Greg watched the emotions chase across his mind, the surprise that came from recognition, interest then concern. When he caught sight of Greg the concern tilted into agitation. Resignation was last, after he'd looked round, sizing up his chances of making a run for it. He gave a half-hearted shrug, and stuffed the leaflets back in a satchel.
The black woman by the pillar had disappeared by the time Charlotte reached him.
"Hello again, Charlotte," the old man said. "I didn't expect to see you up here again so soon."
Charlotte gestured awkwardly, not saying anything.
"Good afternoon to you," he said as Greg stepped into the aisle. "You'll be wanting a leaflet?"
Greg grinned. "Thanks, I've already got one." Charlotte had been right about the warmth of his smile.
"Ah well. I'll be going, then."
"I've come all the way from Earth just to see you," Greg said.
"What, this little sack of skin and bones?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sure you must have the wrong person."
"No." He was aware of the people sitting by the aisle watching him. "You want to go somewhere where we don't disturb people?" He pointed to the top of the amphitheatre.
The old man glanced round with pointed slowness. "Well now, what do you say, Charlotte? Should we stop distracting these good people from this rather mediocre performance? I could never resist the wisdom of a pretty girl."
"Please," Charlotte said quietly.
"Ah, now that's the word to use. Please." He began to walk up the slope.
Greg saw Rick, Teresa Farrow, Jim Sharman, and Bernard Kemp walking up the side of the seats to meet them at the top.
"Is that a member of the constabulary I see?" the old man asked.
"Yes," Greg said.
"Am I to be taken away in chains, then?"
"Not unless I tell him to," Greg said lightly.
The Celestial shot him a fast appraising glance, then squared his shoulders and carried on. Suzi gave an evil chuckle.
"The look-out scooted," Teresa Farrow said when Greg reached the top of the hillock. "Do you want her back?"
"No. Not important."
"All this effort," the Celestial said. "I'm quite flattered."
"Want to tell me your name?" Greg asked.
"I'll show you mine if you show yours."
"Greg Mandel, Mindstar Captain, retired."
"By all that's holy, a gland man."
"No messing."
"The name is Sinclair, for me sins. Pleased to meet you there, Captain Greg." He stuck out his hand.
Greg turned to Bernard Kemp. "Thanks very much for your help. We'll take him from here."
"I figured you might," the sergeant said. He paused. "Sir." He adjusted his cap, taking his time, then walked back down the aisle.
Greg just heard him mutter: "Glory boys."
Sinclair's smile was fading as they all looked at him, he dropped his hand back to his side. "Ah well, I had a grand run. Not that it particularly matters any more, of course. Not after tomorrow."
Greg realized the light was dimming. The idea was perturbing, it had remained constant the whole time they'd spent chasing round Hyde Chamber after the Celestials; an eternal noon, casting virtually no shadows. He looked up, round, instinct calling him to the southern endcap a couple of kilo-metres away.
The waterfalls had gone. Instead, six huge plums of dense snow-white vapour were shooting out of the openings in the rock. They swept across the sky, heading towards the northern endcap, already several hundred metres long, twisting round the lighting tube like bloated contrails from an acrobatic display team.
"What the hell is that?" he asked.
"Hyde Chamber's irrigation system," Melvyn said. "They turn it on every other night, once in the early evening, and again just before dawn."
"You mean it rains in here?" Suzi asked.
"Yes. The lighting tube's infrared emission is turned off, and the cloud condenses, just like on Earth. It's a whole lot cheaper than laying down a grid of pipes and sprinklers, and it flushes any dust away as well."
Suzi squinted up at the clouds. "I'll be buggered."
Greg watched the head of each plume mushroom out, merging into a broad puffy ring. The cavernlight had changed subtly, he could feel it on his upturned face, it was still as bright, but the pressure of warmth had gone from the rays. A second, identical band of cloud was reaching out from the northern endcap.
He shook off the distraction, and told Sinclair: "I need to know about the flower you gave Charlotte."
"Ah, well now, you see, that's a private matter, Captain Greg. A very delicate matter, to be honest. I'd be betraying a trust."
"Tell him," Suzi said. "He'll only rip it bleeding from your mind, otherwise."
What was left of Sinclair's smile became fixed.
"Julia Evans and I know Royan sent it," Greg said. "We just want to know where you got it from."
"Is that true what your charming companion just said?" Sinclair asked. "About minds and blood, and other things ladies shouldn't know about?"
"I can if I have to," Greg said. "Although there's no physical pain involved. But I'd rather not. How about you?"
"Julia Evans?" Sinclair asked. "Julia Evans sent you here looking for me?"
"That's right. The very same Julia Evans who tolerates you and your mates running about like mice, stealing her food. Now I think it's about time you started paying her back for that kindness. Not to mention Charlotte here, who was nearly killed because she took the flower down to Earth."
"Is that true, young Charlotte?"
She pursed her lips dolefully. "Yes."
"I wasn't told that," Sinclair said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't have asked you if I'd known it was dangerous. No, I wouldn't."
"I believe you," she said.
They were suddenly engulfed by a shadow. The leading edge of the southern cloud ring was directly overhead, blotting out the lighting tube. Its bottom layer had dropped down to barely three hundred metres, looking disturbingly solid. Small vortices swarmed over its surface, there was a hint of darkness inside. The northern cloud was racing to meet it. Only a narrow band of light was left shining down in the centre of the cavern.
The Globe's audience were looking up, some of them began to take out umbrellas.
"Royan?" Greg prompted.
"Now there's a strange lad for you," Sinclair said. "We found him. Or I suppose you might say we found each other really. Fated to meet, we were. Outcasts, but very different. He was with us for a few days."
"When was this?"
"About a month ago, maybe three weeks. We don't concern ourselves with time as much as you fellows do. Everything's scheduled for you. That's part of what we are, you see, throwing all that away, keeping life calmer. I don't think the lad was really cut out for a life with us. He was wound up terribly tight inside, you know? Bit like you, really, Captain Greg."
Greg ignored the crack. "He was with you, then he left?"
"Ah, sharp as a knife you are. I can see I'll keep none of my dark hoarded secrets from you."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"No. That he didn't, I'm afraid."
"All right, so what about the flower?"
"Do you believe in ghosts, Captain Greg? I do. Spirits at any rate. Spirits that possess. Spirits that drive you. There's a spirit in New London."
"There's an alien in New London," Rick said.
Greg shot him an annoyed look.
"Is that so, now?" Sinclair asked in amusement. "Well well, fancy that."