"Eight days. In addition to your physical injuries you were suffering from advanced cerebral stress due to an overdose of neurohormones. I've loaded a prohibition order into your cortical node preventing any gland secretions. Come back in three months, and I'll wipe the order; or you might consider having the gland itself extracted." His nose twitched. "I don't approve of them, personally."

"Thank you, Doctor." Julia's cut-crystal voice chopped off any further admonishments. "That will be all."

The doctor sighed resignedly, and backed away.

Greg turned his head, He was in a small tidy room with plenty of medical gear modules stacked beside the bed. A picture window looked out over sunny parkland dotted with grazing llamas.

The bed was elevating him smoothly into a sitting position. His arms lay outside the ochre blankets. A chalky-coloured bioware bladder had been inflated around his left hand, trailing scores of fine fibre-optic cables to the gear modules, its nutrient fluid veins pulsing rhythmically. Just as well, he didn't particularly fancy looking at the hand.

Julia was wearing a crinkled navy-blue sundress. The skirt was shorter than her usual, its hem hovering well above her knees. She was watching him with silent diligence.

"The hair's nice," Greg told her. Tiny corkscrew curls had fluffed it out into a candyfloss cloud. A chain of minute blue flowers formed a delicate tiara above her brow. Given a posy of primroses she would've made a good bridesmaid, he thought.

"Oh, you think so?" A dainty long-fingered hand lifted to pat a few of the more wayward strands. "Adrian likes it this way."

"Lucky old Adrian."

The door closed behind the doctor.

Julia's face fell, giving him a woeful stare. "I'm so sorry, Greg. Really I am. None of this need have happened. It's all my fault."

"Don't be silly."

"But it is."

Greg listened as she launched into an explanation about the Cray files, her mistrust, the St. Christopher. There was no energy in him to power any strong feelings about it, one way or the other, anger or despair. The issue seemed an abstract. It was over, all it could ever be now was an exercise in 'what if'. The whole bloody great cock-up was down to his over-reliance on mystic intuition, treating it as infallible, giving logical thought the big elbow. His own stupid fault.

He let out a long dispirited sigh, and said, "Forgiven. Besides, you were right, I should've seen Ellis's connection with the PSP. And I missed Steven as well. That's got to make us quits."

"Really? Did you really mean you forgive me?" She was studying his face, trepidation lurking in her expressive tawny eyes.

Julia wanted absolution, so he smiled and said, "Yeah, I really do. No messing." He'd sought it for himself often enough. He could hardly deny her.

She flashed him a hundred-watt grin and sat on the edge of the bed. "I've been terrified of you waking up all week. You were the last loose end. I've made my peace with everyone else."

"Everyone?" His thoughts moved slowly. "Hey, what about Gabriel?"

"She's all right. Everyone is all right now. Treating you all at the clinic was the least I could do." Her lips came together pensively. "They took Gabriel's gland out two days ago. She insisted, said it was part of her deal."

That would take a while to sink in, Greg knew. Gabriel without her gland would be interesting. Maybe she'd even get back into shape, take part in life. Nice idea.

"How did you get us out?" Greg asked.

"Oh, Teddy and Morgan Walshaw jumped a Prowler over to Wisbech about twenty minutes after the blast. I wanted to go." Her face hardened slightly at the memory. "They both said no. Only thing those two ever did agree on."

"Teddy? How do you know Teddy?"

Julia's smile was taunting. "You've got a bit of catching up to do. I'll let Eleanor explain. I pulled rank to be here when they woke you, but I'd better not stay much longer or she'll be bashing the door down to get at you. She's good at that."

The smile turned devilish. "I might've known you'd prefer the buxom type. And you're lucky to have her, Greg. We've spent a lot of time talking this last week. I've got to know her quite well. She's a smashing girl."

"You think I don't know?"

Julia nodded in satisfaction. "Good. You'll be quite all right to have children, by the way. The Merlin's isotopes were left in orbit, there was no radioactive fallout."

"You did it. You shut it down."

"Yah. It was all I had, Greg. I told you, I knew it was Kendric who was behind the blitz; somehow, somewhere along the line, he'd be there. I didn't know who to trust. The Merlin was the one global-range weapon which was totally under my direct control, I didn't have to go through anyone, ask anyone's permission. My executive code gave me unlimited access to the Astronautics Institute's memory cores. I pulled the Merlin's command codes, and used them to put it into stasis. I was going to kill Kendric with it. When he was out at sea on the Mirriam, where no one else could get hurt. The Merlin can fly twelve million kilometres and find a rock two hundred metres across; dropping it three and half thousand kilometres on to a sixty-metre target is no problem. All I'd need to do was place a satellite call to Kendric, and I'd have Mirriam's position down to a metre, constantly updated. Not that I needed a direct hit; even with its isotopes and ninety per cent of its fuel dumped, the Merlin still masses over a tonne. And, well, you saw how big a kinetic punch it packed travelling at that velocity."

"Yeah, I saw. What did happen to Kendric? I survived."

Julia glanced out at the grassland beyond the window, expression neutral. "They only brought you and Gabriel back. I didn't ask. You can if you want."

"No. Not necessary." Not with Teddy in the rescue party. Walshaw too, come to that; maybe especially Walshaw.

Julia bent over and touched her lips to his, a soft dry kiss. "First time," she murmured huskily. "Thank you, Greg." There was a draught of some expensive Parisian scent, then she was standing up briskly. "Memento for you." She hung the St. Christopher on the bedpost. "Don't worry, it doesn't work any more."

"Pity, I'd feel safer."

"Must dash, got a lesson with Royan. He's teaching me to write proper hotrod software."

Greg almost asked. But settled for hearing it from Eleanor instead.

Julia opened the door. Eleanor stood outside, looking grand even in the shapeless white clinic robe she was wearing. There was something not quite right about the way she walked, and the skin on her face seemed to be peeling, except for two patches around her eyes.

The two girls exchanged a glance as they passed. Smiled knowingly.

"All yours," said Julia.