It isn't just Blake whose mind is closed to the outside, she acknowledged reluctantly. I'm so comfortable here I share the same illusion. The only thing which matters to anyone who lives at the farm, is the farm. Until today.

«You'd better get back to the orchard,» Jane said. «The apples still need picking, nothing's changed that.»

«Right.» Amanda took a last uneasy look at the kitchen door. «What are you going to do?»

«Tidy up here.» Jane was studying the splashes of blood in the back of the pick-up van. «I'll get the hose out and wash away all the traces. Best to be careful. The Harrisburg cops are going to be searching for him, and we don't know what happened to the dogs.»

Amanda didn't even feel resentful that she was being told what to do on her own farm. She walked back to the orchard, and told the pickers that Blake had found a victim of a riding accident that Lenny was now treating. They seemed to accept that with only mild curiosity.

It was another hour before Blake came out to tell her Lenny had finished. Jane had done a good job washing away the evidence from the pick-up, which was now parked in its usual place beside the gate. Amanda couldn't even see any blood spots left on the soil outside the kitchen door, just a big damp patch. Jane was busy tending a small bonfire.

The kitchen had been cleaned, too; it smelt strongly of bleach. Fakhud was sitting in one of the high-back chairs around the table. His green overalls had been replaced by a faded green T-shirt and black canvas shorts—which she recognized as belonging to Blake. Both his legs were sprayed in pale-yellow bandage foam which had hardened into a tough carapace.

A silent Lenny gave her a brief nod as he walked out. «He doesn't say much,» Fakhud said, «but he's an excellent medic. I suppose there's an irony in the situation, him tending me. We're hardly allies.»

«You're humans,» Amanda said.

«Ah. Indeed we are. You shame the pair of us, my dear lady.»

«Well, not for any longer. You're fit to move, I'd like you to leave now.»

«Of course. I have imposed too much already.»

«Wait a minute,» Blake said. «Amanda, you haven't heard what he's told me.»

«Nor do I want to,» she said wearily.

«Not about . . . you know, what he does. This is about New Balat itself, the way its society is run.»

«What about New Balat?» She rounded on Fakhud. «What nonsense have you been filling his head with?»

«It's not nonsense,» Blake snapped. «It's a solution to our financial problems.»

«You don't have financial problems,» she said. «I do. The farm does. You do not. Get that quite clear.»

«All right! But it's still a solution to your problems. And if you have problems here, then so do I.»

«Start getting a grip on perspective, Blake. I manage this farm just fine, thank you. The money doesn't come in regularly, because we have seasons. It's a situation I've coped with my entire life. Every farm throughout history has lived like this; we get paid for our crops when they come in and we have to make the money last throughout the rest of the year. A simple expenditure-planning program on the home terminal can see us through without any trouble. Nothing needs to change because some newcomer can't cope with that. This farm has been here for eighty years, and we've managed perfectly well up until now. If it ain't broke, don't try and fix it.»