"I neither control nor dictate. I see the trends which evolve, I'm good at that, damn good; it enables me to go with the flow. That's why Event Horizon functions so smoothly, that's what makes it such a powerful network. In this case, I'll nudge a little. But even if I didn't, and this referendum kept Wales under Westminster, the next or the one after would see them breaking free. It's happening, Victor. Separatism is evolving as the single most powerful political movement this century. And evolution is always stronger than imposed solutions."
"You really think that's the way we're going?"
"Yes. It's right for this age. It'll work. Not for ever, but it'll do until the children want to change it."
His hand began to stroke her ribs again. She snuggled up closer, looking over his chest at the bedroom's window. Wilholm's grounds were bathed in a combination of moonbeams and cool sail light. The woodland and lakes were quite enchanting like this, she thought, kissed by magic. It was the same the world over, the human race holding its breath in awe. Police had reported a drop in crime, politicians were quiet for fear of looking utterly foolish. Everybody busy gazing at the stars. Pity it wouldn't last.
The Pegasus lifted from the reservoir's mud flats while Greg was clambering up the limestone rocks. It rose straight up for a hundred metres, then peeled away to the east. He watched it blend into the darkening sky before extending a hand to help Andria up the last couple of metres.
A bonfire was blazing in the middle of the Berrybut estate away on the other side of the reservoir, its reflection dancing off the grey water. As he headed up the slope to the farmhouse he could see the pink and blue glow of charcoal on the pickers' range grill; thin streamers of smoke were spurting upwards as meat juices dripped through the soot-blackened metal mesh. People milled about in the camp field, little groups of five or six sitting on the dusty grass, passing a bottle round as they waited for the meal. A few figures were still wandering through the groves, organizing stacks of white boxes ready for tomorrow's picking.
He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it all. The three days away were so unnatural compared to this, like something he'd watched on the channels, If it hadn't been for Suzi –
"They don't bite," he said as Andria hesitated on the doorstep.
She flashed a nervous smile. Her eyes were still slightly red from crying.
The hall's biolums were on. Greg walked in to the familiar battered oak chest, the bat stand, churchwarden mirror, ancient tiles with fresh muddy footprints. He could hear rock music playing somewhere upstairs, the mechanical twangs and squeaky voices of a cartoon from the open lounge door.
"Dad!" Christine shrieked. There was a blur of motion as she flew down the stairs.
Eleanor stuck her head out of the kitchen, and smiled. Christine flung her arms round him and kissed him before he could reach Eleanor. Oliver, Anita, and Richy piled out of the lounge yelling and whooping.
"Were you really there, Dad?" Oliver asked, his eyes were round and incredulous. "Up in space when the sail unfurled?"
Greg blinked as Christine let go. "Why are you wearing your nightie?"
She laughed and did a twirl. "Do you like it? It's my new party dress."
"The channel newscasts said Aunty Julia was up there," Oliver insisted. "They never mentioned you."
Christine's shiny black dress was held up by two thin straps at the front, its back dropping almost to her rump; the skirt hem rode well above her knees.
"This is Andria," he said distractedly to the three younger children. "She'll be staying with us for a while."
Richy was chewing one of his toy cars. He tilted his head to one side, and looked up at Andria. "Why?" he asked.
"Because she's a friend, and it's nice here." Which was true enough, the farm was the best place he knew to bring up a kid, but he was going to have to come up with a better reason than that. He would try and explain about the extra baby tomorrow. Though maybe it would be better coming from Eleanor. Yes, excellent idea.
"Do you mind?" Andria asked. Richy shook his head shyly.
Greg managed to kiss Anita.
"Missed you, Dad," she whispered.
"Greg told us you used to work at a shipping office," Eleanor said.
"Yes," Andria nodded.
"How are you at accounts?"
"I shuffled some finance bytes when I was there."
"Good." Eleanor gave Greg a quick kiss and began to steer Andria towards the kitchen. "You can help me with our figures. I'm afraid I'm way behind this year."
Greg gave Oliver a strong hug. "Yes, I was up there, and so was Aunty Julia."
"The sailing star is an aspect of Gaia, isn't it, Dad?" Anita asked urgently. She threw a contemptuous glance at Oliver. "One of her angels come to show us the path to redemption."
Christine smoothed down the front of her dress. "I'm going to wear it to the dance at the Victoria Hall on Saturday. Graham's asked if he can take me. Mum said I'd have to ask you first. But it's all right if I go, isn't it, Dad?"
"Who's Graham?"
Eleanor smiled sweetly. "Supper will be late, sorry." She and Andria vanished into the kitchen.
"It's an alien monster, and Dad stopped it from eating New London," Oliver said hotly, and glared at his twin. "That's right, isn't it, Dad?"
Greg scooped up Richy, who smiled angelically and wrapped his arms round Greg's neck.
"Dad! Can I go dancing with Graham or not?"
EPILOGUE
Julia opened her eyes to pure whiteness, a smooth translucent material centimetres from her nose with sunlight shining through. She stared at it while her thoughts coalesced, as if she was waking. But there had been no sleep, she was sure of that.
Memories rose, coldly bright, every aspect of her life recalled in meticulous detail, the joy and pain undimmed by time. That was so unfair. Time was supposed to heal human angst. And there had been so much time. Centuries.
The whiteness brightened, splitting open to show a cloudless sky. She was lying inside an oval cocoon which had a texture of resilient rubber. Sunlight warmed her skin and heavy moisture-laden air rolled in. There was the distinctive sound of waves breaking on a beach. She sat up.
It was a beach, a long, curving cove with gingery sand and beautifully clear water. She could see a rocky headland about three kilometres away to her left; on the other side there was a dark line of cliffs stretching into the distance. The bluff behind her was littered with big boulders, narrow wind-blown buttresses of sandy soil gripping them tight. Blades of tough-looking reed grass struggled for a toehold above the sand, growing into a thick wiry mat at the top of the bluff. Beyond that was a band of dense vegetation. The trees were unusual, each of them had five equally spaced slender grey trunks, gradually curving inwards, their tips meeting at the centre of the pentangle. A clump of mossy indigo foliage foamed out around the conjunction, with long ribbons dangling down to the ground. She shivered in dark delight at the sheer alienness of the world.
Five metres away was another cocoon. She waited as its top dilated, then Royan sat up.
They embraced on the sand between the two cocoons, spending a long time just looking at each other, hands constantly touching and stroking for reassurance. Finally she held his gaze, and screwed her face up. "That was a bloody silly thing to do. Didn't you ever read War of the Worlds?"
He grinned. "Brought us together in the end, didn't it, Snowy?"
She groaned in mock-outrage, and hugged him tighter.
He craned his neck, searching the sky.
"There." She pointed back over the jungle. A brilliant star rising above the tree tops.