Peter Hamilton - The Nano Flower

After his encouraging test results, the project staff had expected Greg to develop a formidable sixth sense, seeing through brick walls, seeking out tactical data over twenty kilometres. Instead, he wound up with the ability to perceive people's emotions, their fears and hopes, knowing instantly when someone was lying. It was useful for counter-intelligence work, but hardly justified the expense.

His gland also cultivated a strong intuitive sense, although official opinion was divided on that. Greg knew it was real. One time in Turkey during the Jihad Legion conflict, he had tried to convince his company commander it was too risky crossing a valley floor. The major hadn't listened, putting it down to the usual squaddie superstition about open ground.

Eight of the company had been lost when the Apache attack helicopters swam out of the cloudless sky, another fifteen were stretcher cases.

Greg felt his perception altering as the neurohormones bubbled through his brain, the world receding slightly, becoming grey and shadowy. The tightly wound thought currents of the two boys in the ambulance shone out at him. It was like watching fluid neon streamers swirling in surreal patterns, a cryptic semaphore message he alone could read.

He always checked over newcomers, just to make sure he wasn't letting any vipers into Hambleton's rustic peace. But neither of the boys were harbouring anything sinister, no malice or secret disdain, there was just a flutter of nerves as they waited for his answer, a genuine urge to work. And in Alan's case, a high-voltage sparkle of admiration for Christine.

The one thing Greg never used his espersense for was checking up on his own children. He'd always promised himself that. Paranoid parents were the last thing a growing kid needed. So he stopped short of seeing how interested Christine really was with the two boys, preferring trust instead.

Besides, she already had three serious boyfriends that he knew of.

Christine brushed some of her long titian hair aside, tucking it behind her ear. "Two hundred kilometres; where have you come from?" she asked the boys.

"York," Alan said.

"Oh, I think that's such a wonderful city. I always love visiting it."

"We'll give it a shot," Greg said hurriedly, trying to regain control.

"Thank you, sir," Simon said, grinning broadly. "We'll show you haven't made a mistake."

"Right. Park down beside the torreya tree. Make sure to put some wood underneath your wheels, the ground's wet. OK? And don't cut down any trees in the copse." He pointed at the block of Chinese pine saplings beyond the groves. "We provide logs."

"Yes, sir."

The ambulance's hub motors engaged with a light whine.

"And don't you piss in the reservoir," Derek yelled after them. Simon's hand waved from the open window.

"You've never been to York," Greg said to Christine.

She started giggling. "Oh, Dad, what's that got to do with anything?"

Greg gave up. "Right, that's twenty. Who's next?"

A pair of hands were placed over his eyes. "I thought you always told me it was impossible to creep up on a psychic," a woman's voice said in his ear.

Christine squealed. "Aunty Julia!"

Greg turned round to see Christine hugging Julia Evans. He gave her a lame grin. "Listen, you, it's more than possible when a psychic is having a day like this one."

"I know the feeling." Julia gave him a kiss, just a little bit longer than politeness dictated.

Greg slapped her bottom. "Behave yourself." When Julia was seventeen she'd had a mild crush on him, a psychic detective and ex-hardline resistance fighter was so far outside her usual experience she thought it terribly romantic, the ultimate in mysterious strangers. Greg was suddenly aware of Derek shuffling uncomfortably. He introduced Julia, privately amused by Derek's consternation when he realized that, yes, it really was the Julia Evans. "Did you bring Daniella and Matthew with you?" he asked.

"Yes, I've just picked them up from Oakham School. They went on into the house."

"Picked them up from school," Greg chuckled. "Just an ordinary working mum, huh?"

Julia grinned. "Looks like you've got a good crop this year," she said.

"Best yet." He caught sight of Victor Tyo, Event Horizon's security chief, standing respectfully a couple of metres behind Julia. A slender Euroasian with an adolescent's face and thick black hair, he had slung his suit jacket over one shoulder, white shirt undone at the collar. At forty years old, he was young for the job, but Greg had worked with him on the virus case, Victor Tyo had what it took. That too young face was a misdirection, the brain behind could have been made from solid bioware. There weren't many tekmercs who chanced going up against Event Horizon these days.

Greg shook Victor's hand warmly. "Where are Julia's bodyguards? You're far too old for hardlining now."

"Hey," Victor Tyo spread his arms. "You speak for yourself." He gestured with one hand. A nineteen-fifties Rolls Royce Silver Shadow was parked on the drive just above the farmyard, two sober-faced hardliners in ash-grey suits standing beside it.

Greg rolled his eyes. "My God, it's the camouflage detachment." On the road at the top of the drive a flock of children was forming, plotting dark misdeeds.

A horse-drawn caravan had pulled up in front of the gate, painted bright scarlet with yellow and blue trim. Greg recognized Mel Gainlee holding the reins, a spry pensioner who'd been coming to Hambleton for almost as long as Derek. He waved hopefully to Greg.

"Christine."

She was staring across the field to where the ambulance was parking.

"What?" she asked guiltily.

Greg handed her his cybofax wafer, glancing at the logo on the bottom right corner. Thankfully it was Event Horizon's triangle and flying-V. That could have been embarrassing. "You and Derek sort the rest of the teams out for me, OK?" His intuition had been sending out subtle warnings since he saw Victor Tyo had accompanied Julia. Victor was a good friend, but he didn't make social calls in the middle of the working week. Neither did Julia, come to that.

Christine's face coloured slightly. "Sure, Dad," she agreed seriously.

Greg felt a burst of pride. She really was growing up.

"She's quite something," Julia said as she and Victor Tyo walked with Greg down the rough track back to the farmhouse. Her bodyguards had fallen in a regulation ten paces behind. The kids on the road were letting off wolf-whistles.

"Yeah." Greg couldn't stop smiling.

"Sorry if we interrupted. I'd forgotten what a pandemonium Hambleton is at picking time."

"No problem. Derek knows who to let through. I only put in an appearance for form's sake."

"Where do they all come from?" She gazed back towards the heat-soaked convoy.

"From all over, of course."

The E-shaped farmhouse had been added to and extended over the years, bricks and stone and composite sheeting were all in there somewhere, hidden under a shaggy coat of reddish-green ivy. The steeply angled roof was made entirely from polished black solar panels. A couple of satellite dishes were mounted on the western gable end, pointing into the southern sky. The larger of the two was faded and scratched, obviously second hand, with a complicated-looking aluminum receiver at the focus.

A gaggle of geese scattered, honking loudly as the five of them walked into the farmyard.

"That's new," said Julia, pointing at the satellite dishes.

"Oliver put it up," Greg explained. "The boy's gone astronautics crazy. He picks up all sorts of spacecraft communication traffic on it. Wants to go and live in New London. So Anita's decided she's going to live in a Greenland commune."

Oliver and Anita were eleven-year-old twins, and took a savage joy in trying to be total opposites.