Toby looked up, startled.

"Enemies? Do you mean The Recollection?"

Hind turned back into the room.

"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."

He walked across to Toby and put his hands on the younger man's shoulders.

"Listen, Drake," he said, voice level, eyes burning with an intensity belying his age. "For you are the first non-Acolyte to hear this.

"The war that spawned The Recollection also spawned the Gnarl. But unlike the red cloud that now endangers us, the Gnarl was not conceived as a weapon. It was built in the last moments of that conflict, by minds infinitely superior to ours. Minds who foresaw their death at the hands of The Recollection and wanted to protect the younger races from a similar fate."

"So they built the Gnarl?"

"They designed it as a saviour. A god, if you like. It found the Dho and raised them from a mediaeval culture. It helped them build and power this vast Ark.

"And then it found us."

In the cavern, the Dho's chanting became louder and faster. The writhing mass above them seemed to swell.

Hind put his hand to Toby's cheek.

"The Gnarl built the arch network to get us out into space. And at the centre of the network, at the Prime Radiant, it built the Bubble Belt to be our Ark."

Toby tried to pull away, but the old man had a firm grip on him. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Gnarl drifting towards them through the air of the cavern, its surface crawling with patterns and symbols.

"That's where you come in," Hind said.

Toby struggled. "Me?"

"The Ark needs a pilot."

The glowing Gnarl was almost at the window now. Static sparked off metal objects. Toby felt his hair standing on end. He stopped wriggling and looked down at the old man in astonishment.

"You've seen the simulation," Hind said. "You know the whole Belt can be moved. Well, the Gnarl built that for us. It's given us a means of escape. But it doesn't know where we want to go."

"Neither do I!"

Hind pulled Toby down to him.

"You will," he whispered fiercely.

Then, without warning, he stepped back and shoved Toby in the chest with both bony hands. Caught off guard, Toby staggered back. His heel caught on the window sill and he cried out in alarm as he toppled into the cavern, his hands flailing desperately for purchase.

And the Gnarl caught him.

He sank into its gluey, ever-changing embrace, felt it invade every orifice and pore. His whole life unfurled before his eyes, opening out like a map spread on a tabletop.

And everything changed.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR.

MOTHER.

The Ameline came down on the lawn in front of the hospital, its jets scorching a wide circle of the grass to black ash. As soon as its landing struts hit the dirt, it popped its rear airlock. Kat and Verne spilled out, guns at the ready, heads turning back and forth, alert for threats. They covered each other as they descended the ladder, then ran from the residual heat of the main engine exhausts.

"This way," Kat said.

She ran towards a set of glass doors in the main hospital building. Beyond the building, she could see the familiar red stain of a Recollection outbreak. Like molten lava, it oozed between and around the office blocks and department stores of the town centre. Where it passed, the buildings crumbled, their walls eaten from below, their concrete, glass and stone broken down and converted into more tiny machines to add to the tide. She heard sirens and alarms. Vehicles wove crazily along half-choked streets, searching for escape.

"We don't have much time," she said.

The hospital doors opened as she approached, and she ran through into the deserted foyer beyond. The hospital had been abandoned. Her boots crunched over the broken remains of dropped coffee mugs, knocked-over plant pots, and discarded items of medical equipment. Wheelchairs lay on their sides. Patients, some still attached to intravenous drips, staggered around looking for help. Overhead, the strip lights flickered and buzzed as the electrical power fluctuated.

"Don't use the elevators," Verne panted, coming up behind her.

"No need." She pointed one of her guns down a corridor leading off into the distance, its ceiling hung with signs giving the names and functions of the wards. "Halfway down, on the right."

She set off again, boots making a thunderous clamour in the confined space.

"How are we doing?" she asked the ship via her implant.

> We're down to single-digit minutes. Maybe less. Don't hang about.

"I don't intend to. Keep the engines warm."

Intent on this exchange, she ran past the door she wanted. Her feet slithered to a halt on the vinyl floor. Running close behind, Verne almost crashed into her.

"In here," she gasped.

The door to the storage facility stood open. The lights were still flickering. Inside, ranks of freezers receded into the gloom. Red warning lights blinked on their monitor panels, indicating loss of power. Kat ran to the nearest and used her prosthetic hand to start yanking open doors. Cold mist swirled around her.

Body parts.

Organs half-grown from cloned cells.

A tray of partially-developed ears.

Verne hunched over the workstation by the door, accessing the computer terminal on the desk, scanning lists of freezer contents.

"Try seven forty-two," he called.

Kat looked up. Each freezer had a number stencilled on the top of the door.

> Captain, we need to leave.

She ran down the row until she found the one she needed, and hauled back the heavy metal door.

Babies.

Hundreds and hundreds of babies.

Trays filled every shelf, and transparent flasks filled every tray, each one with a tiny embryo suspended within. The trays were labelled by year. Feverishly, she sorted through until she found the right one. Her flask was near the back, the name Abdulov-K printed on its label, above a barcode. With shaking hands, she lifted it clear.

"Got it," she said.

Inside the flask: a small, red clump of cells about the size of a grain of rice.

It meant nothing.

It meant everything.

Verne called, "Kat, come on!"

She pushed the flask into the pocket of her ship suit and made to go.

Stopped after a couple of steps.

Turned around.

Hundreds and hundreds of babies.

In her mind, she heard the wailing of The Recollection's captured souls, and knew she couldn't leave. Instead, she began pulling out the trays.

> Hurry it up. We've got incoming.

Verne came running.

"What are you doing?"

"Shut up and help me."

There were more trays than they could possibly carry between them. Desperately, she cast around.

"Find me a stretcher," she said. "One with wheels."

Minutes later, they burst from the hospital foyer pushing a stretcher piled with trays upon trays of flasks. Thick smoke filled the air. Gunfire crackled in the street. A few hundred metres away, a phalanx of red stick zombies lurched in their direction. Behind the shambling figures, the creeping infection ate its way along the road like an incoming tide. Somewhere in the buildings to either side, human soldiers fired into the shambling ranks from windows and doorways. A helicopter whirred overhead, spiralling crazily, and disappeared behind the shops on the other side of the street. A couple of seconds later, the ground shook with the force of its impact, and a greasy fireball appeared over the rooftops.

"Get to the ship," Kat panted, un-holstering her guns. "I'll cover you."

She started to move sideways, keeping herself between the blood-coloured zombies and the stretcher of rescued foetuses. She held the pistols at arms' length, ready to fire.

Behind her, Verne gave a grunt as he bent to push.

"Come on," she urged.

Across the lawn, the Ameline squatted on its landing shocks, the black bulge of the Dho weapon like a fat leech clinging to the underside of its bows.

"Open the cargo doors and lower the ramp," she told the ship. "We're bringing something aboard."

Screams rang from a nearby building. She exchanged a glance with Verne.

"Keep going," she said. They couldn't rescue everybody.

Already, over the screams, she could hear the wail emanating from the zombies and the tide of red that dogged their heels. They were maybe fifty metres away now. She squeezed off an experimental shot. One of the lumbering figures twitched and staggered, then righted itself and kept coming.

"Katherine," the zombies chanted in unison. "Katherine Abdulov."

She took aim at another of the figures and fired again, both guns at once, aiming for its head. Her shots caught it dead centre, right in the middle of what passed for its face, and its head burst like a balloon full of dark red paint. With satisfaction, she watched it drop to its knees and fall, only to be overtaken and absorbed by the advancing tide behind it.

She heard Verne curse and looked over her shoulder. The stretcher's rubber wheels weren't designed to be used on grass, and kept sliding, spinning the wrong way on their casters.

"Hurry it up," she said.

Verne gave her a look and swore under his breath.

When she turned back to the street, the zombies had almost halved the distance between them and her.

"Katherine Abdulov, speak to us."

She fired more shots into the front row, trying to shut them up, blasting chunks from their heads and torsos. Some fell, others took the impacts and kept coming.

"Katherine, we have your mother, she wants to speak to you."

She fired again, saw an arm blown off at the elbow. Then, as if in a nightmare, she heard her mother's voice emerge from the background wail of the oncoming tide, her words spoken in unison from the slit-like mouths of the blood-red bodies shambling towards her.

"Kat? Kat is that you?"

She lowered her guns, felt her mouth hang open. Her gut gave a little lurch, like it did when the ship went into freefall.

"No," she said.

"Kat, where am I? Why can't I see anything? What's happening?"

Kat felt the muscles in her neck and jaw tighten. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed.

"Mum?"

"Kat, where are you? I want to see you. Come here."