Kandara just glared at him, not trusting herself to speak. As always, she wondered just how effective her gland was. ‘Right,’ she snapped.
‘Face it, who else would you trust with this? We are Saints, after all.’
London
Far Future
When he became conscious, Horatio screamed and screamed. His body fought the capturesnakes that were violating him, every limb conjuring up wild sweeping motions that strangely resulted in swathes of white cloth sweeping around him like sails caught in a storm. But even his frantic, terrified mind eventually realized there was something wrong about that – and there was no pain. He stopped thrashing and actually looked where he was: wrapped in a fresh white cotton sheet, in the middle of a big circular bed that curved up gently around him, preventing him from falling out. Two people were standing at the side of the bed, wearing stylish green tunics that marked them down as some kind of medics; their faces registered sympathy.
‘It’s okay,’ one said, smiling in reassurance. ‘It’s over. The capturesnakes are gone. You’re in recovery. And you’re doing fine. Just try and settle. Take as much time as you need. We’re here to help.’
Something about the tone infuriated Horatio; the medic was aiming for assurance but was hitting patronizing. Needs some proper empathy training. Which made him bark a laugh, because being offended at someone who’d saved him from the Olyix was about as dumb as you could get. So he did indeed settle, and steadied his breathing. ‘What happened?’
Again the smile that didn’t quite reach genuine sympathy. ‘You’ve been extracted from cocooning and re-bodied.’
‘Uh—’ What that should have been was: Gwendoline disobeyed the rules and sent security agents through to snatch you from the capturesnakes. It was touch-and-go for a while, but the emergency clinics here on Pasobla are the best. ‘Where’s Gwendoline?’
The two medics exchanged a glance. ‘Disorientation like this is common. I’d suggest you take a moment to prepare yourself for us to explain your status. But everything is going to be okay; I can’t stress that enough.’
‘I’m not disoriented,’ he said in a dangerous voice. His hands rose up – not to clench into fists. No. But then he saw those hands properly and focused on his skin. His youthful skin. A startled cry, and he was sitting up, pulling at the sheet, exposing more and more of his body. It was perfect – slim, nicely muscled, limb movements fast and assured, no joint pain. The body from nostalgic memory – the one he used to see in the mirror in the best days of late adolescence. ‘What? What?’
‘Take it easy.’
‘Don’t fucking patronize me!’ he roared. ‘Where am I? What’s happened?’
‘Okay. Simply put, the Olyix turned you into a cocoon. Then a long time later, you were rescued. Now you’re back in the Sol system, on a habitat orbiting Earth. Right now, there’s a huge ongoing operation to reseed the biosphere after the damage the Olyix siege of the cities caused. Our dear homeworld was in a new ice age when we returned, but our geotechnicians think they’ve initiated a self-sustaining reversal.’
‘Gwendoline,’ he whispered.
‘I’m sorry, but we don’t really have any information about your history. We don’t even know your name.’
‘Horatio. I’m Horatio Seymore. I lived in London. Right up until the day the Olyix returned.’
‘You’re doing well, Horatio. It sounds like your memories are integrated. Can you tell me who Gwendoline is?’
‘My wife.’
‘All right. Well, here’s the good news. We’ve established a family-tracing agency. If you can provide enough details, they should be able to tell you if she’s been re-bodied or if she’s still . . . awaiting the recovery process.’
‘She . . .’ He sank back down onto the curving bed. ‘She was on the Pasobla the day the Olyix returned.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry, then she won’t be in any of the Olyix ships the armada brought back. The Pasobla left Delta Pavonis successfully and became part of the exodus.’
‘She got away, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long ago?’ he asked softly.
‘It’s been a long time. The Olyix enclave – their home star – was a considerable distance from Earth.’
‘Just bloody tell me. How long?’
‘Approximately twenty thousand years.’
Horatio wanted to yell that they’d got that wrong, or he’d misheard, or . . . But he knew he hadn’t. Twenty thousand years. The tears came then, and he couldn’t stop them.
New York
Far Future
Ten years after their starship returned to Sol, the four of them finally portalled down to their homeworld to visit what had been New York’s Central Park, and would be again. The ground was still boggy from the seawater that had covered it until seventeen months earlier, so they stuck to the temporary pathway that had been laid out along the exact line of the mall, walking in silence. On either side of them, an army of pasty white synthetic bioforms, like squirrel-size caterpillars, were ploughing their way through the briny mud, amassing salt and other unwelcome oceanic minerals in bulging filter stomachs, leaving purified soil in their wake. Smaller, more mechanical, genten remotes skittered among them, examining the old tree stumps uncovered after Manhattan had been drained, sampling and analysing the wood, ready to replant the correct genus when the landscaping was complete.
When they reached the slope littered with the red bricks that had once been Bethesda Terrace, they paused and looked northwards. Skeletons of new buildings were spiking up into the chilly azure sky. The distant kilometre-high towers along the Harlem River were complete, home to the first batch of revived New York residents, while the rest of the city was still under construction, progressing south block by block.
Jessika took it all in, feeling a weird kind of nostalgia and pride. I helped these people. I did my job. Now I can finally live with them. Of course, it was always going to be a challenge rebuilding New York. As they came out of the re-life procedure – and a considerable amount of therapy – its old inhabitants set about doing
