Celayn leapt from the board and pulled the knives from her body, displaying her own augmentation; toughened skin, impervious to damage. She placed her arms through rings of fire, stuck needles in her torso and stood on a bed of hot coals. She joked the only problem with impervious skin was that she could never get a tattoo.

Alask introduced the next act, the Palmer twins, before he went backstage to sit in a corner and brood. The others guessed something had gone wrong, despite all evidence to the contrary. Not wanting to upset him or lose focus on their performances, they left him alone, got on with their preparations.

The twins had augmented brain implants, which meant they could read each other’s minds and, when they were connected with a computer, transmit their thoughts on-screen. Members of the audience came onstage and had their own thoughts projected so everyone could see. The twins were followed by Orpheus, who had implants placed on his fingertips so he could vibrate any metal object and create music.

Finally, there were the Brants, who ran onstage, teal costumes glittering, and jumped on the rigged scaffolding, performing spins, twists and dives, catching each other by the hands, throwing themselves between gaps in the metal poles. They were always the highlight of the show, saved for last: two parents, the boy and girl aged fourteen and ten, all with rubber arms and shock-absorber legs so they could jump like fleas, flip on a dime, hang from the roof and drop to the floor without injury. The audience roared. One lucky boy was taken from the crowd, thrust upwards to the roof and gently swung down via the scaffolding, which clearly made his night.

Alask brought all the acts out for the final outro speech, and they took their bow together. Even then he couldn’t stop himself looking at the augmented boy. The innovation. His perfection. The others saw the direction of his gaze and finally knew the reason for his distraction. They watched the boy leave with the other townspeople, talking about what he’d seen with his mother, standing a good two feet above her, his cyborg legs whirring, servos clunking as he led her to the exits.

Alask sat on the huge industrial bins outside the building in darkness, alone again, cigarette smouldering. All four ears heard him coming, and the second nose pinpointed who it was, even though he could hardly see. Musty old clothes. Stale sweat. Walter. The thin man came over, sat beside him. There was a scratch, orange light, the pungent smell of another cigarette.

‘Good show?’

Alask smiled into darkness. ‘Yep. One of the best.’

‘Grace said it was pretty damn good.’

He turned towards Walter’s hunched shadow. There was a faint tap of moths against the street light. He inhaled, blew the smoke from his second nose, squinted, waited.

‘I heard you were quite taken with the McClusky boy.’