Reno nodded, hair veiling her face. He only saw her crown.

‘You knew?’

‘No other reason a man like you would be here.’

‘Would that be something he’d like?’ he whispered, soft as he could, alarmed when a tear splashed against the hardwood dining table. A tiny drop landed on his hand. He stared at the pattern it left, the magnified contours of his skin like smooth earth. Reno lifted her head.

‘He’d love it. There’s nothing here besides animals, fields and dual carriageways.’

Alask watched her for an expanded moment. Saw it all. He’d felt the same. Even surrounded by the others, he knew.

‘What about you? What would you love?’ he asked, reaching over the table to caress her knuckles. At first she was startled. So much so he thought he’d guessed incorrectly. She blinked, gave a look of gratitude, ran her fingers up his arm to his ear, rubbed the lobe, lifted his hand and kissed it. She closed her eyes, nuzzling her cheek against his knuckles.

The son, Tibold, spent his days in the fields. The season called for harvest, so like the kitchen server-bot, the boy chopped and collected, sitting atop the massive combine, up and down acres of field crops planted that spring. Reno showed Alask severed stalks of grain that had been so tall only weeks ago. The sun had begun its descent. The wind blew like soft breath. A distant rumble hummed beneath his feet, while freshly cut produce was rich in the air, ready to be collected and ground into fine dust, bagged for market.

Tibold was immersed, two farmyard server-bots beside him, the three clunking and loading bundles onto trucks which steered themselves back to the farmhouse. The vehicles were brand new, glistening, and made the bots, the combine, even Tibold, look used and dull. He stood up, the contradiction between his youthful face and height all the more noticeable in the open field, the fading light.

‘Hi,’ the boy said. His expression was blank, not looking at Alask, just his mother.

‘This is Mr Barron. From the circus?’ she said, from some way back. Alask shot her a look. He’d been worried about her being too sensitive to do this; now she seemed too coarse.

‘Alask,’ he said, reaching for the boy’s hand. It was difficult not to wince when he shook it.

‘You’ve come pretty far out,’ Tibold said, unsmiling.

Reno turned away, quick and hunched.

‘I came to talk with you. I have something to ask. A proposition.’