‘How big?’ I asked Midas. ‘Is what?’ he asked. ‘This… place.’ He pointed to the instruments. ‘Can’t say. A hundred kilometres, two… three… a thousand.’ ‘You must have something!’ He looked round at me with a smile that had worry in it. ‘Systems say it’s endless. Which is, of course, impossible. So I think the instruments are out. I’m not trusting them, anyway.’ ‘Then what are you flying by?’ ‘My eye – or the seat of my pants. Whichever you find most reassuring.’
