woman their Blue Cards. As she glanced up to take his, Cain spotted a flicker of interest. Evoked, he wondered, by his appearance or reputation? The latter, he hoped. It disturbed him to find apparently intelligent women swayed by his looks.
    She swiped the cards and waited for her screen to give clearance.
    Spencer tapped his foot on the vibrating deck. ‘Your security’s a piece of work. Be awkward if we hit a mine.’
    The woman spun a central locking wheel on the end door, pulled it open. On the other side were the shafts of six retracted dogs and heavy seals.
    They stepped over the sill into another corridor. Here no blast from air-con vents. The walls and floor were lined with stainless steel. On each side of the floor were the same padeyes that studded the flight deck but the fittings had been adapted to drainholes. Of the pipes lining the ceiling, two were atypical. One had jets. The other, dispersion nozzles.
    Zuiden pointed to a jet. ‘Uncle Sam off his nut?’
    Spencer nodded. ‘This setup’s stirred coals on the flag bridge. The rear admiral says he’s been suckered.’
    Cain couldn’t believe it either. This was a permanent installation, a typical EXIT choke point. An incursion force moving through here would end up like beetles in amber. Except that the amber would be a space-filling sticky foam that hardened in five seconds and was far more unpleasant than the product developed by SNL in Albuquerque. When the dissolvent was oversprayed by the second pipe, the foam turned to acid. In half an hour, the only thing left would be pitted weapons and blobs of bone.
    As they reached the end hatch the dogs slid back as it was opened from the far side by a uniformed EXIT cadet.
    The next space was a vivid contrast — a pastel-coloured vestibule with comfortable casual chairs and a feature carpet with shaped panels in a pleasing design. On the low far wall was emblazoned the main EXIT credo:
    WORLD MAINTENANCE IS MORALITY.
    The others followed beneath in smaller type — the fourteen edicts expounded to them from near childhood:
    2. PREDATORS AND PARTISANS ARE PERNICIOUS.
    3. EQUILIBRIUM COUNTERS CONFLICT.
    4. THE END DOESN’T JUSTIFY THE MEANS, BUT SURGERY AND DENTISTRY ARE PRACTICAL.
    5. LOYALTY TO THE CAUSE IS POWER.
    6. LOYALTY TO PEOPLE IS WEAKNESS.
    7. TRUE SELF-SATISFACTION COMES FROM SERVICE.
    8. OCCUPATIONAL RELATIONSHIPS ARE NO LESS FULFILLING.
    9. EMOTION IS A FORCE, NOT AN ARGUMENT.
    10. CONSISTENCY IS THE HIGHEST ACHIEVEMENT.
    11. TRAINING LEADS TO COURAGE.
    12. PERSPECTIVE IS STRENGTH.
    13. AUTHORITY TO KILL IS A PRIVILEGE, NOT A RIGHT.
    14. DEATH IS AN ASPECT OF LIFE.
    Rhonda and Vanqua were there to welcome them. They made an incongruous pair. A large, thick-waisted woman wearing scuffed flatties and a pantsuit flecked with cigarette ash. Beside her, an elegantly dressed man with a sombre face and a gymnast’s body.
    Rhonda grasped Cain’s hand warmly. She was dowdy as always. Despite her large frame and thick figure, she could scrub up well when she bothered. But she mostly didn’t, preferring comfortable disarray. The too-sensual lower lip, the extra chin, the close-cut greying curls, the impish eyes . . . He felt a rush of affection for her, hugged her hard.
    Her upper-class British drawl, ‘Welcome home, Grade Four.’
    ‘I was Three when I left.’
    ‘So your return is more auspicious than your departure.’
    He appreciated the upgrade but they both knew it was nonsense. Salary and prestige were irrelevant now. She squeezed his hands again, delighted to see him. ‘You’re still absurdly good looking. Barely a sign of decay.’
    Zuiden had also greeted his department superior. Vanqua assessed them both with sad, intelligent eyes. He still looked super-fit. His only erotic outlet was rumoured to be the gymnasium. He said in his Danish accent, ‘Well, you must be tired. You’ll need sleep.’
    Zuiden yawned. ‘Anything to eat?’
    Vanqua’s sad smile.