‘My colleagues,’ Rodriguez explained. ‘I eventually told them of my suspicions last night. Then we went to the captain, who will give you more of a chance than you allowed my brother. We will select a jury, and let them decide what should be done with you.’

Amanda burst out laughing. ‘That’s absolutely ridiculous! We’re all going to be dead in a few days anyway. What difference can it possibly make?’

‘So it’s true?’ Rodriguez countered. ‘Those things sprouting everywhere from our planet will destroy us?’

Amanda opened and closed her mouth, then turned away to stare fixedly out to sea.

Rodriguez eyed her for a moment, then turned back to Fowler with a look of satisfaction. ‘We seek closure, you see. I, for one, desire closure. I want to see you made an example of – in front of God, if no one else.’

Amanda swung back round, her face twisted in fury. ‘This is insane,’ she spat. ‘We’re not responsible for that . . . thing out there. We did everything we could to stop it.’

‘No,’ intervened Fowler, putting a restraining hand on her shoulder. ‘Listen to me, Nick. We came here ourselves because we know we share at least some responsibility for what’s happening. We’re not running away, like so many others, and you must take that into account.’

‘Then let us find out the truth.’

Fowler now became aware they were no longer alone. He looked to one side and saw three of Rodriguez’s colleagues had joined them on the restaurant deck, in the company of two crew members who were conspicuously armed. He noted, with an unpleasant churning in his stomach, that one of the latter had a length of rope slung over one arm.

‘Wait,’ said Amanda. ‘Please, before anything else, there’s something we have to do.’

‘What?’ asked Rodriuez impatiently.

Fowler saw Amanda swallow hard. ‘We need to make a recording. I swear it won’t take long.’

Rodriguez’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

‘Please,’ Fowler beseeched him. ‘Think of it as a last request, if you prefer.’

Rodriguez’s nostrils flared briefly, then nodded assent with a brief jerk of his head.

Fowler stepped away from the rail, and set his contacts to record and upload the proceedings to a secure server he’d long since prepared. The video would then be stored, along with a cache of other files, in half a dozen separate orbital satellites that would remain untouched by the growths.

He panned up the entire height of the original growth, looming nearby, to where it disappeared into the clouds. The memory of previously watching these same images now collided with the experience of creating them for the first time, every action and thought so thoroughly locked in place that even the desire to break free of the cycle of predetermination was, he saw now, predetermined.