She vanished. The handsome anchorman smiled out. Gerald shrieked in anguish, and started pummelling the holoscreen with all his strength. “Marie. Come back. Come back to me.” Smears of blood from torn knuckles dribbled down the anchorman’s tanned features.

“Oh, Christ,” the first supervisor grunted. He aimed a nervejam stick at Gerald’s back and fired. Gerald froze, then his limbs started to quake fiercely. A long wretched wail fluted out of his lips as he crumpled onto the floor. He managed to gasp one last piteous “Marie” before unconsciousness claimed him.

Chapter 14

Given the propensity for mild paranoia among Tranquillity’s plutocrats, medical facilities were always one aspect of the habitat never short of investment and generous charitable donations. Consequentially, and in this case fortuitously, there was always a degree of overcapacity. After twenty years of what amounted to chronic underuse, the Prince Michael Memorial Hospital’s pediatric ward was now chock full. A situation which produced a permanent riot along its broad central aisle during the day.

When Ione called in, half of the kids from Lalonde were chasing each other over beds and around tables, yelling ferociously. The game was possessed and mercenaries, and mercenaries always won. The two rampaging teams charged past Ione, neither knowing nor caring who she was (her usual escort of serjeants had been left outside). A harassed Dr Giddings, the head of the pediatric department, caught sight of his prestigious visitor and hurried over. He was in his late twenties, effusiveness and a lanky frame marrying to produce a set of hectic, rushed mannerisms whenever he spoke. His face inclined towards chubby, which gave him an engagingly boyish appearance. Ione wondered if he’d undergone cosmetic tailoring; that face would be so instantly trustworthy to children, a big brother you could always confide in.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry,” he blurted. “We had no idea you were coming.” He tried to reseal the front of his white house tunic, glancing around fretfully at the ward. Cushions and bedclothes were scattered everywhere, colourful animatic dolls waddled around, either laughing or repeating their catch phrases. (Probably wasted, Ione thought, none of these children would recognize the idols from this season’s AV shows.)

“I don’t think I’d be very popular if you made them clean up just for me,” Ione said with a smile. “Besides, I’ve been watching them for the last few days. I’m really only here to confirm they’re adapting properly.”

Dr Giddings gave her a careful glance, using his fingers to comb back some of his floppy ginger hair. “Oh, yes, they’re adapting all right. But then children are always easy to bribe. Food, toys, clothes, trips into the parkland, every kind of outdoor game they can play. Never fails. This is Heaven’s holiday camp as far as they’re concerned.”

“Aren’t they homesick?”

“Not really. I’d describe them as parent-sick more than anything. Separation causes some psychological problems, naturally.” He gestured around. “But as you can see, we’re doing our best to keep them busy, that way they don’t have time to think about Lalonde. It’s easier with the younger ones. Some of the older ones are proving recalcitrant; they can be prone to moodiness. But again, I don’t think it’s anything serious. Not in the short term.”

“And in the long term?”

“Long term, the only real cure is to get them back to Lalonde and their parents.”

“That’s going to have to wait, I’m afraid. But you’ve certainly done a wonderful job with them.”

“Thank you,” Dr Giddings murmured.

“Is there anything else you need?” Ione asked.

Dr Giddings pulled a face. “Well, medically they’re all fine now apart from Freya and Shona; and the nanonic packages are taking good care of those two. They should be healed within a week. So, as I said, what the rest could really do with right now is a strong, supportive family environment. If you were to appeal for foster families, I’m sure we’d have enough volunteers.”

“I’ll have Tranquillity put out an announcement, and make sure the news studios mention it.”

Dr Giddings grinned in relief. “That’s very kind, thank you. We were worried people might not come forwards, but I’m sure that if you back the appeal personally . . .”

“Do my best,” she said lightly. “Do you mind if I wander around?”

“Please.” He half bowed, half stumbled.

Ione walked on down the aisle, stepping around a thrilled three-year-old girl who was dancing with, and cuddling, a fat animatic frog in a bright yellow waistcoat.

The twin rows of beds had channelled an avalanche of toys along the main aisle. Holomorph stickers were colonizing the walls and even some of the furniture, their cartoon images swelling up from the surface to run through their cycle, making it appear as if the polyp were flexing with rainbow diffraction patterns. A blue-skinned imp appeared to be the favourite; picking its nose, then flicking disgusting tacky yellow bogies at anyone passing by. No medical equipment was actually visible, it was all built unobtrusively into the walls and bedside cabinets.

The far end opened up into a lounge section, with a big table where they all sat around for meals. Its curving wall had two large oval windows which provided a panoramic view out past the curving habitat shell. Right now Tranquillity was above Mirchusko’s nightside, but the rings glinted as if they were arches of frosted glass, and the smooth beryl orb of Falsia shone with a steady aquamarine hue. The stars continued their eternal orbit around the habitat.

A girl had made a broad nest of cushions in front of a window, snuggling down in them to watch the astronomical marvels roll past her. According to the neural strata’s local memory, she’d been there for a couple of hours—a ritual practised every day since Lady Mac had arrived.

Ione hunched down beside her. She looked about twelve, with short-cropped hair so blond it was almost silver.

What’s her name?ione asked.

Jay Hilton. She’s the oldest of the group, and their leader. She is one of the moody ones Dr Giddings mentioned.

“Hello, Jay.”

“I know you.” Jay managed an aslant frown. “You’re the Lord of Ruin.”

“Oh, dear, you’ve found me out.”

“Thought so. Everyone said my hair is the same as yours.”

“Hum, they’re almost right; I’m growing mine a bit longer these days.”

“Father Horst cut mine.”

“He did a good job.”

“Of course he did.”

“Cutting hair isn’t the only thing he did right by all accounts.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not joining in with the games much, are you?”

Jay wrinkled her nose up contemptuously. “They’re just kids’ games.”

“Ah. You prefer the view then?”

“Sort of. I’ve never seen space before. Not real space, like this. I thought it was just empty, but this is always different. It’s so pretty with the rings and everything. So’s the parkland, too. Tranquillity’s nice all over.”

“Thank you. But wouldn’t you be better off in the parkland? It’s healthier than sitting here all day long.”

“Suppose so.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No. It’s just . . . I think it’s safer here, that’s all.”

“Safer?”

“Yes. I talked to Kelly on the flight here, we were in the spaceplane together. She showed me all the recordings she’d made. Did you know the possessed were frightened of space? That’s why they make the red cloud cover the sky, so they don’t have to see it.”

“I remember that part, yes.”

“It’s sort of funny if you think about it, the dead scared of the dark.”

“Thank heavens they’re scared of something, I say. Is that why you like sitting here?”

“Yes. This is like the night; so I’ll be safe from them here.”

“Jay, there are no possessed in Tranquillity, I promise.”