"No bugs," said Josh.
"She understands." Yukiko shook hands with Suzanne, then Josh. "Make yourselves comfortable."
They settled on the couches. Yukiko pointed her phone, and a picture flicked into life: a transparent cage, scarcely visible, in which two bloodied, half-armoured fighters stood with a referee between them, holding each by the wrist, waiting for the verdict. End of a fight, going to a judges' decision. Both fighters wore fast-stick wound-dressings; the larger fighter's arm and torso were wrapped in them. This had been the rule since Switchblade Saxon died while waiting for the result: walking wounded now received emergency dressings as soon as the final klaxon blared.
The referee raised the smaller fighter's arm, as the crowd howled.
"That's a Knife Edge tournament," said Josh. "The guy who won is Manning. Trains with Hatchet Dawkins."
There were other promoters, smaller fight circuits, but they used different styles of cage.
"So you're a fan?" Yukiko thumbed her phone, and a lean, bearded man appeared on screen. "You'll know Zak Tyndall, then. He owns the whole show."
Suzanne, Josh realised, was looking at him and Yukiko, not the screen.
"Tyndall," he said. "Zak, son of Zebediah. Rich bastards."
"Entrepreneurial geniuses. The father is a real political power in the land, without ever holding office."
Josh stood up, turning away from the screen.
"This isn't about Knife Edge, is it?"
"Not really," said Yukiko. "Apart from the coincidence that the big knife-fighting final is on the night of the general election, right before online voting commences. And that Fat Billy Church has his name linked to the programme."
"Uh-huh. Thing is," said Josh, "my diary's fully booked. Washing my hair, picking my nose, important stuff like that. Maybe we can do changing the world next week? Or how about never?"
"Or you could pick your arse" – Yukiko's tone remained as elegant as cut glass – "if your head wasn't stuffed right up it."
"Whoa." Petra came out of the kitchen, salad bowl in hand. "Ding, ding, time out. Fighters, return to your positions. Suzanne, would you lend me a hand?"
"So long as you protect me from these two."
Josh spread his hands. "Sorry, Yukiko. Sometimes my mouth runs away by itself."
"Are you kidding?" Yukiko nodded toward Petra. "How often do I get to win an argument round here? I need the practise."
"Ouch," said Josh. "Also, I surrender."
"Before we eat" – Yukiko tapped her phone – "look at this. See how healthy he is?"
The screen showed Zebediah Tyndall, the father, face lined but his hair still black, his stance erect.
"Eats right, keeps fit," said Josh. "Can afford the best doctors."
"Actually, he's never been reported as athletic."
"He must be doing something right. Or is that your point?"
"Hmm." Yukiko called out in the direction of the kitchen: "There's hope for the man yet."
"Good," answered Suzanne, while Petra said: "Are you sure?"
"Jesus Christ."
Yukiko was working her phone again. A sequence of panes spread across the screen, each running a five-second loop, showing fighters in action or just afterward.
"Fireman Carlsen." Josh pointed at the first pane, then the second. "Him, I forget his name, but he's good. And that one is Serpent Sam, aka Captain Cut."
"And how healthy would you say they look in the pictures?"
"Pretty fit."
More panes opened, showing bloody wounds, fighters spinning away from flashing blades or simply falling. Date-and-timestamps popped up, labelling every picture.
"Take your time," said Yukiko.
Josh had been injured before. He knew how long and hard rehab could be.
"That's not right."
No one could recover that fast.
"The dates are correct." Yukiko dipped her head. "But yes, something isn't right."
A juddering memory passed through Josh: Sophie, and the message from that bastard consultant, what was his name, Hammond, asking about organ donation and his baby girl still living while the machines kept her "Josh."
– small lungs pumping, blood moving through veins and arteries, feeding the brain that no longer "Josh, it's all right."
– knew how to think, how to do anything but "It's OK, you're back."
– live in the moment, as he needed to do now. He looked at Suzanne's eyes, the deep chestnut shade, and her hands were soft but strong, clasping his, giving reassurance.
He was prostrate on the couch, Suzanne leaning over him, Yukiko holding his wrist to check his pulse. Then Suzanne raised his eyelid with her thumb.
"Has this been happening often?"
"Only when I think of… When I think about S-Sophie and the, the-"
"Do you like blue ice-cream or purple?" asked Suzanne.
"Wha-?"
Her fingertips came down, closing his eyes.
"Sleep."
His chin rocked to his chest.
This is weird.
When he awoke, it was after not being asleep, but in some other deep place where he could have moved or opened his eyes, if only he had wanted to. Suzanne's words were a warm ocean, surrounding and healing him. And then he came back into normal consciousness, feeling calm.
"Well." Yukiko looked at Suzanne. "Very nice, Dr Duchesne. I learned hypnosis at med school, but not like that."
Petra said: "I told them about Sophie's condition."
He had never discussed it with her, but they had friends in common, and her expertise was investigation.
"How much better do you feel?" asked Suzanne.
"Well enough to eat just about anything."
"You haven't tasted my food yet," said Petra.
But the scents were compelling, and when they sat around the table, there was moussaka and salad, flat bread and houmous, along with stuffed vine leaves. Petra was clearly skilled. During the meal, they talked little; it was only when the coffee came out that they returned to their reason for gathering here.
"Josh did good work today." Petra tipped him a fingertip salute. "Cracked open a virapharm facility, using runaways as incubators. Which is Yukiko's area, except hers is the legal kind."
"You're in research?" Suzanne asked Yukiko. "Not a clinician?"
"Mostly research. Time-dependent transition-capable networks are my current interest."
"Uh-oh," said Petra.
"Look, they've got brains." Yukiko raised her eyebrows. "Josh has testosterone poisoning, maybe, but Suzanne's free from infection."
"I understood every single word you said about networks." Josh half-raised his coffee. "It was just the entire sentence that was meaningless."
"Terminal infection," said Suzanne. "But if you explain in simple words, he might understand. And maybe I will, too."
"It's just the old six-handshakes-from-the-pope kind of thing. Pick anyone on Earth, and you'll know someone who knows someone who knows that person."
"Sure."
"Look, if all your friends and acquaintances were randomly distributed across the globe – like, you're as likely to know a rice-farmer in Vietnam as your next door neighbour – then it would be quite natural that everybody seems to know everybody. But in reality, the people you know are the ones you work with, and the ones you live near."
"You're talking about nexus points."
"Right. There's a huge number of people with a smallish number of friends, and a small number of people who are hugely connected. Even Josh knows this, because it's how websites and physical servers constitute the Web. It's a straight-line graph: the more connections you're talking about, the fewer sites or servers have that number. And for disease vectors, nanoviral or not, a small number of patients are massively infectious carriers."
Suzanne said: "I've been telling Josh about complex systems, including human minds, and how they change fast, far faster than most people realise."
"Uh-huh." Yukiko nodded to Josh. "She's very fast. You understood what I meant about time-dependent networks, Suzanne?"