The cafe was small, one of those types that try so hard to be as laid-back as the French, but are run by people who have never been much past Essex. Nonetheless, they had grasped the basics of good food and better coffee, so it was generally busy.

The waitresses took turns behind the till, and a favourite game was guessing the life histories of the customers. Over there was a bunch of yuppie has-beens who had yet to figure out the Eighties were over, all sharp suits and power lunches. Over there was a housewife with three yelling brats and as many bulging shopping bags, waiting for a bus that never came while her ice cream turned to creamy liquid in it’s tub. And the woman over there checking her watch every thirty seconds was on a date, probably with a married man from the way she kept looking around. Her expression was pure ‘oh, God, don’t let anyone see me here’. When the man did show up, the waitress hissed through her teeth in disappointment. She wouldn’t have wanted to wake up next to him in the morning. He had to be old enough to be the woman’s father. On the other hand, judging from the way his face lit up, and the way she started shuffling, there was clearly some History here. Maybe he was her sugar Daddy. But coming through the door now was a guy far more worthy of the waitress’ attention. Now she wouldn’t mind a tip from him...

"Hello. It’s been a while."

"Seven years, nearly eight." Graham looked at her. "I’m not sure whether to be furious with you or hug you senseless for being here at all. Do you realise what you put your poor mother through?"

"I sent a letter."

"Oh, yes. ‘Dear Mum and Graham, I’ve just eloped with my lecturer, won’t be back for a while. Try not to worry, and don’t forget to feed the cat.’ Try not to worry? For God’s sake, A-"

"I told you on the phone, I’m generally known as Silver, now. Don’t look like that, it’s not anything personal. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my Dad."

Graham Marshall allowed himself a smile. "Thank you. My, you’ve grown. Twenty-six, now. How is your lecturer?"

Silver’s gaze hit the serviettes. "Actually, he’s dead. Four months ago."

"Oh. I’m so sorry. Were you still..?"

"Oh, very much so. And... it hurts."

"Is that why you came back here?"

"No." Silver’s eyes hadn’t lifted. "There’s no easy way to say this, but Graham, I need access to Project Stargazer, if at all possible."

"Now how do you know about something like that?"

"I know it’s an offshoot of the SETI program, a projector designed to be floated in orbit. I know it can be connected up to a repulsion grid that was half built. I know that it was abandoned as part of the Cold War souvenirs and the money put into the Hubble telescope."

"I see." Graham went on spreading his roll, and Silver noticed the way the crumbs were falling on his own serviette. As though there was a tube hidden underneath, like gun barrel for example.

"I’m very impressed. Someone must have worked very hard to find a double of my stepdaughter. Even down to that little mole on her wrist. You even move like her. So, who is it? Believe me, there are less kindly interrogators."

"Oh, fine, shoot me then. You won’t take the chance on me being the real me, if you’ll excuse the logic. If I tell you something only we know, you’ll assume I’ve been well briefed, I suppose? You’ve already decided I’m a fake, so I trust that thing has a silencer, or else you’re really going to put some people off their lunch."

"Now, that was what first got me suspicious. My stepdaughter was a quiet little thing, who didn’t like using the phone because it made her tongue-tied. Whereas you look to me as though you face people down every day."

"Graham, there is a way for me to prove who I am, but you’re going to have to trust me. Isn’t it worth the chance? Just the slightest chance?"

The colonel looked at her, eyes cold. "You have no compassion."

"I’m sorry, oldster, I can’t afford it any more."

Despite himself, Graham felt a smile tick across his features. "What do I have to do?"

"Give me your hand."

The serviette flattened, and Graham’s hand emerged from above the table. Silver took it, and all hell broke loose.

For a fraction of a second, Graham thought he was being attacked, some sonic thing that affected the brain. Then he realised that he was taking information in, the distillation of an eventful seven years, the little prods along the path that changed a timid student into an other-dimensional force in her own right. Finally, he saw himself in the cafe, almost too quick to observe, and the process ended.

"I believe you. I don’t know... This is insane. Silver, my dear, I can’t help you. Your information is about a fortnight out of date. I can give you a keycard to the compound, but after that you’re on your own."

"I understand. Thanks, Graham. You won’t tell anyone I’ve been here, will you?"

"Not even your mother?"

"It’d only get her hopes up. I’m not going back, surely you can see why."

Graham tasted those memories again. "Yes, I can. Silver, your lecturer-"

"Please. The Unity have killed or corrupted everyone I hold dear except you two. I’m not risking you as well."

Neutral territory, the Irishman had said. They were in Layers. Berric looked up at their arrival, and wordlessly guided them into a booth. "He recognised you." A smaller man sat opposite Jake, eyes never quite alighting on one thing for any length of time.

"I was trying to tell you that. I’m a friend of Silver."

"The widow Silver? Well, well." The Irishman stuck out a hand. "I’m Tom, this is David, and we have Stella here, and Will. What is it?"

"Nothing, I just hadn’t realised... "

Oddly, Tom understood. "She tries to pretend he never exists, I think, and they were married a little over six years. Mind you, it wasn’t what you’d call a heroic death. Oh, there isn’t much goes on that we don’t know about."

"To the business in hand." David, the twitchy one, stared at Jake. "What does she want with us?"

"To warn you. You’ve upset the Unity, and Silver reckons that they’re going to take it out on the Earth."

"The bell?" Will, the youngest, spoke softly, but was instantly hushed by the others.

"Bell?"

Tom glared at his fellow society member, then turned back to Jake.

"The bell of Du Cray, we found it and took it just after the city’s destruction. We think it hold the secret to fragmenting the Unity."

"How?"

"Autopsies carried out on Unity operatives have shown their brains have a crystalline structure buried near the pineal gland. Over the millennia we believe that it has been growing larger, so that while a Unity member is just about capable of thinking for his or her self, the major higher brain functions are carried out in concert. This means that only one or two of every generation has the physical ability to think independently, and even then they may not have the strength of spirit required to do so. Now, this works by sending concepts crystal to crystal, along a horrifically complicated waveband. Nonetheless, it is a wave, which can be interfered with."

"Like a sound wave. Which brings us back to the bell."

"Exactly. Or we thought it did. It would explain why the knights had such a hold over the Unity all that time. By chance or design, they could fragment them. But while the bell does something on that waveband, it doesn’t stop the Unity." Tom rubbed his eyes, the gesture of a man who’d seen three in the morning come and go too often recently.

"But the Unity wants it anyway?"

Stella leaned forward. "We can’t use it, but you can bet they can. Whatever it-"

"Geeentlemen! And lady, pleased to see you." The speaker was dressed in a battered leather jacket, wearing a curved sword at his waist and a pretty girl on his arm. Jake’s companions stifled a groan.

"Hello, Dreck, Marla."

"And what can I do for the Cáirneach today?"

"The words ‘long walk’ and ‘short pier’ spring irresistibly to mind. Get lost, Dreck. We’re too busy to buy your junk today." "Even if the junk is... inforrrmation?"

Marla whispered something, and then giggled demurely. Will leaned forward. "Don’t be fooled, she’s the brains in this partnership. She’s just very shy."

"Wearing that?"

"Information concerning what?"

"The Unity are a little upset with you. Care to know how much?"

© Naomi 'Ni' Claydon 2000. No copying without permission.