'She doesn't want to come, Elsie shouted back immediately.

'Don't make me come and get you. He avoided looking at Lizzie. 'I'm going to be away for a few days.

'Anything interesting?

'There've been allegations that some companies on Oronsay have got hold of level-three replicator tech, he said. 'I'll need to run tests on their products. His current vocation was to monitor the spread of Higher technology across the External Worlds. It was a process which the Externals got very sensitive about, with hardline Protectorate politicians citing it as the first act of cultural colonization, deserving retribution. However, industrialists on the External Worlds were constantly seeking to acquire evermore sophisticated manufacturing systems to reduce their costs. Radical Highers were equally keen to supply it to them, seeing it precisely as that first important stage for a planet converting to Higher culture. What he had to do, on ANA: Governance's behalf, was to decide the intent behind supplying replicator systems. If Radical Highers were supporting the companies, then he would subtly disable the systems and collapse the operation. His main problem was making an objective decision; Higher technology inevitably crept out from the Central Worlds, in the same way that the External Worlds were always settling new planets around the edge of their domain. The boundary between Central and External was ambiguous to say the least, with some External Worlds openly welcoming the shift to Higher status. Location was always a huge factor in his decision. Oronsay was over a hundred lightyears out from the Central Worlds, which effectively negated the chance that this was simple technology seepage. If there were replicators there, it was either Radicals pushing them, or a very greedy company.

Lizzie's eyebrows lifted. 'Really? What sort of products?

'Starship components.

'Well, that should come in handy out there right now, very profitable I imagine.

He appreciated her guarded amusement. The last few days had seen a rush of starship company officials to Ellezelin, eager to do deals with the new Cleric Conservator.

The girls scuttled in and settled at the table; Rosa clambered on to the twenty-fifth century suede mushroom that was her tiny-tot seat. It morphed around her, gripping firmly enough to prevent her from falling out, and expanded upwards to bring her level with the table top. She clapped her hands delightedly to be up with her family. Elsie solemnly slid a bowl of honey pops across, which Rosa grabbed. 'Don't spill it today, Elsie ordered imperiously.

Rosa just gurgled happily at her sister.

'Daddy, will you teleport us to school? Tilly asked, her voice high and pleading.

'You know I'm not going to, he told her. 'Don't ask.

'Oh please, Daddy, please.

'Yes, Daddy, Elsie chipped in. 'Please t-port. I like it. Lots and lots.

'I'm sure you do, but you're getting on the bus. Teleport is a serious business.

'School is serious, Tilly claimed immediately. 'You always say so.

Lizzie was laughing quietly.

'That's diff— he began. 'All right, I'll tell you what I'll do. If you behave yourselves while I'm gone, and only if, then I'll teleport you to school on Thursday.

'Yes yes! Tilly exclaimed. She was bouncing up and down on her chair.

'But you have to be exceptionally good. And I will find out, your mother will tell me.

Both girls immediately directed huge smiles at Lizzie.

After breakfast the girls washed and brushed their hair in the bathroom; with Elsie having long red hair it always took her an age to untangle it. Parents checked homework files to make sure it had all been done. Housebots prepared school uniforms.

Half an hour later the bus slipped down out of the sky, a long turquoise regrav capsule that hovered just above the greenway outside the house where the road used to be centuries before. The Delivery Man walked his daughters out to it, both of them wearing cloaks over their red blazers, the protective grey shimmer warding off the cold damp air. He checked one last time that Tilly had her swimwear, kissed them both goodbye, and stood waving as the bus rose quickly. The whole idea of riding to school together was to enhance the children's sense of community, an extension of the school itself, which was little more than an organized play and activities centre. Their real education wouldn't begin until their biononics became active. But it still gave him an emotional jolt to see them vanishing into the gloomy horizon. There was only one school in London these days, south of the Thames in Dulwich Park. With a total population of barely a hundred and fifty thousand the city didn't need another. Even for Highers the number of children was low; but then Earth's natives were notoriously reserved. The first planet to become truly Higher, it had been steadily reducing its population ever since. Right at the beginning of Higher culture, when biononics became available and ANA went on line, the average citizen's age was already the highest in the Commonwealth. The elderly downloaded, while the younger ones who weren't ready for migration to a post-physical state emigrated out to the Central Worlds until they chose to conclude their biological life. The result was a small residual population with an exceptionally low birth-rate.

The Delivery Man and Lizzie were a notable exception in having three kids. But then they'd registered a marriage as well, and had a ceremony in an old church with their friends witnessing the event — a Christian priest had been brought in from an External World that still had a working religion. It was what Lizzie had wanted, she adored the old traditions and rituals. Not enough to actually get pregnant, of course, the girls had all been gestated in a womb vat.

'You be careful on Oronsay, she told him as he examined his face in the bathroom mirror. It was, he acknowledged, rather flat with a broad jaw, and eyes that crinkled whenever he smiled or frowned no matter how many anti-ageing techniques were applied to the surrounding skin areas, Advancer or Higher. His Advancer genes had given his wiry muddy-red hair a luxuriant growth-rate which Elsie had inherited. He'd modified his facial follicles with biononics so that he no longer had to apply shaving gel twice a day; but the process wasn't perfect, every week he had to check his chin and dab gel on recalcitrant patches of five o'clock shadow. More like five o'clock puddles, Lizzie claimed.

'I always am, he assured her. He pulled on a new toga suit and waited until it had wrapped around him. Its surface haze emerged, a dark emerald shot though with silver sparkles. Rather stylish, he felt.

Lizzie, who never wore any clothes designed later than the twenty-second century, produced a mildly disapproving look. 'If it's that far from the Central Worlds it's going to be deliberate.

'I know. I will watch out, I promise. He kissed Lizzie in reassurance, trying to ignore the guilt that was staining his thoughts like some slow poison. She studied his face, apparently satisfied with his sincerity, which only made the lie even worse. He hated these times when he couldn't tell her what he actually did.

'Missed a bit, she announced spryly, and tapped her forefinger on the left side of his jaw.

He peered into the mirror and grunted in dismay. She was right, as always.

When he was ready, the Delivery Man stood in the lounge facing Lizzie who held a squirming Rosa in her arms. He held a hand up to wave as he activated his field interface function. It immediately meshed with Earth's T-sphere, and he designated his exit coordinate. His integral force field sprang up to shield his skin. The awesome, intimidating emptiness of the translation continuum engulfed him, nullifying every sense. It was this infinite microsecond he despised. All his biononic enrichments told him he was surrounded by nothing, not even the residual quantum signature of his own universe. With his mind starved of any sensory input, time expanded excruciatingly.