I noticed that some of the new growth was pink. Not a good sign.

The Chtorran plants were more aggressive than Earth ones. If the native plants were already established, that was enough advantage for them to survive; but given an area where they had to compete on equal terms, the Chtorran plants would take hold every time. Burning out the Chtorran growth wouldn't work. It would just come back over and over. That was another problem that would have to be addressed.

I came out on the coast road. The Pacific Ocean was bright with reflected sun. The highway looped across green fields and along the shore. I stopped the Jeep and stood up to look over the windshield. The wind came stiff and cold across the grass, carrying the smell of raw salt air. High above, a seagull wheeled and hawked across the sky, spreading seagull screams as it went. I could smell seaweed on the beach.

For a moment, I almost forgot there was a war. For a moment, I almost forgot the confusion in my head. Jason. . .

He wasn't going to give up.

He'd keep his word. I could depend on that. He'd find me and he'd kill me.

If he was still alive.

Maybe I'd gotten him first. And maybe not. There was no way to know.

No.

I had to put him behind me. Logically -I had to be logical about this-there was no way for him to find me. Logically, I wasn't worth the trouble.

Forget him. It's over.

Go somewhere quiet and figure out what to do next.

I released the brake and let the Jeep ease forward. South.

A few kilometers down the road there was a sign that read, "New Peninsula Turnoff. Next Right." I took it.

Twenty-three years ago, a development company had sunk five gigantic turbines into the ocean current off the coast of California. They had been supplying most of Santa Cruz's power ever since. But during the off-use hours of midnight to six A.M., their power was diverted into an underwater shoal of metal and junk. The reaction of electricity and seawater produced an accretion around the metal: a growth like coral, but with the strength of concrete.

Over a period of years, an entire peninsula was grown. Tons of landfill were deposited on the concrete shoal. Solid waste from all over the state was transported to the site. A landscape had been constructed along the length of it, and a private little vacation village had been constructed at the tip.

The village had been built to be a model of technology. It had free electricity from the ocean turbines. That power was also used to distill fresh water. The extra heat was used to heat every building on the peninsula and provide hot water as well. There was an underground-underwater network of service tubes and access bays.

I knew all this from the articles I'd read in the Sunday Features. I came around a curve and I could see it in the distance. It was almost an island. A mountain had been constructed where the peninsula touched the shore.

The peninsula was a southward-pointing loop. A long concrete bridge curved around a huge recreation lagoon and touched the peninsula on the westward side. This was the only access to the village.

As I turned onto the bridge, I realized just how effectively this whole thing had been designed. I wondered if the Disney people had been involved. For just a moment, I had the impression that I was driving straight into the ocean, then the bridge began to curve and I was coming across the water toward a glimmering seaside fantasy. The village shone in the midday sun. There were domes and towers and clustered places of arches and arcades, all flashing shades of pink and gold and white. The effect was dazzling. I knew how it had been done; they were made of a kind of foamed glass concrete; it hardened to a shiny stucco-like surface with the albedo of tile; even if you could chip it, all that you would do would be to reveal more of the same shimmering surface, but even knowing how the effect was done did not diminish its magic.

The drawbridge was down and I rolled across it slowly.

The gateway to the village was a simple arch; I suspected that it was also a frame for security devices, but it was so elegantly designed it looked more like a friendly welcome.

I rolled past wide lawns. Three robot gardeners were trimming hedges. Two more were trimming the grass with laser-mowers. You could land airplanes on this field.

Directly ahead of me was a forest, and all the plants were green joyously, verdantly green. There were tall palm trees with green fronds waving in the air, gnarly Monterey pines curling like dragon claws, and sparkling yellow aspen with leaves glittering like golden petals in the bright noonday sun. Slender eucalyptus trees stretched against the crisp blue sky. There were graceful elms and thick-trunked oaks and sheltering willows lining the streets. Every building seemed to be nestled within a garden or a pool or a shady nook. Huge ferns cascaded over walls. There wasn't a red or pink plant in sight. The Chtorran infestation hadn't touched here yet. If you had the power, you could do anything.

I felt as if I'd found Paradise, a tiny piece of it at least. Even the air smelled green.

Except-the streets were deserted. It couldn't be Paradise without people. But I didn't see any other vehicles. I eased the Jeep forward.

The roadway turned. It formed a loop around the entire peninsula. The center of the loop was a lush green wilderness, a kilometer wide and seven kilometers long: the village had been constructed around, and probably under as well, a deep sheltering park. A shallow stream fed down from the mountains, filling the park with a network of freshwater ponds. Here and there, I could see ornate Japanese bridges arching high over the brook. Each area of the park seemed to have its own separate personality. Here was a wide field, there a sheltered copse, here a rocky outcrop. It beckoned the onlooker; it invited you to explore.

The south end of the loop led past what had once been a mall of restaurants and theatres and community buildings. As it turned back north, these gave way to hotels, condominiums, and apartments, two or three blocks of them. These gave way to clustered houses and finally estates.

The north end of the loop paused at the base of the man-made mountain, the hiking ridge, and then turned south again, through another residential district to a hospital, a courthouse, and a sheriff's office. Here the road turned back out onto the bridge. Traffic here was intended to be all one way. It took less than ten minutes to circle the entire village.

Abruptly, a gaggle of naked screaming children burst out of the bushes ahead of me; they were charging happily across the street. I stood on the brakes and brought the Jeep to a screeching halt. Some of the children stopped and stared. Others darted around the vehicle and kept going.

Three teenage girls in dripping wet bathing suits came out of the park after the children. They looked like they were trying to herd them, and not doing a very good job of it.

A fourth girl, dressed in blue jeans and carrying a bullhorn, followed after. She started calling the children back to her. "All right, now: form a circle. Everybody. Come on, quickly now."

She had dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin. She glanced up once and saw me watching them. An expression of annoyance flickered across her face, then she turned back to her job. "All right, I don't think you're being noisy enough, kids! Let's see how much noise you can make!"

The children were delighted at the opportunity. They started screaming and hollering.

"Oh, boo-I can hardly hear you. I thought you said you were going to make some noise!"

The children laughed and screamed even louder. They jumped up and down and waved their arms in the air and hooted and whooped like Indians. I figured there were at least forty of them. They were all sizes, all ages, all colors. Less than half of them were white. I'd heard the plagues were hardest on Caucasian and Asian people.