'Well . . .'

  'He says you do bed and breakfast occasionally and that's what I'm after. Only for the one night.'

  The woman continued to study him thoughtfully and he knew what she was thinking. Is he one of us?

  she was thinking. Or is he one of them? Given what had happened to her husband, she would be thinking about the cyborgs night and day; and, just as often, about those people who'd had brain implants before being sent back out as programmed zombies to spy on family and friends. Those people were widely known as 'the living dead' and this woman, whose husband had been abducted, would be wondering if Michael was one of them.

  'Just this one night,' Michael repeated to reassure her, 'and then I'll be moving on.'

  Having decided, for whatever reason, that Michael was normal, the woman nodded assent. 'A hundred dollars for dinner, bed and breakfast,' she said. This figure, as Michael knew from his research, was generous to a fault in these days of rampant inflation. 'We all share the bathroom.'

  'That's fine,' Michael said.

  'Okay. Come in.' As young Jim beamed with pleasure, the woman stepped aside to let Michael enter.

  Before going in, he removed his rucksack from his shoulders and held it down by his side. Entering the house with Jim close behind him, he found himself in a medium-sized living room, tidy and cosily furnished with soft armchairs, a sofa, potted plants and flowered curtains framing a view of the distant, purple-shadowed mountains. There was a large TV-and-video set in one corner, though it wasn t turned on, and there were a couple of bookshelves filled with books. The latter were a surprising sight to Michael because, according to his research, very few people read print on paper these days, getting most of their information and relaxation from computers and CD-ROMs instead.

  As he was surveying the room, the woman stepped around in front of him and offered her hand. 'The name's Mary.' Michael nodded and smiled. 'Dinner's almost ready,' Mary said, 'so let me show you your room. You can have a quick shower or bath before eating. Dinner's ready in half an hour.'

  As the flight from Freedom Bay to Virginia had only taken about an hour and he had only walked for ninety minutes since then, Michael nearly said that he didn't need a shower or bath. Remembering, however, that he was supposed to have hitchhiked all the way from Cincinnati, he nodded agreement

  and said, 'Great. I could do with freshening up.'

  'I'll bet,' Mary said. 'And you,' she added, turning to young Jim with mock severity. 'You come up as well and make sure you wipe that mud off your hands.' She had said it with great affection and Jim spread his two hands in the air, palms upward, to study the mud from the river bank with a big grin.

  'Gee,' he said, 'where did that come from? A guy just can't keep clean out here.'

  'Up you go,' Mary said.

  Jim bounded up the stairs, with his mother following him and Michael going last. There was a short landing upstairs with a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom running off it. As Jim rushed into the bathroom to wash his hands, Mary stepped aside to let Michael enter his bedroom. It was small and homely, with flowered wallpaper, a big fluffy quilt on the bed, pine wardrobes, and a window offering a good view of the pasturelands. It was almost dark by now and the stars were coming out over the distant mountains, slightly dimmed by a full moon.

  'Very nice,' Michael said, resting his rucksack on the floor and turning back to face Mary where she stood in the doorway.

  'Thanks,' she responded. 'You'll find towels in the top drawer of that chest-of-drawers. Come down when you're ready.'

  When Mary had turned away and was going back down the stairs, Michael placed his rucksack on the bed, opened it and withdrew his toilet bag. He was pulling a large towel from the chest-of-drawers when Jim rushed out of the bathroom, shouting, 'I've finished. All clear!' When Michael grinned and waved at him, the boy beamed again and went clattering down the

  stairs, leaving Michael free to have his shower. Twenty minutes later, showered and changed into fresh clothing, he was sitting with Mary and Jim at the dinner table, experiencing the kind of food he had never eaten before.

  Because of Lee Brandenberg's insistence that Freedom Bay had to stand as a living rebuke to John Wilson's extraordinary cruelties, particularly his nightmarish surgical experiments on both humans and animals, the colony produced and consumed only vegetarian food. Michael, therefore, had never eaten meat, fowl or fish in his life. He had, however, been forewarned that most Americans were carnivorous and viewed vegetarians as 'cranks'. For this reason, Brandenberg had recommended that Michael force himself to eat meat when in the company of World people and not draw unwanted attention to himself as someone who was 'different' or 'eccentric'. Now, as he shared his first World meal with Mary and young Jim, he had to use all the will power at his command not to feel nausea as he cut up, chewed and swallowed his grilled steak. The rest of the meal, however (mashed potatoes, boiled carrots and green beans; dessert of apple pie with ict cream) was, while certainly unfamiliar, absolutely delicious, as was the smell of it.

  Still trying to get used to the fact that he was actually in the World, where he had never been before, Michael was not at ease when it came to making casual conversation over the table, but he tried his best.

  This is a pretty nice area,' he said. 'It has a nice feel to it. I've always liked travelling through Virginia.

  It still looks unspoiled.'

  The Old Dominion,' Mary said sardonically. 'Mother of Presidents.'

  She was referring to the titles given to a state that was historically the most important in America. As Michael knew from his research into Virginia, the first permanent English settlement in the country had been made at Jamestown in 1607; Virginia was one of the original thirteen states of the USA and the

  tenth to ratify the Constitution; and it had espoused the Confederate cause during the Civil War and was readmitted to the Union in 1870.

  'Right,' Michael said. 'An awful lot of history in Virginia. A lot of famous men came from it.'

  'Washington, Jefferson, Monroe and Robert E. Lee,' young Jim said, showing off and smiling cockily. 'I learnt that in school.'

  'What else did you learn?' Michael asked to keep the conversation going. 'About Virginia, I mean.'

  'Everything,' Jim responded, his cocky grin even broader. 'It consists of an area of 105,710 square kilometres, it has a population of slightly under five million, its major industrial centres are in Norfolk, Richmond, Portsmouth and Newport News, its most important mineral's coal and its leading commercial crop's tobacco. Pretty neat, eh?'

  'Pretty neat,' Michael agreed. 'What are its main rivers?'

  'The Potomac, the James, the Roanoke and the Rappahannock.'

  'Correct,' Michael said. 'So where's the Dismal Swamp located?'

  'South-east,' Jim responded proudly.

  'And the Piedmont plateau?'

  'West,' Jim said. 'Right?'

  'Right. And the Blue Ridge?'

  'Further west,' Jim said. 'Extending north-east, south-west across the state and rising to Mount Rogers and the Appalachians. I'm right again, ain't I?'

  'You sure are,' Michael said.

  Yet he still felt uneasy, nervous of saying the wrong thing, letting something about Antarctica slip out.

  Luckily Jim kept talking, obviously thrilled to have someone new in the house, telling him all about school, his new friends, his favourite TV programmes and movies and computer games, only being interrupted by his mother when he became too excited or came out with some spontaneous childish fantasy. Inexorably, however, his conversation wound back to his earlier days in Maryland, where clearly he had been much happier until the disappearance of his father.

  'That's why I hate the cyborgs,' he said. 'They took my Dad away and ruined our life. I'll hate 'em forever.'

  'Stop this,' his mother said abruptly, standing up to clear the table. 'I've told you before to stop thinking about it. Thinking about it's not good for you.'

  'I can't help thinking about it,' Jim replied. 'It's just there, in my head. I think about it every night in bed and I can't help that either.' He looked up at Michael. 'Are there cyborgs in Cincinnati as well?'

  Michael nodded. 'Yes. The cyborgs are everywhere.'

  'When I grow up,' Jim said, 'I'm going to form my own gang and then go to war against the cyborgs. I'm gonna get rid of all the cyborgs and track down my Dad.'

  'Shut up, Jim,' his mother said, returning to the table and lighting a cigarette. Aware that cigarettes caused cancer, Michael was slightly shocked to see Mary smoking, though he tried not to show it.

  'Cincinnati,' Mary continued, turning to Michael. Surely there can't be as many cyborgs in Cincinnati as

  there are in Washington DC. I mean, there's nothing as important as the White House or the Pentagon in Cincinnati. Not many air force or naval bases, either.'

  No, nothing that important,' Michael agreed, speaking purely from his research, since he had never been to Cincinnati in his life, 'but we do have a lot of chemical plants and factories producing machine tools, so the cyborgs do have an interest there. Obviously, they're not as strong a presence in Cincinnati as they are in Washington DC, but they're there all the same.'

  I m gonna get rid of 'em when I grow up,' Jim repeated. 'You better believe it.'

  Mary smiled, though there was pain in her eyes and, as Michael noticed for the first time, her face, which must have

  been pretty once, was now gaunt from stress. 'He's obsessed with the cyborgs because of his father,' she said to Michael.

  'I don't blame him,' Michael said.

  'So why are you going to Washington DC? Given the strength of the cyborg presence there, it must be one of the most dangerous cities in the United States.'

  'I'm trying to find someone,' Michael said, not quite lying, since he was, indeed, trying to find Wilson.

  'An old friend who used to send me e-mail on a regular basis, then just suddenly stopped doing so. I've sent message after message but he doesn't reply, so I think something's wrong.'

  'What did he do?' Mary asked.

  'Software for computers. He specialized in keeping the old systems going. It made him good money because with the production of new computers banned by the cyborgs, the old ones are now more valuable than ever.'

  'The maintenance of old computers,' Mary said, exhaling a cloud of unhealthy, polluting cigarette smoke. 'That's enough to get a man into trouble in Washington DC. He might have been picked up for that.'

  'By the cyborgs,' Jim clarified.

  'And if that's the case,' Mary said, 'you'd better be careful about going to his place. It might still be under cyborg surveillance.'

  'I'll be careful,' Michael said, then ostentatiously yawned and stretched himself in the chair. 'Boy, I'm really pooped. Did a lot of walking today and I want to light out early in the morning, so I'd better get a good night's sleep.'

  'What time do you want to be wakened in the morning?'

  'Seven,' Michael said.

  'Jim will knock on your door on the dot of seven and I'll have breakfast ready.'

  'Great,' Michael said, standing up. He walked around the table and mussed Jim's blond hair. 'Thanks for the help, kid.'

  'No sweat,' Jim said.

  Wishing them both goodnight, Michael went upstairs to his bedroom, undressed and stretched out on the bed. Looking through the window, he could see a full moon shining its light on the dark mountains and valleys, beaming out of a sky drenched with stars. He felt far from home now, a long way from Freedom Bay, and realized that, apart from occasional expeditions into the Antarctic wilderness, he had

  never left home before, nor been separated by such a great distance from his parents and Chloe. It made him feel grown up, but it also made him feel lonesome, more so because of the warmth he had sensed between Mary and Jim. And, of course, when he thought of Mary and Jim, he also thought of the cyborgs and the grief that they had brought to so many.

  The cyborgs are Wilson's children, he thought. The offspring of Frankenstein.

  This was a chilling reminder of what he was doing here and he fell asleep on it.

  The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of cereal and toast with honey, having politely declined ham and eggs, Michael said goodbye to Mary and Jim. Then he set out again, walking carefully along the side of the sunlit road that snaked through the green pastures and rolling hills in the direction of Harrisonburg, trying to wave down any vehicle that passed.

  He did not walk for long.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Cowboy was, as usual, sitting in darkness on the porch of his Anacostia shack, silhouetted against the moonlit bend in the river, his booted feet up on the railing, a stetson hat on his head. Gumshoe and Bonnie approached him in that darkness, having managed once more to get through the low-income housing project without mishap. Without otherwise moving a muscle, the Cowboy turned his head in their direction, then gave a big grin.

  'Well, lookahere!' he exclaimed. 'My favourite couple's come back to me. How are you two?'

  'Fine,' Gumshoe said, stepping up onto the porch with a grinning Bonnie beside him. Gumshoe was reminded by that smile that the Cowboy, during their previous visit, had charmed the not-easily-charmed Bonnie. It made Gumshoe feel jealous.

  'We're not a couple,' Bonnie corrected the Cowboy. 'We're just buddies, is all.'

  Which proved, if Gumshoe had any doubts, that she'd been charmed by the Cowboy.

  God protect me from my friends, Gumshoe thought. Not to mention older men. These old guys are seductive.

  'You don't have to be shy with me,' the Cowboy drawled, his eyes twinkling at Bonnie. 'I think you make a great couple.'

  'We're not a couple,' Bonnie insisted. 'We're just runnin around together at the moment.'

  'Pretty neat,' the Cowboy said.

  'Have you two finished?' Gumshoe asked, raising his hands pleadingly in the air and staring aggressively from one to the other. 'I mean, I've come here for a purpose.'

  'What's that?' the Cowboy said. 'Here,' he added before Gumshoe could answer, turning to Bonnie, taking hold of her shoulder and tugging her down onto the chair beside him. 'Take this chair, young lady.'

  'Gee, thanks,' Bonnie said, clearly not used to such gallantry but charmed by it all over again. She settled into the chair and crossed her long legs to give the Cowboy a good look. The Cowboy had a good look.

  'This is serious,' Gumshoe said, glancing about him for a chair and finding only a wooden crate to sit on. He sat on the wooden crate. 'You hear me, Cowboy?'

  'What's that?' The Cowboy dragged his eyes away from Bonnie's legs and fixed them on Gumshoe.

  'What was that you said, Gumshoe? Here,' he added before Gumshoe could reply, reaching down into the cardboard box at his feet and pulling out a bottle of beer, which he uncapped with his teeth and then handed to Bonnie. 'Have a beer, sweetheart. It's real hot tonight.'

  Gee, thanks,' Bonnie said, smiling sweetly as she took the bottle of Bud from the Cowboy. 'That's a real nice thought.'

  I like to see a lady smile,' the Cowboy said.

  I m sure you do,' Bonnie rejoindered.

  'Thanks a million,' Gumshoe said.

  What for?' the Cowboy responded, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from Bonnie's breasts and looking at Gumshoe instead.

  'For the beer.'

  Hadn't forgotten you at all,' the Cowboy drawled, unperturbed, grinning as he reached into the box again and pulled out another bottle of Bud, which he handed, unopened, to Gumshoe.

  Gumshoe stared at the bottle for some time, then said, 'How do I open it?'

  'With your teeth,' Bonnie said.

  'I can't do that,' Gumshoe admitted.

  'That's the way real men do it,' Bonnie informed him. 'Just like the Cowboy, here.'

  'I'd break my teeth,' Gumshoe said.

  'Yeah, probably,' Bonnie agreed.

  'Here, give it to me,' the Cowboy said. 'I just wasn't thinking, kid.' He took the bottle from Gumshoe, uncapped it with his teeth, then handed it back. 'There you are, pal.'

  'Thanks,' Gumshoe said.

  The Cowboy had a long swig of his beer, then, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, said, 'So what are you here for?'

  'What?' Gumshoe said.

  'You said you'd come here for a reason.'

  'Oh, right, that's correct, I've come for a reason.'

  'What reason?'

  Gumshoe had a slug of his beer, stared stonily at Bonnie, who was being far too friendly with the Cowboy, then turned back to the handsome object of her admiration. Gumshoe admired the Cowboy as well, but he was, to his surprise, resentful of the fact that Bonnie felt the same way.

  / must be losing my mind, he thought.

  Clearing his throat by coughing into his fist, he began, 'Well, I've just been to see a pretty interesting character called WA. Harbinson and—'

  'Who?'

  'WA. Harbinson. So—'

  'What are his Christian names?'

  'I don't know. He—'

  'Why doesn't the son of a bitch use his first names?'

  'I don't know. It's probably just a professional thing. You see, he's a writer and . . .'

  'You mean books?'

  'Yeah, right.'

  'Don't know nothin' about books. Hardly ever read.'

  'Who does, these days?' Bonnie said, not only approving of the Cowboy's lack of literary leanings but also clearly wanting him to know it.

  Yeah, right,' the Cowboy said, throwing her a smile like the rising sun.

  'Thing is,' Gumshoe said, glaring at Bonnie and trying to regain the Cowboy's attention, 'that this guy told us an awful lot of stuff that I think you might know about, you having worked in the Space Command Centre in Colorado Springs and being privy to things that the average Joe wouldn't have been informed about. I think that most of what this old guy — this Harbinson — told us was true and I want you to confirm it.'

  'I mightn't be able to do that,' the Cowboy said carefully. 'Classified information and so forth . . .'

  You haven't worked there for fucking years,' Gumshoe reminded him, 'and now the place is being run by the cyborgs. So unless you've got something going for the cyborgs, you've nothing to hide.'