The Age Of Zeus (72 page)

"That bother you?"

"Not as much as it might have. I wanted revenge badly, so badly, but maybe it was better that I didn't get it."

"Better for you," Ramsay said. "Better for your soul."

"Right. But still I'm left with this feeling of,
So what was that all about then?
"

"You did your bit, and the Olympians got what was coming to them. Guess it doesn't matter who from, long as they got it. The only one who didn't really deserve to die was Argus, but that was necessary."

"A mercy, almost."

"Yeah. And soon as he was pulled off his machinery, NORAD got back control of its nukes, and so did all the world's other missile commands - Russia, France, and so on. Big whoop all round when his firewalls suddenly went down. 'Hooray, we can blow up the planet again, if we want to.'"

"Only, we won't, will we?" Sam said. "We're grown-up enough as a race, aren't we? We can manage things for ourselves. We certainly don't need self-styled gods lording it over us, telling us how to behave and treating us like infants. We're capable of making sure humankind carries on and prospers. Aren't we?"

"Hell if I know," said Ramsay. He jerked a thumb at the L-Day celebrants. "But maybe that's what all this is in aid of, and why it should carry on year after year, even become an official event. Long as people remember what they were liberated from, they'll do their best to enjoy the freedom and make sure it continues. We've been slaves a while. Freed slaves tend to treasure what they've gained."

A soft burble from the stroller was followed by the sound of small limbs furiously shifting.

"Ah," said Sam. "Nap time's over."

She unfastened straps and hauled a pudgy, clammy eighteen-month-old out of the stroller and onto her lap.

William Dai Ramsay rolled a sleepy eye at his mother, and then at his father. His light-brown face set into a grumpy pout, and he nuzzled against Sam's breast with a sigh that sounded far too heartfelt and careworn for one so young. He'd been named after his paternal grandfather. Sam had lobbied to have Dai as his first name, but Ramsay had vetoed this. "Sounds too morbid," he'd said. So William it was, Will for short.

Ramsay stroked his son's head, with just a hint of wistfulness, briefly recollecting another small boy, another head of dark nappy curls like this one.

"You wake up in your own sweet time, kiddo," he said, and kissed Will's crown.

In response, Will just snuffled, and Sam hugged him close, feeling the heat radiating off him and inhaling the mix of milk and sweat that was his unique, heady musk.

Will.

Her Will.

Will, Will, Will.

What more fitting name to give to the future?

Acknowledgements

Profuse thanks are due to: Gary Main and Johnny Reade, for technical advice relating to, respectively, military helicopters and riot policing; the fine folks at "new" Solaris, principally Jonathan Oliver, David Moore, Jennifer-Anne Hill and Ben Smith; Marek Okon for another awesome cover; and Eric Brown, Liz de Jager, Ron Fortgang, Tim Mitchell and Andy Remic for continued support and encouragement.

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