The tears made him look young, the calculation and cunning gone from his face. He was younger than Michael had been, Ted remembered suddenly.

But Michael would never get any older. And neither would this boy.

…And now, after all this, he suffered an instant of doubt. This is only a kid. What right have I got to be judge and jury?

But there was no time. For now the Moonseed swept on him like a wave, buildings cracking and bursting into debris and falling, that fusion light bright all around him. All choice was ended, and that, for Ted, was a huge release.

He had time to see the Cathedral collapse. Big sandstone blocks just exploded out of the walls, as the church’s structural integrity vanished at a stroke, nine hundred years of building and preservation wiped out in a few seconds. There were massive blocks flying through the air towards him — Bran was screaming again — the Cathedral would kill them both, if it got the chance.

But before the blocks arrived, the wall he was standing on crumbled and collapsed. He was dropping, into a surging, silver-grey pool.

He closed his eyes, and fell into Moonseed.

It was soft and warm. Not like rock at all; like something alive, moving over his skin, exploring.

Something was grabbing at his hand. Bran.

He shook him loose; a creature like Bran should die alone.

The pressure built up around him. He was trapped, a fly in amber.

He opened his mouth to breathe. Something forced its way in — softly scraping, neutral temperature — scratching his mouth and throat as it pierced him.

No more air, then.

If Bran was right — Christ, the pressure on my chest — if Bran was right after all, he would be with Mike in a moment.

There was light beyond his closed eyelids, shining pink through the flesh. Streaks like meteors in his vision.

Michael, Jane, Jack. He’d done all he could for them. There would be no room in whatever was left of the world for an old fool like him. His doubt was gone now; to rid the world of a blight like Hamish Macrae was a worthy price for the remnant of his life.

A single instant of heat, unbelievable pressure, as the ancient volcanic plug gave way, and the surviving Castle buildings were blown apart, the fragments hurled high in the air.

14

So here was Henry back at Johnson Space Center, the heart of NASA, which he’d fled with such ill feeling. The old Saturn V still lay beside the entrance drive, as it had for decades, its most recent refurbishment leaving it sparkling white, like a Disney mockup. The mid-June air was heavy and humid, particularly after the clarity of Scotland, and the sky even here was an oppressive blue-grey dome, laden with ash.