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sort of doctor?’ asked Richie.

      ‘Oh … medical,’ said Ming. ‘Paediatrics.’

      ‘You must be busy,’ said Jen.

      ‘You’d think so,’ said Ming, ‘But you’re Jen Khataten … from the Giant Array?’

      ‘I am,’ smiled Jen, as Ming started gushing her excitement about Jen’s work.

      ‘Anyone after a drink?’ asked Conan, but his was the only empty glass so he went in search of a top up.

      Inside, Ronny Kwai was speaking with Major Lammas and Captain Roberts, plus another large woman in the Army of God uniform, and yet another woman whom Conan recognised as Joan Chard, Chief Administrator of the Temporary Citizenship Zone.

      As he approached, Melodie peeled away to examine the bar, and so Conan found himself shoulder to shoulder with her.

      ‘Long time no see, Captain Roberts.’

      Her head snapped around and she gave him a look that would have frozen the nuts off Errol Flynn.

      ‘Hello, Agent Tooley.’

      She accepted the mineral water that had been poured for her.

      ‘And goodbye,’ she added, leaving him in her wake.

      ‘Lovely to chat,’ he called after her, and once again found himself face to face with a grinning Ronny Kwai, this time with Joan Chard at his elbow.

      ‘Have you met our esteemed Chief Administrator?’ asked Ronny. ‘Colonel Chard … allow me to introduce Agent Tooley of the AFP.’

      ‘Call me Tools,’ said Conan, shaking her hand.

      ‘You’re the fellow sent up from Sydney,’ she said. ‘Any luck with that?’

      Conan stared at her, sensing more unfriendly fire, and said, ‘No. In fact I’ve been told to wrap it up and come home.’

      ‘Bit of a waste of time,’ she shrugged. ‘Still … plenty of ice addicts back in Sydney.’

      ‘That’s a state matter,’ sniffed Conan. ‘But they’re all into Crimson now.’

      Crimson was the latest designer drug to terrify the middle class. Users would believe themselves absolutely indestructible and jump off buildings or cliffs in a bid for immortality. As often as not they wore a helmet-mounted camera to film their defiance of gravity, and the films – called drop shots – were played in holomax theatres to hordes of teenagers wearing bio-suits that displayed their pulses on the chest. Everyone in the theatre would be linked and the person with the lowest change in pulse at the end of each shot would win money transmitted directly to their OzBrace accounts. So much money was involved there were even professional drop shot gamers, but anyone caught taking Crimson to artificially lower their pulse was more scorned than Lance Armstrong (who’d been elected president for one term in 2024).

      ‘Why is it called Crimson?’ asked Chard.

      ‘Dunno … maybe the big crimson mark they make when they hit bottom?’

      Ronny laughed, but Colonel Chard looked as though she had just encountered a revolting odour.

      ‘Well … I hope you make the most of your visit,’ she said and walked outside with Ronny to admire the view.

      ‘I sure am popular,’ laughed Conan, and once again found himself looking forward to seeing Lucia. Why had he taken so long to realise how perfect she was?

      Needing to reconnect with friendly folk, Conan grabbed another Coopers and headed back outside to where Richie and Jen were talking with an animated Dr Ming.

      ‘It’s just so exciting,’ she enthused. ‘When can we see the pictures?’

      ‘They’re still being back-filled from the data and analysed,’ said Jen, ‘but it’s pretty special. I could show you some rushes but it’s mostly guesswork until we get our turn on the Quantum.’

      She suddenly grinned and whispered in Richie’s ear, but he shook his head.

      ‘Richie has access,’ said Jen, ‘but won’t let me jump the queue. Not even if I … ’

      She whispered again in Richie’s ear and he laughed.

      ‘You’re making it awfully hard,’ he said.

      ‘That’s exactly what I was trying to do.’

      They all laughed, and at that moment a roar came from outside the stadium and yellow shirts appeared among the concourses below.

      ‘Six o’clock,’ shouted Ronny, clapping his hands, and wait staff scurried to make the dining table ready. ‘We shall be seated in five minutes,’ he announced to the guests, then shouted again in Cantonese at the wait staff.

      For the first time the internal tannoys started welcoming the crowd and giving details of the evening’s entertainment. People (mainly in yellow shirts) were pouring into the lower concourse and vast holographic advertisements hovered about the stadium. Conan could still see the sun lowering to the west-north-west, but it was already dim on the pitch far below and the huge banks of floodlights were warming up.

      Then someone banged a gong inside and Ronny called the guests to the table.

      ‘There are place cards where I have seated you,’ he called out. Conan, to his delight, discovered his card next to Captain Melodie Roberts, with Dr Ming to his right.

      ‘Result,’ laughed Conan and was not at all perturbed by the white-faced look of fury on Captain Roberts’ face as she sat, thereafter keeping most of her back to him.

      Ming at least was friendly and, as the waiters fussed about the table pouring white wine, beer, mineral water and jasmine tea, she explained to him about Jen Khataten’s work.

      ‘It’s really exciting … they’ve managed to get pictures of the actual creation of the universe … the Big Bang itself.’

      Conan was aware of a muffled exclamation of annoyance to his left, but Ming continued, ‘The Giant Array telescopes can see all the way back to the very beginning of time … in this continuum.’

      ‘How can you see time?’ asked Conan.

      ‘You can’t,’ said Dr Ming, ‘but you can see what was happening when it started.’

      Waiters surged again distributing san choy bow and Conan was unsurprised to find it excellent – perhaps a little spicier than usual, but he liked it that way.

      ‘Welcome everyone,’ said Ronny Kwai raising his glass. ‘I hope you enjoy the food and, of course, the football. Go Pilgrims!’

      Everyone raised their glasses in acknowledgment and Ronny said,‘You’ll note there are thirteen of us. I always have twelve guests to my soirees because thirteen is lucky. Some say one and three adds up to four … which means death … but I say that’s taking superstition too far. At some point you have to be scientific!’

      He laughed loudly at his little joke but only Conan joined him. In particular, the Army of God people were frowning, no doubt wondering whether they’d been invited to make up the numbers.

      ‘Does everyone know everyone?’ asked Ronny.

      There were a number of non-committal shrugs so Ronny went around the table naming each individual and giving a one sentence description, usually just a job title. The third Army of God member – the large woman with multiple chins – was Major Marjory Maddox, director of St Thomas Aquinas, the private hospital run by the AOG.

      ‘I work there,’ whispered Ming, as the introductions continued, mainly other local officials and businessmen, as well as those Conan already knew.

      ‘So … Dr Khataten,’ said Ronny. ‘When do we get to see your pictures?’

      ‘Oh,’ Jen put her hand over her mouth to finish chewing and said, ‘I

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