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"Well, you did."

"Did I?" He'd almost forgotten. He'd told so many people his whittled down version of the truth he'd begun to believe it. He was the innocent bystander who'd stumbled upon a mutilated corpse hours after witnessing a serial mutilator attack a friend. He'd been arrested, spent a night in the cells, and then came home to find human body parts in his saucepan. Of course he panicked. Of course he behaved irrationally. Who wouldn't? He was being targeted by a Pendennis-obsessed murderer.

Who, so far, had evaded capture. And always would, hoped Nick. Enough people had suffered this past month without adding another innocent. Whoever had had his body hijacked didn't deserve to be punished for a murder he had no knowledge of.

And, with the police treating Vince Culley and Karen's murders as linked, the chances of them finding evidence to link one person to both murders was remote. The alien would have used two bodies . . . maybe more.

"At least it's all over," said Louise, turning away to stare across her fields. "Look at those goats; they haven't a care in the world."

"Have you er . . ." He paused, not sure if he wanted to know the answer, but it was a question that had nagged away at him for the past couple of days. "Have you heard from John at all?"

She looked surprised. "No, why should I?"

"I just thought . . . well, he might have contacted you."

"Why? You wiped his memory."

"Yes, but the stories in the media. He must have read them. A lot of the papers picked up on the link between the two of you. Old boyfriend/girlfriend and the fact that . . . well, Peter Pendennis figured prominently in both your statements to the press."

"I don't think John wants to be reminded of that speech."

Nick had to agree. John's, or more accurately, Peter's speech had eclipsed Orson Welles' War of the Worlds broadcast in the panic stakes. Several people had been killed, thousands injured. Riots had broken out, gun stores had been looted. It took an emergency Presidential address and the National Guard to restore order. Even now some people weren't convinced.

"Do you think he'll ever be able to resurrect his career?" asked Louise.

Nick shrugged. "I did my best."

She reached out and touched his arm.

"You were brilliant. The VCH, the headaches, the amnesia. I'd never have thought of any of that. You gave him a chance. I just . . ." She turned away. "I just wonder if anyone else'll give him a chance. He deserves better."

"Time's a great healer," he said, groaning to himself the moment the words left his mouth. Where did he find these platitudes? Time's a great healer? Why didn't he say, 'worse things happen at sea?' He was useless at giving comfort. Sarcasm and witty asides—no problem. But comfort and reassurance—send for someone else.

"NASA is looking into John's claims about the neural shields failing," he said, suddenly remembering a relevant fact. "And with the amount of publicity being generated I can't see them being allowed to keep the results secret. There's even talk about them offering John a training role in a couple of weeks when he's fully recovered."

Not that anyone would be offering him a political role anytime soon. Comics were already parodying his wild-eyed 'They're here!' speech.

"Was it . . . was it our fault?" Louise asked, looking at him pleadingly. "If we hadn't let Peter follow us he wouldn't have taken over John's body and the riots wouldn't have happened and John wouldn't be in so much trouble and . . ."

He cut her off. "If we hadn't intervened thousands more would have been killed. Millions if the alien had started a war with China. We had to act fast. And that meant as few stops as possible. Don't forget if we'd arrived an hour earlier we might have saved Bill Suarez and that chat show host. And if we'd stopped every five minutes to see if anyone was following we'd have risked the hold I had over John. He could have woken up or started to doubt what I was telling him."

And anything could have happened then. He hadn't told her how tenuous he believed the link was. Or how amazed he was that John had stayed under for so long.

"It was essential," he continued. "That we got John to Orlando with as few interruptions as possible. Everything depended upon it."

"Do you . . . do you think Peter's still over there?"

Not a question he liked to consider. Had the alien killed Peter or had Peter escaped? He'd watched the holorecordings so many times he knew every event off by heart. But still hadn't been able to spot the moment the alien wrested John's body back from Peter.

"I think if Peter survived we would have heard by now," he said. "Peter's not one for keeping quiet. If he'd seized another body he'd be wreaking havoc. It would be all over the news."

She seemed relieved.

"Yes, he would, wouldn't he?"

Two goat kids bounced up to the gate and stopped, staring at Nick before bleating and racing back to their mother; their back legs bouncing to the left and right like a pair of slalom skiers.

Louise smiled as she watched them go. "Have you talked to Ziegler about Peter?"

"He's not taking messages. Not from me anyway."

Which wasn't that much of a surprise. The media had camped outside Upper Heywood for two days after John's 'Free Peter Pendennis' speech. One news broadcast showed a harassed Ziegler being chased across a car park, pursued by reporters shouting inane questions. Any plans to free The Butcher, Dr. Ziegler? Is it true all his victims were aliens?

He undoubtedly blamed Nick for every hell they were putting him through.

Louise sighed. "Do you think anyone will ever piece together what really happened?"

"No. And even if they did, who'd dare say anything? You saw what happened when Peter delivered his 'They're here!' speech. Who's going to risk a repeat by saying that there really was an alien and he lived for nearly two years undetected, body hopping from John Bruce to Bill Suarez and God knows how many others, killing McKinley and Martinez, Karen and Culley. He nearly became President. He nearly plunged America into a global war."

"He still might," said Louise. "On the news last night they were saying the man who shot John was a Chinese national."

"Not any more they're not. This morning he's a Chinese-American working for a US Defense contractor. And China's condemned the assassination attempt and called for a 'greater understanding' between the two nations. Everyone's stepping back. No one wants war."

"I hope you're right," said Louise.

"You know I am. What politician's going to push an anti-China stance now? The moment they do, someone'll compare them to John Bruce and no politician is going to want that."

Which, ironically, made Peter Pendennis a peacemaker. His 'They're here' speech had effectively negated everything the alien had said.

What price Peter Pendennis for the next Nobel Peace Prize?

Louise batted a fly away from her face. If only the world was as simple as Nick made out.

She envied him his optimism. And his ability to bounce back as though the last two weeks had never happened. Something she couldn't do. She had to pass Karen's house every time she left the village. She had to endure the stares and the awkward silences and the questions. People said they didn't blame her. People said that if The Butcher had attacked them they'd have run too. 'There's no way you could have been thinking straight with all that going on,' they'd said. 'That professor ringing to tell you to lock your doors, telling you that a serial killer had escaped and killed again and was on his way over. Of course you panicked. Anyone would.'

But . . .

They had to have the same doubts she had. What was she doing going to see a serial killer in the first place? Why hadn't she given Karen a stronger warning? Why?

"Talking of international intrigue," said Nick. "You never did tell me why you disabled your pick-up's transponder."

"A girl has to keep some secrets," she said forcing a smile. Now was not the time to go into her animal liberationist past.

"So, what are you going to do now?" she asked, changing the subject. "Publish your findings and become famous?"

"Not a chance."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not ready to give up my life yet. Think about it, if I published a paper on the duality of the species I'd be pitching myself into a minefield. You think Darwin had problems? Wait 'til you see what they'd do to me. I'd be lauded, attacked and ridiculed from all sides. Science, religion and the tabloids—every one of them interpreting my findings and twisting my words to suit their purpose."

"But you could prove it. Like you did with me. They'd have to believe you then."

"Have you ever tried arguing with a zealot? I'd have professional debunkers hounding me for the rest of my life. I'd have magicians recreating my experiments. I'd have religious nuts quoting my work as proof their child had been possessed. Hell, they might even be right."

"What?"

"Think about it, if I show people how to separate mind from body, they're going to try, aren't they? Half the teenage population would probably disappear overnight. You remember how difficult it was for us to navigate out there—what chance would they have? It would be bedlam. And those that didn't get lost forever would probably try to slip into the head of the hot girl next door or the latest Hollywood sensation or the President. The world would be taken over by body hopping wannabees."

He had a point. For every responsible traveller there'd be tens—hundreds—of idiots.

"But if it's so easy to separate isn't it only a matter of time before someone recreates your work and goes public?"

"It's not that easy," he said. "It took me a long time to er . . . find a way. John had his mind ripped from his body by the Shift flight. Peter's mind was such a mess that any membrane would have been mashed years ago—not that pain was ever a barrier to him. And you, you had me to pull you free."

"And I didn't have a membrane."

"That's true," he said, suddenly looking away.

"So, what are you going to do?" she asked. "Go back to University and research things you can never talk about?"

"Knowledge should be a goal unto itself. Besides, we've only had the smallest glimpse of what lies out there. There's so much more we skimmed past. What are ley lines? Where do they go? And why? Are those spinning rims of light natural or manufactured? Do other planets have them? Why not fly to Mars and find out. I could map Venus, travel to the centre of Mercury, visit Pluto. I could leave the solar system and fly to the stars. Anything is possible and it's ours for the exploring."

"Ours?"

"Why not? We could discover Atlantis, ride comets, travel to the stars, glide with condors over the Andes. And all before breakfast. Come with me."

"And leave all this?"

"But I'm offering you the stars, Louise. And how many men can say that and really mean it?"