But here came the TV set, a great heavy box spinning away from its spindly stand, looming, filling his world, too big for him ever to avoid.

In the clean room, there was blood on the wall and floor. Sprayed there, as if with a fine hose, already drying to brown. An incongruous splash of human weakness, here in the damaged heart of this place of science.

The glove box which had held Moon rock 86047 was the centre of it. The stainless steel frame was still intact, but the thick glass had been shattered and blown outwards. Jane saw the remnants of one of the long-sleeved gloves the workers had used to manipulate the sample in its box, blown out and shredded, hurled into a corner. There was nothing left of the tools and trays the box had contained.

There were glass fragments on the floor, and punctures in the wall tiles which spoke of the ferocity of the box’s bursting. A couple of the fluorescent ceiling light strips had been blown out, making the light here an even more dead grey than usual.

Henry was talking to the lab workers here, and to a young policewoman who was taking notes. The policewoman looked tired and harassed, Jane thought; it was surprising there weren’t more police here, firemen.

Or maybe not. It was turning out to be a strange day.

Elsewhere, she saw that this lab had been turned into some kind of geologists” war room. Big Sun workstations had been commandeered; one was displaying weather satellite information, and another was scrolling what looked like infra-red images of thermal activity in the area, more satellite images, multicoloured and full of detail. There were big geological maps of the area taped hastily to the walls, and equipment, most of it unrecognizable to her, was being set up on the benches or floor, some items still in their foam-lined metal cases.

Now Henry came to Jane. He was followed by a young woman in a scorched lab coat, who seemed excited.

Henry said, “Nobody was badly hurt. We were lucky. Some lacerations and burns.”

“Burns? What happened here?”

He grinned, his fascinated expression starting to match that of the girl researcher. “The sample blew up.”

“What sample?”

“86047. The Moon rock. It was just sitting in its box, and then—” He opened his hands in a popping motion. “Like a puffball fungus.”

“It was incredible,” the girl said. “We were monitoring the changes. Tee, pee, rho, all went off the scale—”

“Temperature, pressure, density,” Henry said drily. “Jane, meet Marge Case.”

Marge Case just kept talking. “ — and when we replayed the bang we detected gamma rays, X-rays—”

“Like Venus,” Jane said.

“Maybe,” Henry said. “More like fusion products, from the layers around the very centre.”

Jane looked back at the case; there was no sign of the Moon rock. “Where is it now? Converted to energy?”

“Oh, no.” The girl laughed, and Jane could have happily struck her. “Only a fraction of the mass was destroyed, we think. Maybe one part in ten to power eleven.”

Henry thought about that. “If it was all hydrogen, that would be a sphere maybe forty microns across. At fusion temperatures and pressures.”

Jane said, “And the rest of the Moon rock—”

“Is gone,” Henry said grimly. “Converted.”

“To Moonseed?”

“Some of it. We’ll find it if we scrape the walls, no doubt.”

“It’s just incredible,” said Marge Case. Think of it. We probably had higher-order string modes, here, in this lab.”

“For a squillionth of a second,” Henry said.

“But why?” Jane asked. “Why does it do this?”

Henry shrugged. “To propagate. The Moonseed will go on to infect normal matter, create more puffball-fungus explosions, and propagate further still.”

“Like what’s happening outside.”

“We think so,” Henry said. “Although the growth isn’t even. Olivine-rich basalt is the raw material of choice…”

Jane looked from one to the other. “I don’t understand you. You seem — excited.”

“Exhilarated,” Marge Case said.

“Really?”

“Of course.” Her eyes were moist, shining in the imperfect light. “Don’t you see? It’s not just the high-energy physics. This is the discovery of the century. This may be life from another world. An utterly different mode of biology.” She looked, to Jane, as if she hadn’t slept for days, as if she’d been living on adrenaline.

“What I mostly feel is frustrated,” Henry said. “We have no time to do the science. A study like this should take years. Teams all around the world. We’re doing little more than guesswork, here. And—”

“What else?”

“…Awe, I guess,” he said. “Geologists get used to thinking big. Big timescales, huge energies, gigantic events. But I’m not used to seeing all that intrude into my own life.”

“But we’re talking about a threat to the city,” Jane said. “Screw this guff about biology and science.”

“Jane—”

“You think I’m being hysterical. But somebody needs to express what we’re really saying, here. This isn’t just some intellectual puzzle.”

Marge smiled sadly. “Isn’t it?”

Jane watched Henry. “I need to get out of here. I have to find my family.” And, here was the unspoken thought, I could use your help.

He was meeting her eyes. But now there was hesitation.

What he has here is important. His work. Maybe more important than anything else. Not for me, though He is going to have to choose.

But now Henry had turned away He was looking down.

Then she felt it. The floor was shaking.

It was slight at first, almost imperceptible, but within seconds it grew stronger. There was noise, a deep bass rumble, with grace notes added by the rattling of equipment on the benches and shelves of the room. Glass tinkling. As if some gigantic eighteen-wheeler were driving past, shaking the ground.

The shaking stopped.

Jack Dundas stood in the living room doorway. Everything was smashed to pieces The big patio doors had smashed apart. He saw his mother’s collection of CDs spilled on the floor, the player smashed beside them.

Granddad, Ted, was lying on the floor. He was on his back, his hands over his chest. He had his eyes closed.

“Granddad? Are you dead?”

Jack took a step forward. Glass fragments crunched under his trainers. He looked down; it was one of his own school photos, a grinning geeky kid in a red sweater, the frame smashed.

He went to Ted. He put his toy box down beside his grandfather. Was he dead?

He had seen reruns of old hospital shows like Casualty and ER, so he knew what to do. He reached forward nervously, and touched Ted’s neck The skin was warm. There was a pulse.

Ted coughed, and gasped for breath.

“Granddad? Granddad?”

Ted’s eyes were still closed. There was, Jack saw, blood soaking his shirt around his hands Jack reached down and took his grandfather’s wrists. They were thick and coated with wiry hair. He pulled Ted’s arms away from his chest, exposing a ripped shirt, and a bloody wound.

The wound was grisly. There was a piece of fractured rib protruding from the chest wall, surrounded by blood. The blood was bubbling.

Jack sat back, helpless, shocked.

“Jack.”

The voice was a croak, and it made the lad jump. His grandfather’s eyes were alert, on him.

“Help me. You can do it, lad. Make me sit up.”

Jack put down his box, crawled around behind Ted, and helped Ted to half-sit up, resting his head against his lap.

“That’s it… now put your hand over the wound.”

“I can’t.”

“Do it, Jack!”

Jack reached out and put his palm tentatively over the wound. Ted reached up and covered the lad’s hand with his own, pressing the hand into the wound. The feel of bone and broken flesh and bubbling made Jack want to heave, but his grandfather’s hand was warm and solid and steady.