Blake smiled triumphantly. «But we could be.»

«What?»

Fakhud coughed apologetically. «I merely pointed out that this farm is on the borderland. If you did wish to switch allegiances, then in terms of realpolitik it would be possible.»

«Oh, shit.» She wanted to sink into a chair and put her head in her hands. But that would be showing both of them how weak she was.

«See?» Blake said. «It can be done. We can break free if we want to.»

«Break free? Are you insane or just retarded? This is a farm, that's all. We're not some big agricultural institution, not a major league economic asset. Just a family farm. We grow apples, strawberries, pears, and peaches. Once we've grown them, we sell them. That's all we do.»

«Sell them to a corrupt system.»

«I'm not arguing with you, Blake. This subject is now closed.»

«But—«

«Blake,» Fakhud said softly. «Amanda has made her choice. You should respect that.»

She was too surprised to say anything. I could tell you and your kind about choices and liberty, she thought. Women must obey their husbands and aren't permitted to vote.

Blake looked from one to the other, pursing his lips in sullen resentment. «Fine, OK. Keep living in the past, then. Life's changing on Nyvan, in case you hadn't noticed; Govcentral won't always rule here. I know you haven't got as much for this year's crop as you did last year. And do you think Harrisburg's councillors care? Fat arse, do they. You have to move with the times, Amanda, move away from the old colonialist policies. Just don't complain to me when they foreclose and sell the farm from under you.»

«No worries on that score.» She turned to Fakhud, who even managed to look mildly embarrassed. «Time for you to go.»

«You are correct. And I apologize for bringing disharmony to the lives of such decent people as yourselves. I never meant to cause any trouble.»

«Not here,» she said scathingly.

He bowed his head.

Jane appeared in the doorway. «People coming.»

«Who?» Amanda asked.

«Dunno. They're on horses, four of them.»

«Shit.» Amanda glared at Fakhud. «Police?»

«I regret, that is a strong possibility.»

«Oh great. Just bloody wonderful.»

«All you have done is treat a man who claimed to have fallen from his horse. As I told you, it was for the best. It would go badly upon you for harbouring fugitives otherwise.»

«Please, don't use your weapon. My son is here, and the pickers are completely innocent.»

«In the name of Allah the compassionate, you have my word I shall not. Do you intend to turn me over to them?»

Amanda licked her lips, mind awhirl with indecision. He was too proud to plead, holding his head stiffly, though his forehead was beaded by sweat. For the first time, Blake was looking worried, his cockiness dissolving under her stare. The implications of what he'd done were finally sinking in. If nothing else, she was pleased about that.

«I don't know,» she said. If Fakhud was what she suspected then she ought to run out yelling for the police. But . . . the Security Ministry was dealing out a lot of rough justice these days, all in the name of quelling and discouraging the disturbances . Even a criminal deserved a fair trial; she'd never abandoned that belief. «I'll see what they have to say first. Blake, at least get him out of the kitchen; they'll be able to see him from the farmyard.»

«Right. The cold cellar?»

«Up to you.» Don't incriminate yourself, think of Guy.

Amanda went out into the farmyard, carefully closing the bottom half of the kitchen door behind her as she went. A big hound was already trotting in through the open gate. It took a considerable effort on her part not to scurry back into the kitchen. The creature must have been genetically modified, powerful muscles flowed smoothly under a short shiny-black hide. Its ancestry was more big game cat than canine.

«Probably affinity-bonded,» Jane said. «Remember, that means its master can hear and see everything it can.»

Amanda didn't trust her voice, she simply nodded.

«I'll go and get the pickers.» Jane turned slowly, and began walking towards the southern orchard. The hound swung its head to follow her, but didn't make any other move.

They were police. Their distinctive blue-grey tunics were visible while they were still a couple of hundred metres from the farm. Amanda waited patiently as the four horses walked unhurriedly towards her. She hated the arrogance of their approach, the way she was made to feel inferior, not worth them making an effort over.

Sergeant Derry was the leader, a black woman who must have massed nearly twice Amanda's body-weight. It wasn't fat, just muscle bulk. Amanda wondered what the woman's blood chemistry would be like to produce that kind of grotesque growth; she must have received several hormone gland implants. Her white and beige stallion was built on the same scale, carrying her without any noticeable discomfort. The three constables riding with her were normal men.

«You're the owner here?» Sergeant Derry asked.

«That's right.»

«Hmm.» Derry's optronic lens flashed up a file, sending minute green and red script scrolling over her right iris. «Amanda Foxon. Lived here by yourself since your husband died. Grandfather was granted full land title under first settlement law.» She grinned and swivelled round to scan the farmyard and the orchards beyond. «Very nice, very cosy. Your family seems to have done all right for itself, Amanda Foxon.»

«Thank you.» The pickers, led by Jane, began to filter into the farmyard. Even their presence didn't do much for Amanda's confidence.

«Well, well.» Derry grinned round. «Look at what we have got ourselves here. This has got to be the sorriest old collection of Jew boys and girls I've seen in a long time. I really hope you all have your ID chips.»

«We have,» Jane said.

It was the awful fatigue in her voice which kindled Amanda's anger, the hopelessness of the eternally beleaguered. «They're working for me,» she barked up at the Sergeant. «I don't have a single complaint.»

«Glad to hear it,» Derry said. She was looking at each of the pickers in turn, her optronic lens imaging their faces. «But we can't be too careful with the likes of these, now can we?»

«I'm sure you can't.»

«Where are you all from?»

«I'm from Harrisburg,» Jane said. «The Manton suburb.»

«I know it, you people turned it into a real shithole. What are you doing here, then?»

Jane smiled. «Picking fruit.»

«Don't smartmouth me, bitch.»

The hound growled, a low rumbling as its black rubber mouth drew back to expose long yellowed fangs. Jane flinched, but held her ground.

«They're picking fruit,» Amanda said forcefully. «I asked them here to do it, and they're excellent workers. Their private lives are none of your business.»

«Wrong, Amanda Foxon. What they get up to in private is always police business.»

«You're being ridiculous.»

«Am I? You live in Harrisburg county, an original family, so you and your son will be Christians, then?»

«No, we'll be atheists, actually.»

Derry shook her head ponderously. «It doesn't work like that. You'll understand eventually. If they take a shine to this area, every neighbour you have is going to be a Jew in five years' time. It's like a goddamn invasion force; ask the decent people who used to live in Manton. They turn the local schools over to teaching their creed, their wholesalers will come in and set up a new commercial network, one that doesn't include you. This farm will get frozen out ready for a nice kosher family to take it over at way below what it's worth, because no one else will touch it. The only way your precious Guy will get to carry on here is if he gets circumcised and you book him in for his bar mitzvah.»

«You're quite pathetic. Do you know that?»