«I know him, I think,» I whispered to Rolf.

That earned me another of those looks I was becoming all too familiar with. «Yes, sir; that's Wing-Tsit Chong.»

«Bloody hell.»

Wing-Tsit Chong let Penny's ashes fall from his hand, a small plume of dry dust splattering into the hole. A geneticist who was at least Penny Maowkavitz's equal, the inventor of affinity.

• • •

Father Leon Cooke cornered me on the way back to town. Both genial and serious in that way only priests know how. He was in his late sixties, wearing the black and turquoise vestments of the Unified Christian Church.

«Penny's death was a terrible tragedy,» he said. «Especially in a closed community like this one. I hope you apprehend the culprit soon.»

«I'll do my best, Father. It's been a hectic two days so far.»

«I'm sure it has.»

«Did you know Penny?»

«I knew of her. I'm afraid that relations between the Church and most of the biotechnology people have become a little strained of late. Penny was no exception; but she came to a few services. When confronted with their approaching death, people do tend to show a degree of curiosity in the possibility of the divine. I didn't hold it against her. Everyone must come to faith in their own way.»

«Did you hear her confession?»

«Now, my son, you know I can never answer that. Even more than doctors, we priests hold the secrets of our flock close to our hearts.»

«I was just wondering if she ever mentioned suicide?»

He stopped beside a tree with small purple-green serrated leaves, tufty orange flowers bloomed at the end of every branch. Dark grey eyes regarded me with a humorous compassion. «I expect you have been told Penny Maowkavitz was a thorny character. Well, with that came a quite monstrous arrogance; Penny did not run away from anything life threw at her, not even her terrible illness. She would not commit suicide. I don't think anybody up here would.»

«That's a very sweeping statement.»

The tail end of the mourners filed past us; we were earning quite a few curious glances. I saw Rolf standing fifteen metres down the track, waiting patiently.

«I'll be happy to discuss it with you, perhaps at a more appropriate time.»

«Of course, Father.»

A guilty smile flickered over Leon Cooke's face. «I talked to your wife, yesterday.»

I tried to maintain an impassive expression. But he was a priest . . . I doubt he was fooled. «I don't expect she painted a very complimentary picture of me. We'd just had a row.»

«I know. Don't worry, my son, it was a very modest row compared to some of the couples I've had to deal with.»

«Deal with?»

He ignored the irony. «You know she doesn't belong in this habitat, don't you?»

I shifted round uncomfortably under his gaze. «Can you think of a better place for our children to grow up?»

«Don't dodge the issue, my son.»