It was a breeze; whoever wrote the virus was dumb.

It didn't seem that way when I was on the receiving end.

I'm not surprised. You know, you ought to load some proper protection into your nodes. They're terrific pieces of gear, wish I had some. But the guardian bytes you're using leave them wide-open.

I used to think I had proper protection.

I could write you some. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you, you're a friend of Greg's. And the PSP hates you. That makes you an A-one person in my book.

I'd take him up on that, Juliet, if I were you. Royan and I have been having a long chat. Boy knows what he's talking about.

Long?she asked.

You're operating in 'ware time now, Miss Juliet. Fast fast fast.

Oh. Thanks for the offer, Royan. But I think we'd better do what we can for Greg first.

Yeah, said Philip. Misjudged him in a big way. Jumping the gun. Never would've done that in the flesh. Really shouldn't have done it now. But we can make amends soon enough.

Julia concentrated on the thematic image. Her grandfather was squirting a solid stream of binary pulses up to a company Earth Resources platform through Wilholm's one remaining uplink, a hum in the background of her consciousness.

Greg's moving, look, he said.

A diamond star had appeared on the thematic image. The magnification leapt up. Wisbech's outskirts disappeared. The town was slashed in two by a broad meandering band of deep turquoise. Like a rain-swollen river, Julia thought, even though she knew the whole place was mud-locked. Her grandfather jumped the magnification again. Then again. The star was gleaming a few hundred metres east of the turquoise band. A small dot of crimson on the edge of the turquoise band was turning a brighter scarlet.

Something is warming up down there, Philip said.

I think I can help, said Royan.

A crude transparent map was superimposed on the thematic image.

Ordnance Survey, Royan explained. The last one before the PSP came to power. Nothing much changed between then and the start of the Warming.

The map rotated slowly clockwise until the two sets of grid lines meshed, then it swam in and out of focus, matching up the street patterns.

Close as we'll get.

Disused mill, Julia read, The dot had become a fluorescent ruby.

Thermal emission rising sharply, said Philip. It's on fire. And Greg's moving away, dead slow. Means the boy's on foot, swimming rather, in that gunk.

Escaping, said Royan.

Could well be. I wonder if Gabriel is with him.

If she's alive, she'll be with him, Royan censured.

Julia sensed the adoration verging on love that Royan had somehow managed to convey into their inanimate medium. His belief was unshakeable. And she knew he was right, Greg didn't desert people to save his own skin.

Grandpa?

I know, Juliet. The strike window ends in ninety seconds—mark. Decision time.