Hamish Macrae had mastered the seduction of humour, she thought. He had grown up a lot since that lift shaft.

And here, as Henry had appeared to expect, was Mike, sitting among the cultists. He was still wearing a white lab coat, which stood out among the pastel colours of the cultists” pyjamas.

Jane moved forward — she had to step over a few rows of cultists, who dipped out of her way with gentle smiles — and hissed until she had Mike’s attention. He looked back at Bran as if wistfully, but he unfolded his legs, stood and climbed out to her.

Henry spoke first. “I was worried about you. We missed you at work.”

Mike seemed surprised. “You did?”

“Well, Marge Case makes lousy coffee. Anyhow, you don’t have the pyjamas for this.”

Mike smiled weakly. “Pyjamas will be provided.”

“When?” Jane snapped. “When you all beam up to the fucking mother ship?”

Mike wasn’t reacting. “You can’t mock this, you know. Bran mocks himself.”

“Yeah,” Henry said. “I noticed. He’s smart.”

“Dad thinks we should get out of here,” Jane said. “Out of the city. We want you to come. We need you.” She hesitated. “Jack needs you.”

Mike frowned. “I think I’m needed here.”

“Why?” Jane said sharply. “To atone?”

Mike wouldn’t reply.

Henry touched her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

She flared. “We can’t just leave this little arsehole.”

“What are you going to do, slug him and haul him over your shoulder? You know, these guys will have to come off this rock soon anyhow. The rate of progress of the dust—”

“Moonseed,” Mike said.

“What?”

“That’s what Bran calls it. Moonseed.”

Jane said, “Why?”

“Because it comes from the Moon.”

She held Mike’s arm, just for a moment. “We’ll be waiting,” she said.

He nodded tightly, already looking back at Bran.

“Moonseed,” Henry said. “It’s a better word than quicksand. But it’s still just a word.”

“I think Mike’s gone crazy,” she said.

“No. You mustn’t think that. None of them are crazy. Bran isn’t crazy. I think Bran has looked at the same evidence as me and come to the same conclusions, in some way I don’t understand. Now, given all that, how is Mike supposed to react?”

She felt herself get more angry. “This is all bullshit.”

But Henry was still talking. “In a way Bran’s thinking has gone far beyond mine; he isn’t questioning the data he sees, or trying to construct hypotheses about it. He is already trying to deal with the consequences. He was brought up to expect a lack of disturbance. A stable world to live in. A long life. Hell, we all were. Now, that’s gone. Bran is offering a way out. At least an explanation. Very skilfully presented. And Mike, and the others, are accepting that. I can’t blame them for that.”

“But it’s all guff.”

“I agree. But I don’t have a smarter alternative to offer anybody right now. Do you?” He studied her. “So why are you so angry today?”

“Because of Mike. Because of you, you smug bastard.”

“No,” he said.

No, she thought. Because I don’t want this to be happening. I want it to be yesterday, when I still had control of my life.

His hand covered hers. “I know,” he said.

“What?”

“About Mike.” He glanced at her. “That’s it, isn’t it? The quarantine breach. How it got out.”

“Yes. And it’s killing him.”

“He couldn’t have known. It wasn’t his fault. If we can get him to—”

A soft warble came from his jacket pocket; he pulled out his mobile phone. He opened it up and listened. “Yeah… Shit.”

“What?”

“Something at the lab. An explosion. I have to go.” He paused a moment, unwilling to leave her. “There’s nothing you can do about Mike now. Come with me. Then we’ll go to your family, and get the hell out of here.”

She hesitated for a second, looking back at the crowds at the base of Arthur’s Seat, her brother among them.

And, visible at the heart of the concentric circles of people milling and laughing and arguing, there was the Moonseed pool, spread like parachute fabric over the Seat. It glimmered softly, the familiar contours of the Seat slowly dissolving into its silky, seductive smoothness; and the silent light-bursts at its perimeter came steadily now, as the Moonseed ate its way through the ancient basalt.

She grabbed Henry’s hand, and they started to run.

15

When Ted Dundas got back from the train wreck, he found the house empty, save for Jack.

Jack stared at the blood and dirt on Ted’s face. Ted let him get used to it. It wouldn’t be the last blood he’d see.

The lad had done a good job of assembling the supplies his mother had asked for. They were stacked up in the hall, blankets and cans and camping gear and clothes. Good kid. Ted made a few suggestions. Anything run by battery, like torches and radios. Any batteries they had, in fact. His own old wind-up watch. Any kind of bottle or container they could find, filled up with clean water. Any medicines in the house. Clothes, for hot weather, cold, wet, snow. Towels, for Christ’s sake.

Jack showed him his own stuff, a shoebox of toys and books he was taking. Some kind of spaceship, wings shaped like a black sycamore seed, so worn from play it had hardly any paint left at all. A book, some trashy thing about a virtual reality Gulliver’s Travels theme park, the spine broken from rereading. And so on.

But the lad had only allowed himself this one box. He looked up at Ted seriously. He understands. Ted ruffled Jack’s hair.

Ted gave Jack the keys to the car, and said he should start packing up. Then Ted went to his bedroom, stripped off, and ran a deep, hot bath. There ought to be time for this, and it might be a while before he got another chance. He showered first, to scrape off the worst of the gash, and then climbed in.

Lying in the tub, he made plans.

As near as he could make out, it was as if an earthquake was hitting the area. So: when the earthquake comes, what do you do? He dug into his memory, the emergency training he’d had as a copper.

Run for the hills. But first, prepare the home. Batten down all loose objects. Fill the bath tub and the sinks with water. Switch off the electricity and gas. If he had time, put duct tape on the windows to prevent falling glass.

Find ways to mitigate the problem, not add to it.

He got out of the bath, towelled himself briskly, and pulled on fresh clothes.

He thought about Ruth Clark, a couple of doors down.

It would be murder trying to get Ruth to come away without her damn moggie. Well, he should try; there would be room in the car.

He walked out to the living room, drying his hair.

His relationship with Ruth had never exactly caught fire. And it had been inhibited further since Jane and Jack had come back home to live. Still, when he thought about the future, he’d always pictured Ruth somewhere in it. And he liked to think she thought of him the same way. And—

The floor was buckling, the carpet gathering in a fold.

Oh, Christ.

It happened in a second. It was as if the house had collapsed around him. Furniture fell, plaster showered down from the ceiling, his wife’s collection of painted plates tipped gently off the Welsh dresser to the floor.

He found himself on his knees, as if someone had tugged the floor out from under him.

He heard the house frame crack, a window explode somewhere. So much for planning. Where was the lad?…

Later. He had to get through this himself. If he could get under the big dining room table—

The floor bucked, and he was thrown flat.

Jack was screaming.

Ted rolled on his back. Jack was somehow standing in the doorway, clutching his box of toys; he was crying.

Ted tried to sit up.