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Authors: Terry Pratchett, Stephen Baxter
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sat back in his chair. ‘Come on. We can’t just ban a thing because we can’t control it.’
The minister responsible for health and safety looked startled. ‘I don’t see why not. It’s never stopped us before.’
The Prime Minister tapped his pen on the table. ‘The inner cities are emptying. The economy’s imploding. Of course there is a bright side. Immigration is no longer a problem …’ He laughed, but he seemed to crumple, and when he spoke again he sounded, to Hermione, almost in despair. ‘God help us, gentlemen, the science chaps tell me that there might be more iterations of the planet Earth out there than there are people. What policy options can we possibly conceive in the face of
that
?’
Enough was enough: quite suddenly, that was how Hermione felt about all this.
As the picky, preposterous, pointless conversation continued, with a faint smile on her lips Hermione wrote a couple of lines of her immaculate Pitman shorthand, laid her pad on the desk in front of her, and after a nod of permission from the Prime Minister she stood and left the room. Probably nobody else even noticed she was gone. She walked out into Downing Street, and stepped into the London next door, which swarmed with security guards, but she was such a familiar sight after all these years that they accepted her identity card and let her pass.
And then she stepped again. And again, and again …
Much later, when she was missed, one of the other secretaries was called in to translate the little note that she had written, the delicate strokes and swirling curves.
‘It looks like a poem to me, sir. Or a song lyric. Something about people criticizing what they can’t understand.’ She looked up at the Prime Minister. ‘Mean anything to you, sir? Sir? Are you all right, sir?’
‘Have you got a husband, miss—sorry, I don’t know your name?’
‘It’s Caroline, sir. I’ve got a boyfriend, a steady boy, good with his hands. I can get you a doctor if you want.’
‘No, no. It’s just we’re all so bloody inadequate, Caroline. What a farce it is, this business of government. To imagine we were ever in control of our destinies. If I were you, Caroline, I would marry your steady boy right now, if you think he’s any good, and
go
, go to another world. Anywhere but here.’ He slumped in the chair and shut his eyes. ‘And God help England, and God help us all.’
She wasn’t sure if he was asleep or awake. At length she slipped out, taking Hermione’s abandoned pad with her.
11
WITHIN A WEEK of her meeting with Clichy, Jansson’s colleagues had started calling her ‘Spooky’ Jansson.
And within a month, she had made an appointment at the Home, as Joshua called it. It was an orphanage, a run-down converted section-8 apartment complex on Allied Drive, in an area that was about as rough as it got in Madison. But you could see the place was well kept. And there she quietly met, once more, fourteen-year-old Joshua Valienté. She had sworn that if Joshua dealt through her she would guarantee that nobody would treat him as a Problem, but as somebody who might be able to help out, maybe, you know? Like Batman?
That was how, for several years after Step Day, Joshua’s young life had been shaped.
‘That must seem a long time ago to you now,’ Selena said smoothly, leading Joshua deeper into the transEarth complex.
He didn’t reply.
‘So you became a hero. Did you wear a cape?’ asked Selena.
Joshua didn’t like sarcasm. ‘I had an oilskin for rainy days.’
‘Actually, that was a joke.’
‘I know.’
Yet another forbidding door opened in front of them, another corridor was revealed.
‘Makes Fort Knox look like a colander, this place, doesn’t it?’ Selena said nervously.
‘Fort Knox
is
a colander nowadays,’ said Joshua. ‘It’s just lucky that people can’t carry out bars of gold by hand.’
She sniffed. ‘I was merely making a comparison, Joshua.’
‘Yes. I know.’
She halted. The
The minister responsible for health and safety looked startled. ‘I don’t see why not. It’s never stopped us before.’
The Prime Minister tapped his pen on the table. ‘The inner cities are emptying. The economy’s imploding. Of course there is a bright side. Immigration is no longer a problem …’ He laughed, but he seemed to crumple, and when he spoke again he sounded, to Hermione, almost in despair. ‘God help us, gentlemen, the science chaps tell me that there might be more iterations of the planet Earth out there than there are people. What policy options can we possibly conceive in the face of
that
?’
Enough was enough: quite suddenly, that was how Hermione felt about all this.
As the picky, preposterous, pointless conversation continued, with a faint smile on her lips Hermione wrote a couple of lines of her immaculate Pitman shorthand, laid her pad on the desk in front of her, and after a nod of permission from the Prime Minister she stood and left the room. Probably nobody else even noticed she was gone. She walked out into Downing Street, and stepped into the London next door, which swarmed with security guards, but she was such a familiar sight after all these years that they accepted her identity card and let her pass.
And then she stepped again. And again, and again …
Much later, when she was missed, one of the other secretaries was called in to translate the little note that she had written, the delicate strokes and swirling curves.
‘It looks like a poem to me, sir. Or a song lyric. Something about people criticizing what they can’t understand.’ She looked up at the Prime Minister. ‘Mean anything to you, sir? Sir? Are you all right, sir?’
‘Have you got a husband, miss—sorry, I don’t know your name?’
‘It’s Caroline, sir. I’ve got a boyfriend, a steady boy, good with his hands. I can get you a doctor if you want.’
‘No, no. It’s just we’re all so bloody inadequate, Caroline. What a farce it is, this business of government. To imagine we were ever in control of our destinies. If I were you, Caroline, I would marry your steady boy right now, if you think he’s any good, and
go
, go to another world. Anywhere but here.’ He slumped in the chair and shut his eyes. ‘And God help England, and God help us all.’
She wasn’t sure if he was asleep or awake. At length she slipped out, taking Hermione’s abandoned pad with her.
11
WITHIN A WEEK of her meeting with Clichy, Jansson’s colleagues had started calling her ‘Spooky’ Jansson.
And within a month, she had made an appointment at the Home, as Joshua called it. It was an orphanage, a run-down converted section-8 apartment complex on Allied Drive, in an area that was about as rough as it got in Madison. But you could see the place was well kept. And there she quietly met, once more, fourteen-year-old Joshua Valienté. She had sworn that if Joshua dealt through her she would guarantee that nobody would treat him as a Problem, but as somebody who might be able to help out, maybe, you know? Like Batman?
That was how, for several years after Step Day, Joshua’s young life had been shaped.
‘That must seem a long time ago to you now,’ Selena said smoothly, leading Joshua deeper into the transEarth complex.
He didn’t reply.
‘So you became a hero. Did you wear a cape?’ asked Selena.
Joshua didn’t like sarcasm. ‘I had an oilskin for rainy days.’
‘Actually, that was a joke.’
‘I know.’
Yet another forbidding door opened in front of them, another corridor was revealed.
‘Makes Fort Knox look like a colander, this place, doesn’t it?’ Selena said nervously.
‘Fort Knox
is
a colander nowadays,’ said Joshua. ‘It’s just lucky that people can’t carry out bars of gold by hand.’
She sniffed. ‘I was merely making a comparison, Joshua.’
‘Yes. I know.’
She halted. The
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