That got him a laugh from the outer fringe. Bran laughed along with them. “Something like that. Well, that’s a common feeling—”

“A common illusion—”

“Because it’s based in reality.” Bran patted his rib cage. “These are not our true bodies. This is not our native world. We believe that we are from somewhere else, and we’re destined to return.”

Intrigued despite himself, Mike asked, “So what are we doing here?”

“We are on an EVA, as the astronauts would say: an extravehicular activity. And these, our bodies, are like spacesuits we put on to preserve us here, on this alien world. We were an away team, so to speak. Or our remote ancestors were. But, long ago, we forgot what we were doing here. We forgot how to get back. Do you see?”

“You’re speaking by analogy,” Mike said.

Jane covered her mouth with her hand. “Mike, for God’s sake—”

“You can prove anything by analogy.”

“But,” Bran said mildly, “I don’t need to prove anything. It’s simply an expression of our common experience. The lost legend of the ship — the place we came from — transmuted into myth, even as we went native… Listen: our brains, the electrical impulses that flow through them, have nothing to do with us. Any more than the computer processors in an astronaut’s spacesuit are in any way part of her…”

“Jesus,” Mike said. “He’s a crack-pot.”

“He’s Hamish Macrae,” Jane whispered.

“Who?”

She told him about the kid in the Cordley Road lift shaft, Jack’s friend.

“And suddenly,” Jane said, “he’s Bran. I saw his picture in the paper. I just wanted to see what he was up to. He’s clever. I’ll give him that.”

“He’s just working through what happened to his brother. He’s crazy.”

She eyed him. “We’re all crazy, Mike. We always have been. At the end of the second millennium we were all just as crazy as at the start. We all believe something. And it’s all started up again thanks to Venus. Funny lights in the sky… My view is, if you’re going to spout craziness, it might as well be something harmless. At least Bran and his people don’t hassle anyone else. Unlike some I could mention.” She told him about the American who’d disrupted her lunch yesterday. “I think he was with the oil people. Arsehole.”

Mike frowned. “What did he look like?”

“Tall. Skinny. In a T-shirt, of course. Wild-eyed, hairy.”

Henry. “You’re sure he was with the oil companies?”

“No, I’m not sure. Why?”

“No reason.”

She fingered her bottle-green necklace. “The arrogant arsehole paid for this with dollars, in cash. As if we’re the fifty-first state already.”

“But you’re wearing it. Did he give it to you?”