Candy-land, Emma thought.

“We have a story,” Mane said. “A mother was dying. She called her daughter. She said, ‘This is the most beautiful Farm in the world.’ And so it was. The mother said, ‘When I die, you will be free to act. Do with it what you will.’ The daughter pondered these words.

“And when the mother died, the daughter took a torch and set fire to her Farm every bit of it, the buildings and crops and creatures.

“When asked why she had done this — for of course, without a Farm, her Lineage would be extinguished — the daughter said, “One night of glory is better than a thousand years of toil.’” The big Daemon actually shuddered as she finished her tale.

“We have a similar legend,” Emma said. “There was a warrior, called Achilles. The gods gave him a choice: a brief life of glory, or a long, uneventful life in obscurity. Achilles chose the glory.” She looked up at Mane. “In my culture, that story is regarded as uplifting.”

Mane turned her tremendous head. “The tale I told you is, umm, a scary story. Intended to frighten the children into proper behaviour.”

Nemoto said grimly, “But we will go on anyhow. To the planets, the stars. If we get the chance; if we survive the human-induced extinction event that is unfolding on our Earth. Because we don’t have a choice.” She eyed Manekato bleakly. “Sure our strategy is flawed. But it has a deadly internal logic. We’re stuck on this road we have chosen. We have to keep expanding, or we’ll die anyhow.”

“There is that,” Mane said gently. She stood, and with startling clumsiness rammed her head against the low roof of the chalet. “You wish to see the engine of the world. So do I, Em-ma. We will go together.”

Nemoto nodded warily. “How? Will you Map us?”

Manekato laid a hand on Emma’s scalp. It was heavy, gentle, the pads of flesh on the palm soft. “We have found we cannot Map there. But it would not be appropriate anyway. We are all hominids together, here on this Red Moon. Let us do what hominids do. We will walk, to our destiny.”

Four of them would be travelling together: Emma, Nemoto, Manekato — and Julia, the Ham. As Emma was preparing to leave, Julia had walked out of nowhere, with every sign of staying at Emma’s side until they reached whatever there was to find, at the centre of this wind-wrapped crater.

Manekato loomed over the three of them, the massive muscles of her shoulders as big as Emma’s skull. “Now we go, we four, to discover the secret of the universe.” She threw back her mighty head and laughed, a roar that rattled off the smooth-walled structures of the compound. And, without hesitation, she walked off the yellow platform floor, heading for the interior of the crater, and the forest that lay there.

The little column turned single-file and spread out. The going was easy over the dust-strewn rock, and Emma, hardened by her weeks of living rough, found it easy to keep up with Manekato’s knuckle-gallop. But when she looked back she saw that Nemoto was labouring, lagging behind Emma by a hundred yards. Julia walked at her side, stolid, slow, patient, her own awkward gait endearingly clumsy.

Emma waited until Nemoto caught up. Nemoto did not look her in the eye; she plodded on, her gait showing a trace of a limp. Emma clapped her on the shoulder. “I guess the human species isn’t going to conquer the stars if we can’t even walk a couple of miles, Nemoto.”

“I am not as acclimatized as you,” Nemoto said.

“Despite all that astronaut training you must have had. Whereas / was just thrown here on my ass from out of the blue sky—”

“Punish me if you like. Your misfortunes are not my fault.”

“Right. You came here to rescue me. Or was it just to give me somebody even worse off than I am?”

Julia moved between them. “No” worry, Emma. I help.”

Emma grinned. “Just throw her over your shoulder if she gives any trouble. Nemoto — even if they can’t Map there, I don’t understand why the Daemons haven’t been to this centre before.”

“They have been studying it. They can be remarkably patient. And—”

“Yes?”

“I think they have been waiting for us.”

Emma observed, “Nobody’s carrying anything.”

Julia shrugged. “Fores” has food. Fores” has water.”

“You see?” Nemoto glared. “These others do not think as we do. Julia knows that the land will provide everything she needs: food, water, even raw materials for tools. It is a different set of assumptions, Emma Stoney. Just as Manekato said. They see the universe as essentially bountiful, a generous mother land. We see the universe as an enemy nation, to be occupied and mastered.”

“So we’re inferior in every way,” Emma grumbled, resentful.

“Not that,” Nemoto said. “But we are different. The Daemons” intellectual capacity is obvious — the rapidity of their comprehension, the richness and precision of their thinking. But they come from a world where hunters, indeed predators of any kind, cannot prosper. Even their games are cooperative, all concerned with building things.”

“What about religion? What do they believe?”

Nemoto shrugged. “If they have a religion it is buried well, in their minds and their culture. They need not worship sublimated mothers or seeds as we do, because they control nature — at least, below the Red Moon. And without the metaphor of the seed, of renewal, they have no urge to believe in a life beyond the grave.”

“Like the Hams.”

“Yes. The Hams, Neandertals, have much more in common with the Daemons than we do. And remember this, Emma Stoney. Mane’s people regard us as less intelligent than them. Save for academic interest or sentimentality, they have no more interest in talking to us than you would have in chatting to a Colobus monkey. This is the framework within which we must operate, no matter how hurtful to your Homo sapiens ego.”

They reached a patch of forest. Manekato plunged into it, seeking fruit. The others followed more slowly.

Keeping Manekato’s broad back in sight, Emma stepped cautiously over a muddy, leaf-strewn ground. Roots snaked everywhere, as if put there to trip her. In some places the trees towered high. She could see the canopy, where the thick branches of each tree spread out, making an almost horizontal roof of greenery. The trunks themselves were dense with life, with lianas that looped and sagged, and ferns and orchids sprouting like underarm hair from every crevice and fork. Though it was humid and still, the moist air felt almost cool on her cheeks, as if this was fall. There was a mild, pervading stench of decaying vegetation.

A shadow flitted between the tree trunks, a round, uncertain form dimly glimpsed among the shadowy verticals.

Emma stopped dead, heart hammering.

Manekato was a massive, reassuring form at her side. “It is a Nutcracker. A vegetarian hominid which—”

“I know about Nutcrackers.”

Manekato peered curiously into her face. “I sense fear.”

Emma found her breath was shallow; she tried to control it. “Does that surprise you?”

“You are already far from home. Without prior preparation, without aid, you have survived in this place for many weeks. What more is there for you to fear now?”

“Humans aren’t creatures of the forest, like the Elves or the Nutcrackers. We are creatures of the open. Like the Runners.”

“Ah.” Apologetically Manekato reached for her and, with thick, gentle, leather skinned fingers, she probed at Emma’s shoulders, elbows, hips. “It is true. You are designed for steady walking, for running, over long distances. You sweat unlike me — so that you can control your heat loss efficiently in the open sunlight. Yes, your link with the forest is lost deep in the past. And so you see it, not as a place of bounty and safety, but of threat.”

“We have tales. Fictions. Many of them are scary. They involve dense forests, being lost in the woods.”