The server-bots bent and lifted. It was difficult for Alask not to look at the boy’s augmentation when he spoke; powerful metal legs, clawed feet, huge grey metallic arms; galvanised rubber suspension pads, wiring that acted much as tendons, ball-bearing joints. The boy could have opted for synthetic flesh at little extra cost, but kept his improvements displayed, on show. It said much of his response to what had happened, and would do wonders for the tour. Alask averted his eyes, looked into the boy’s.

‘I’d like to offer you a place in our circus. I happen to think you’d make a great young Strong-Man. You could tour with us, come home in the winter or stay if you like. We’d pay enough to hire someone to run this place, or you could expand your server-bot staff. Either way, we’d love to have you.’

The boy said nothing. He chewed on something unseen, jaw writhing. He turned to his mother.

‘He told you this?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘You didn’t call him?’

She gasped, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘Course not!’

She wanted to say more, Alask could tell, but she faltered and the words got trapped behind her teeth. She shivered, arms tight around her body. It wasn’t cold. Tibold held those huge metal hands, palms up, towards her.

‘And you’re OK with this?’

She nodded, her mouth beginning to tremble. Alask studied his shoes. The server-bots worked on, lights blinking.

Tibold sighed. ‘I don’t know …’

He turned away, walking across the shallow tide of cut stalks, gears whining, crunching. Alask touched Reno’s arm, tipping his head towards her son. He followed; she remained.

‘Tibold?’

The boy stopped, holding his head. Alask kept a few paces back. He could smell concentrated salt behind him. Hear the rapid thud of the boy’s heart. The wind blew dust and particles of grain.

‘Tell me the problem.’

‘I want to.’

‘OK … But?’

‘My mother.’

‘Well …’ He put his hands in his pockets, thought. He heard a sound, harsh rustling, frenetic. Smelt damp, sour fur. A dark shape flew from a pile of grain stalks, running beneath the truck tyres. A mouse. He followed until it was gone. ‘We could do a trial run, three months or so. And if all goes well, we could send for her …’

The boy turned. His eyes were sparkling. He wiped them.

‘Would you?’

‘Providing we’re all happy with the arrangement, yes. She could be a great help on the road, I’m sure.’

Tibold held his eye, more serious than ever. Alask stood perfectly still, waiting. Quieting his face.

At last, the boy nodded. ‘That’s a good compromise. Thank you.’

‘It’s a pleasure.’

They shook hands once again. Alask knew he should be happy, so he tried to block what his senses picked up behind him. The unwilling accusation of Reno’s grief, and quiet evidence of her tears.