Contempt in your eyes As I turn to kiss his lips Broken I lie All my feelings denied Blood on your fist Can you tell me why? Bronski Beat - "Why?"

"Hey, Sal, get your lazy Psychon arse out of bed!" called out Michael when he realised his roommate still hadn't surfaced, even though it was well past noon.

There was no response from the painted door and Michael just shrugged his shoulders; if Salvatore had heard him, then he would eventually get up, and if he hadn't, then either he wasn't there or he was so fast asleep it was best to let him sleep anyway.

Heading for the tiny kitchen area at the back of the living room, Michael shook his head disapprovingly, as his work colleagues were wont to do whenever he unwisely revealed his roommate's living habits. Michael worked the hours that most of the other Alphans kept; he got up at 7.00 every morning, went to work in the engineering section at 8.00, had his lunch break from 12.00 to 13.00 and usually went off duty at 18.00 -- though today he had the afternoon off because his mentor said he wouldn't be needed. He was a discreet, but well-respected member of the Alphan community.

Salvatore wasn't. Officially, he was still an apprentice at the communications centre. But ever since his mentor Sandra Benes had died, Salvatore had given up his apprenticeship -- apparently without any objection from his new mentor. In any case, his only interest in Alpha's communications devices was as a means to an artistic end. He had often told Michael about his plans to transform the broadcasting system into an Alphan version of 'television'. No one was going to let a crazy nineteen-year-old like Toto anywhere near the broadcasting system, so in the meantime, the young man had got himself a job painting a fresco in the Alphan secondary school.

This project was the brainchild of the school's current headmaster, Alex Koenig. There was a gap of half a dozen years between the youngest second-generation Alphans and the oldest of the third generation, so the secondary school was currently unoccupied and Koenig had decided to take this opportunity to redesign it; the primary school had undergone similar treatment before the third generation started attending it. Michael knew a lot more about these things than he had ever planned to know when he first came to Alpha; his girlfriend Hester was not only a primary school teacher herself, but the daughter of one of Alpha's first teachers, Jenna Silberstein.

Salvatore was also full of talk about the school. Alex Koenig's idea was apparently to give future Alphan generations a better knowledge of Earth through a series of paintings around the school. The main piece would be a fresco depicting a variety of Earth animals in the school recreation room. Since Salvatore was a painter and currently unemployed, Koenig had given him the job of creating these paintings. As far as Michael could tell, though, the task entailed getting up at noon every day and then partying all night. Michael knew that the fresco was making good progress, but he did wonder when Salvatore actually did the work. From the way he went on, Michael got the impression he seemed to spend most of his nights in the Catacombs.

Michael was in the midst of frying up some soy steaks for lunch when he heard Salvatore's door open. Because of the thick layer of paint -- another of Salvatore's surreal frescos -- the door made a characteristic creak as its mechanism pulled it into the wall. Michael and Salvatore had had a lengthy argument about this painting when Toto first came up with the idea a year earlier. Michael was under the distinct impression that redecorating the Alphan quarters wasn't allowed, but Salvatore had argued that they were likely to live here another couple of years and they might as well adapt their environment to their tastes.

Salvatore had won, as usually, and splashed a bizarre rendition of the countryside around Dover across the walls and the door on that side of the living room. Bizarre because it featured a lone figure human figure on the Flats, towing what looked like the carcass of some large animal. Michael thought it was beautiful, if a bit disturbing.

Turning to look at the door, Michael was surprised to find that the person standing there was a young black woman dressed in one of Salvatore's shirts. She wasn't very tall, but slim and muscular, with a long neck and features which reminded Michael of some Egyptian statues he had seen in a book when he was a child.

"Oh, Michael," she exclaimed emphatically, spreading her arms. "I have finally learned the art of molecular transformation and changed myself into a beautiful black babe!"

Michael's mood immediately plummeted. "Oh hello, Fatuma."

"Have you got any food for me?" asked the woman, coming over to peer at what he was cooking.

"Hmm." Michael reluctantly put another steak into the frying pan; she could jolly well wait until it was cooked. Fatuma, Alpha's self-styled 'performance artist', was by no means Michael's favourite person.

"How did the performance go last night?" he asked politely. He now remembered that Salvatore had said something about Fatuma's new show.

"Very well," she said saucily. "Salvatore was in great form."

She obviously wasn't talking about her one-woman-show. Michael winced and decided he'd be better off ignoring her until Salvatore made his appearance. Fatuma sat down at the dining table, evidently waiting for Michael to serve her. She was a right little madam, he reflected. He could tell she had been spoiled from the word go; her parents obviously worshipped her -- perhaps not surprising since she was the youngest of the six Ofori children -- and she had evidently grown up expecting the same treatment from everyone. What was particularly irritating was that she always seemed to get it, too.

After a few moments of silence, during which Michael reheated some mashed potatoes to go with the steaks, Fatuma got herself a glass of apple juice from the cooling compartment. Michael thought she was getting far too familiar with their little flat.

"Any word from Loki recently?" she asked as she sat down again.

"Not recently," said Michael shortly, wondering when Salvatore was going to turn up.

"My sister sent me a message yesterday." Fatuma's eldest sister Halima was one of the resident doctors at Dover. "She said she's going to take a vacation on the other side of Lake Bergman now that the weather is better. Salvatore and I were thinking about going to Bedrock, except of course, we'd have to go to Dover, too, to see his mother. I've actually been wondering about putting on a show at Dover; Salvatore seems quite keen on the idea. He reckons my latest piece might go down well there, but I don't know..." She shrugged her shoulders and twirled a ropy plait of hair around her fingers.

Michael wondered what had prompted this revelation. Did Fatuma actually care what he thought about this plan? Or was she simply giving him this information because she was unable to stop talking about herself for more than five minutes and this happened to be the subject at the top of her head? He dismissed his uncharitable thoughts as Salvatore's door creaked open again.

Unshaven and dressed only in a pair of paint-stained trousers, Salvatore sauntered into the room and Michael's day suddenly took a turn for the better. He reflected that little Toto had grown up a lot in the three years since they first came to live on Alpha at the beginning of the Winter. He had gone from being a thin, lanky teenager to quite a handsome young man who definitely had an eye for the ladies. Michael had seen the official pictures of Tony Verdeschi from the days of Alpha's travels in space, so he knew Salvatore's looks came mainly from his father, though the two were by no means indistinguishable. Toto's eyes were larger and his curly black hair made his features look softer than his father's had seemed. Of course, Toto also had prominent dark brown streaks on each cheek which made it clear he wasn't just a human being like everyone else.

Michael smiled as Salvatore greeted him. They didn't often meet these days; Toto was always asleep when Michael left for work in the mornings, and at the school painting his fresco in the evenings when Michael came home from work. In fact, they'd been seeing so little of each other that Michael had insisted they go swimming together for a couple of hours this afternoon. They had always enjoyed doing that back in the days when Salvatore worked normal hours with Sandra Benes.

Fatuma got up to greet Salvatore with a kiss, running her dark fingers through his tousled hair. "When are you going to cut your hair, Salvatore?"

"When my mother stops pestering me about letting it grow," said Salvatore with a laugh. "What is it with women and my hair, hey, Michael?"

Like all the Catacombs bunch, Salvatore deliberately called his friends by their full name. It was apparently a way of distinguishing his clique from other Alphans, who tended to use nicknames or abbreviations for everyone. Most people called Michael 'Mike'.

Fatuma laughed and shrugged her shoulders, settling down at the table again to continue her drink.

"Fatuma," said Salvatore as he went over to tinker with the coffee machine. "Didn't you say you had to go and see your mother about something this lunch time?"

"Yeah? What about it?" answered the woman.

"It's 12.35. Weren't you supposed to see her at noon or something?"

Fatuma shrieked. She quite literally let out a loud, high pitched squeak and sprang out of her chair. "Oh, man, Mama is going to kill me! I was supposed to look after Aisha's bunch this afternoon."

Salvatore's dark eyes lit up with interest. "Aisha? Why? What's she doing?"

"Oh, I don't know!" exclaimed Fatuma as she rushed into his bedroom. She re-emerged with a party dress. "She's probably taking a well-deserved rest. If I were her, I'd chuck Jean-Paul out of an airlock or cut his dick off or something." She threw the shoes angrily onto the floor and kicked them upright.

"Such charming thoughts about your brother-in-law," said Salvatore good-naturedly. "I can't see I see why you're so against the poor fellow. I quite like him."

"Yeah well, he started off getting her pregnant when she was sixteen and hasn't stopped since. Oh well, I suppose she deserves that medal or whatever the Old Man gave her."

Fatuma pulled off the shirt she was wearing and struggled to turn her dress right way out. Having already seen Fatuma naked on various occasions, Michael ignored her. He served Salvatore his lunch and then sat on the other side of the table with his own plate.

"Hey, Koenig has given you a couple of prizes too," said Salvatore as he tucked into his meal. "You and Aisha just have different areas of expertise."

Having finally sorted out her dress, Fatuma pulled it on. "You can say that again. Now for a day of being climbed on by a bunch of half-French brats. Catch you lot later." She paused and added, "Salvatore, you should take Michael to my performance tomorrow night. He looks like he needs cheering up."

Salvatore smiled at his friend. "I agree. I think you need to unwind, Michael."

As soon as Fatuma had skipped out of the front door, Michael took her half full glass and went to empty it down the sink before returning to his meal.

"I thought you and she had broken up," he said. That was certainly what he had hoped.

"We didn't break up -- we were just seeing other people," said Salvatore with a shrug. "I know you don't like her..."

Michael made a face. "You obviously do, though. I don't know what you see in her. She's self-centred, conceited, arrogant, and it's obvious all she wants you for is sex."

"And that's a bad thing?" retorted Salvatore with a self-confident grin.

Michael sighed and lowered his eyes. There was no way he was going to win an argument with Salvatore flashing that winning smile of his.

"I know it bothers you," continued Salvatore more seriously. "But if you think about it rationally, she and I don't really have that much choice. There aren't that many potential partners around our age left; most people are married and having kids by the time they're in their early twenties. And those who aren't already are looking for husbands and wives to have kids with. People look at Fatuma as if she has two heads when she says she doesn't want to have children. It isn't as if none of the original Alphans had made that decision -- old lady Goldburg and Miss Benes were hardly the only ones, but it looks like our generation isn't giving itself many alternative options." Salvatore shook his head. "Maybe there's something in the Lokian air that turns people into prats."

Michael felt that Salvatore was including him in the 'prats' category and decided he needed to defend his generation.

"You know, Salvatore, it's not necessarily wrong. I mean, the attitude of our generation. The original Alphans grew up under completely different circumstances than we did. There were so many people on Earth that it didn't really matter if someone became a pervert or didn't have children or dropped out of school and went to do their own thing. But we have a duty, a responsibility to work as a community and to make that community grow so that it will thrive when all the original Alphans are gone."

To Michael's chagrin, Salvatore looked amused rather than impressed at this little speech. "You should become a teacher, Michael. Sounds just like what we learned in school."

"It's not funny, Salvatore," said Michael darkly. "I just... sometimes I get the feeling that you're just not interested in doing anything for the community. You're more interested in your painting and your girlfriends..." He interrupted himself with a shrug, unwilling to hurt Salvatore by repeating some of the things his work colleagues had said.

"You think I'm not pulling my weight, in other words." This time, Salvatore did look thoughtful. "No, I suppose I'm not. Not in the sense that I'm instrumental in putting food in mouths and roofs over heads. But I can't help feeling there should be more to life than that. We're not drones, or like those things on Earth -- insects? -- that just do what they're programmed to do until they die and don't have any personality of their own. There's more to us all than that and that's what I'd like to cater for. You know, give the Alphans some beauty to look at -- and not just something that was created on Earth for Earth people, something that's truly Lokian. That's what Fatuma is looking for in her performances, and that's what I'm looking for in my paintings and whatever else comes to mind."

It all sounded very logical when Salvatore said it, and Michael even felt guilty for suggesting that he wasn't pulling his weight. There was still one point that remained unanswered.

"And what are you looking for in your girlfriends?"

"Just seizing the day, old buddy," said Salvatore with a sly grin. "I think I'd die of boredom if I had been waiting around for a year like you have with that girl Hester. Aren't you ever going to do anything about that relationship?"

Embarrassed, Michael stood up and cleared away their empty plates. He had been official 'going out' with Hester Silberstein for nearly a year now, but although he liked her, he felt no great desire to go to bed with her or start a family. With no parents of his own to please, Michael didn't feel obligated to marry her, particularly as Hester seemed similarly disinterested. They only really went out together because they got on reasonably well and because it made them more like everyone else.

"There's no great hurry," he said as he placed the plates in the sink, his back turned to Salvatore.

"Exactly. There's always plenty of time to get married later," he heard Salvatore say.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Michael could just imagine Toto leaning on the table, its bright white plastic reflected off the bare skin of his chest, perhaps resting his chin on one hand, his intelligent sharp face smug and confident and so irritatingly handsome... Disturbed by the image, Michael remained silent and didn't dare turn around. Bad enough that these visions kept seizing him in the middle of the night, when he was at his most vulnerable, but he could do without them interrupting a conversation with Salvatore himself.

"Anyway, thanks for the meal," Salvatore continued. "I really must return the favour one of these days... What's the plan for this afternoon? Swimming?"

Michael nodded and resumed his washing up. Swimming was his one great pleasure in life, and the one thing he excelled at. He was a good engineer, or so he was told, but he was by no means the best among the apprentices. But at least he did know how to swim. He had been the champion at Dover for the whole of last Autumn. Michael remembered Salvatore, still in his early teens at the time, following him around admiringly and constantly asking if he could teach him how to swim like that. In fact, little Toto had been a little pest. Strange how things had changed.

"Fatuma is right; you need to unwind." Salvatore's voice, coming as it did from just behind him, made Michael jump. He turned around and found himself nose to nose with his roommate.

"If your idea of a good time is swimming, then you're not having enough of a good time," declared Salvatore, apparently oblivious to Michael's reaction. "But a swim sounds like a good idea for me. I really should be getting more exercise than perching on a ladder painting a wall." He pointed at his lean arms. "Get some muscle on these bones. Make my old mother proud."

And with that, Salvatore went back into his room, presumably to shave and change. Left alone in their little living room, Michael wondered briefly if it was a good idea to take Toto swimming. It would involve the young man wearing nearly as little in reality as he wore in those dreams that plagued Michael so much. But in the end, Michael shrugged his shoulders and told himself he should just forget those dreams, no doubt the product of an idle mind. Salvatore was just a friend, after all.

There weren't many people at the swimming-pool that afternoon. Most of the Alphans were at work or in school, and the only people with the leisure to go swimming on a Thursday afternoon were mostly retired original Alphans, pregnant women and those who happened to have a day off. In one quick look around the pool, Salvatore counted exactly seventeen people, himself and Michael included. But only one person caught his eye.

She was sitting at the edge of the pool, her dark brown legs dipping into the chlorinated water. Little concentric circles rippled across the pool's surface as she idly twirled her feet while she talked to a friend. Leaving her legs, Salvatore let his eyes rise to the place where her pale yellow bathing suit marked a depression in the dark flesh of her hips before encasing her voluptuous figure in a taut corset of shimmering artificial matter.

Then he looked at her face, and felt that familiar, bittersweet joy. Sweet joy because he was in love with her. Bitter joy because she was married to someone else and inextricably linked to that man by her enormous family. Her features were animated by whatever story she was telling her friend, her large black eyes widening and narrowing with the twists of her tale, her sensual lips parting and revealing pearly teeth as she smiled.

Salvatore wanted her to be smiling at him. He toyed with the idea of throwing himself into the water, but the thought that people would point at him and laugh behind his back stopped him. For all his deliberate disregard for Alphan customs, Salvatore was not a brave young man. Strangers terrified him, just as they used to frighten his mother when he was a small child and she would do anything, even physically hurt her husband, rather than face a crowd of humans.

Michael was still changing, so Salvatore chose to take a discreet approach before his friend joined him. He opted to walk around the pool to where Aisha was sitting. He was pleased to find that she looked up and smiled as she saw him coming. Even though they had the same dark skin, he reflected that she was as different from her little sister Fatuma as he was from his friend Michael. Same colouring, but such different facial expressions.

Aisha was the second of the Ofori children, now twenty-nine and mother to no fewer than eight children. Observing her healthy, fit figure, Salvatore found that difficult to believe, even though he had met various members of her numerous brood on several occasions. Aisha didn't have the slim, angular build of her younger sister; her body was all softness and gentle curves that Salvatore longed to touch. She was so unlike the other women in his life.

"Sal!" she exclaimed brightly. "Fatuma did say you and Mike were going swimming this afternoon, but I wasn't sure what time you would be coming around. You do know my sister-in-law Claude, don't you?"

Salvatore smiled politely at Claude, though as far as he was concerned the woman was nothing but an ugly reminder that Aisha was married. He sat down on the cold tiling beside Aisha and let his legs dangle in the water. His eye was momentarily caught by the contrast between her thick brown legs and his skinny white ones, all shimmering in the blue water.

Michael came to sit beside him; casting a quick glance at his friend, Salvatore got the impression the young man was sulking. He certainly looked very annoyed about something. Maybe his dislike of Fatuma now extended to all her family. On the other hand, Michael had been behaving strangely these last few months. They didn't often cross paths since Michael was on regular duty during the daytime and Salvatore found the night time, when everything was quiet, more propitious to his inspiration, but Salvatore had definitely noticed a change in Michael's attitude. He seemed more disapproving of Salvatore's erratic love life and... colder, somehow, as if he were deliberately hiding something. Some day, when they had more time together, Salvatore promised himself he would try to find out what was bothering his friend. Right now, though, he was too distracted by Aisha.

"Have you seen Fatuma's new performance?" he asked conversationally.

Aisha nodded. "She gave the family a private performance. Personally, I think she's getting stranger with each new show."

"I did like the bit about King Lear," intervened Claude. "Very controversial."

"I think it would be more controversial if Fatuma actually had a political agenda to back up her satire," said Aisha, shrugging her shoulders. "The way she presented it, coming as it did between her usual rantings, it just didn't make sense. One can assume that she's portraying the Old Man as King Lear, but what's the message? That if he retires, Alpha will fall prey to internal feuding between his political 'offspring'? Or is it just to show that Koenig is an old fool like Lear?"

In spite of himself, Salvatore was disturbed by Aisha calling Koenig an 'old fool'. The Commander was a figure beyond reproach. Perhaps similarly offended by the discussion, Michael suddenly got up and plunged into the water, his fine dive barely splashing the group at the waterside.

Salvatore watched Michael's pale shape undulating beneath the water's surface as he swam to the other side of the pool. Michael wasn't what Salvatore might call handsome -- the poor fellow was the image of his father -- but he was an athletic young man with a body Salvatore admired on an aesthetic level. He had been toying with the idea of painting his friend; he wondered if that would cheer Michael up. It would certainly be a nice change from painting Eagles and Earth animals on a wall that a bunch of teenagers were no doubt going to scribble on.

"I don't think Fatuma had anything so complicated in mind," said Salvatore, bringing his mind back to the subject of Fatuma's show. "I thought the point of that scene was that Fatuma sees herself as the Fool, who's there to reveal the true face of things. In any case, she doesn't need a political agenda. We don't have politics on Alpha."

He noticed that Aisha and Claude exchanged a bemused look and suddenly realised he was just expressing the opinions of the majority, the same way Michael had done that lunch time. And yet Salvatore couldn't see the point in discussing politics. He knew that what he said was true: there was no need of politics on Alpha.

"I suppose you're right," said Aisha finally, though Salvatore got the depressing feeling that she was just saying this to humour him. "Fatuma can point out the flaws in our society but it isn't up to her to do anything about them. That's the whole point of the artist's position in a civilised society, to hold up the mirror --" She demonstrated the concept by turning her cream palms to the ceiling. "-- and let others look inside. The mirror can be music, or performance, or... painting." She looked encouragingly at Salvatore. "Is that how you see your place in society, Sal?"

Mesmerised by the dark brown lines on the pale skin in the hollow of her hands, Salvatore merely shrugged his shoulders, before realising with a start that he was supposed to answer her question.

"I think a lot of art is mainly about the artist," he said. "In any case, I don't think you can generalise about the artist's role in society. We're all doing what we do for different reasons, usually nothing to do with reflecting society. That might be what Fatuma's performances are about, but most of Akira's music is about Earth, and most of my paintings are... about whatever they're about."

He didn't particularly want to discuss the true meaning of his paintings with Aisha and her sister-in-law whom he barely knew. Salvatore had long since realised that most of his paintings, even the commissioned fresco at the school, ended up being about his mother's madness and his father's death. No political comment, no social satire, just personal problems he needed to get out of his system.

"I heard one of Akira's new pieces the other day," volunteered Claude, perhaps sensing that Salvatore wasn't going to say any more on the subject of his painting. "I've liked most of his work, though I thought 'Tokyo Morning Sun' was a bit difficult to get in to. I think the auditory imagery was too unfamiliar; maybe it would make more sense to an original Alphan who had been to Tokyo. He wrote that one for his mother, I think. Anyway, his latest piece, 'Lost World', is absolutely mind-blowing. He used those samples I gave him from the library databanks to recreate the atmosphere of various places on Earth. Lots of birdsong and the sounds of animals."

Aisha didn't seem impressed. "Akira is very talented, but I think he spends too much time writing about Earth. I prefer to experience art that talks about Loki. As far as we're concerned, Earth doesn't exist. We've never been there and we will never go there, so there's no point making such a big deal about it." She turned to Salvatore. "I was so disappointed when I realised your fresco was going to be about Earth animals, Sal. I think they should have let you chose your own subject matter. That painting of Dover in your living room is infinitely more appropriate."

Salvatore shrugged; he didn't really care what the fresco was about as long as he was allowed to choose the colours and composition. That made him laugh as he remembered a scene a couple of days earlier.

"Actually, I'm not doing the job they want on the school fresco either. Alex Koenig came by to have a look at it the other day. He shook his head and pointed at the elephant and asked me why I had painted it pink. 'So people like you can wonder about it for generations to come. Makes people think, you see,' I said to him."

"You didn't," exclaimed Claude, who possibly viewed the entire Koenig family with the same respect as the Commander. Something Salvatore didn't feel obliged to do.

"I did," said Salvatore truthfully. He didn't think he had been particularly impolite, just honest. "Koenig seemed to think it was quite funny, actually. At least the man has a sense of humour. In any case, he knows he should do the painting himself if he wants it done differently. He's a great painter when it comes to painting things the way they are, so if he wanted a grey elephant, he could have done the thing himself. I could have done that too, but that's not what I'm interested in doing. We could have just printed out pictures from the computer and stuck them on the wall if that's what they wanted. They asked me because they saw my paintings when I put them up in the Cafeteria that time, and Alex Koenig seemed to like the one where I had a panther in a birdcage cage. That gave him the idea to get me to do the fresco."

"That one with the panther was a very sad painting," said Aisha gravely. "Where is it now?"

"Back on Loki. Maya is keeping it."

That particular painting meant a lot to Salvatore. He had painted it a couple of years earlier, although he had drawn the first draft just a few weeks before his father died. It wasn't his masterpiece as far as technique was concerned -- in fact, he was toying with the idea of repainting the same theme using the better paints which he now had at his disposal. He believed the theme deserved better treatment. But as it was, it was one of his more touching pieces.

The painting portrayed a snarling panther imprisoned in the sort of light wire cage that the doves were usually kept in, clearly set in an Alphan laboratory with a backdrop of white plastic panels. The inspiration was Rainer Maria Rilke's poem "The Panther", which his mother had once read to him. He never forgot the look on her face as she read about the beautiful wild beast pacing in its cage. Salvatore had always thought that poem could have been written about her, the beautiful Psychon imprisoned in a human society. He had given the painting to her on the anniversary of his father's death.

Uncomfortable discussing the particulars of the painting, Salvatore suddenly decided to hop into the pool. The relative cold of the water made him shiver as he let himself sink to the bottom. Having inherited some of his mother's physiognomy, Salvatore was a lot heavier than most humans his age and build, but he propelled himself back up to the surface with a vigorous push. When he emerged near Aisha, he found that Claude had followed his lead and gone off for a swim.

"Is your friend Mike sulking?" asked Aisha, nodding toward the other end of the pool.

Holding on to the side with one hand, Salvatore turned around and saw Michael swimming some distance away. "I don't know. He's been behaving strangely these days. Maybe I should take him to Fatuma's performance or just down for a night in the Catacombs. As far as I can tell, he never does anything except work."

"I'm surprised he doesn't go to the Catacombs with the rest of you," she remarked, evidently under the impression that this was the favourite occupation of every 20-year-old Alphan.

Even though he was bobbing up and down in the water, Salvatore managed to shrug his shoulders. He noticed he was very close to Aisha's feet in the water and wondered idly what she would do if he was to seize her ankle. He decided not to try. She might cry out and draw attention to them both.

"I took him once or twice, when I first started going there, but I don't think he could really see the point. It's improved a lot recently, though, what with Fatuma's shows and various musicians playing there. And they have permission to use bucket loads of alcohol now that they have some arrangement with Security. It's like those 'clubs' they always showed in Earth movies. Maybe Michael would enjoy taking his girlfriend there," he suggested, as if Aisha was an expert in the cheering-up-Michael department.

"He's going out with Hester Silberstein, isn't he?" Salvatore nodded and Aisha continued. "She's a nice girl; she teaches my little ones. She's inherited her mother's talent for teaching. But who knows, maybe she's the problem. He looks like a boy with love troubles. I remember Azizi mooning around for ages about some girl." Azizi was one of Aisha's brothers. "I can't even remember which one now," she concluded thoughtfully. "Saskia, possibly. It certainly wasn't Lakshmi, because he didn't meet her until later..."

Salvatore momentarily tuned out Aisha's musings and looked at Michael pensively. It hadn't occurred to Salvatore that Michael's change of attitude might have something to do with Hester. To be quite honest, there were times when he completely forgot that his roommate even had a girlfriend. Hester was a quiet young woman, a teacher at the primary school, and although Salvatore had met her several times over the past year, that was as much as he had ever learned about her. The only reason he could think of that would make Michael go out with the girl was the fact that she was not unlike his mother Michelle. Very pretty and completely bereft of personality -- in Salvatore's opinion, at least.

"Yeah, maybe Hester's his problem," he said thoughtfully. "I don't really understand their relationship. They don't seem very close."

"You mean they don't sleep together." Aisha sounded amused; looking up at her, Salvatore saw that she was smiling at him.

"Oh come on," he said ruefully. "That's not what I meant. And I'm not completely obsessed with sex, you know."

Aisha's expression softened. "Sorry. But you do have quite a reputation as a ladies' man, Sal. Even my mother has been hearing rumours about your antics."

"She would: I'm performing some of those antics with one of her daughters!" He wondered if that was a bit too crude for Aisha, but she didn't seem bothered.

"I think in some ways you're lucky," she said thoughtfully. "There isn't as much pressure on you to do things right. Marry, have children, all that sort of thing. I had a family to take care of by the time I was your age."

Salvatore opened his mouth, about to say something about people making their own destiny, but then decided that wasn't a fair thing to say. Aisha had made one mistake when she was sixteen and her whole life had followed on from that event. Salvatore reflected that his own destiny would not have been as carefree as it was now if any of the women he had slept with had insisted on him marrying them. So he had no right to tell Aisha she could have been free just by wanting it. Besides, Salvatore thought there was plenty of pressure on him to marry and have kids -- he was just getting good at ignoring it.

"I come from a pretty weird background," he said finally.

He plunged his head under the surface again and listened to the distorted banging of limbs against the water as the other people in the pool splashed around. He was surprised when he felt something stroking his arm. From the shape of the object and the fact it had five toes at one end, Salvatore had to assume it was Aisha's foot. Puzzled, he popped his head out of the water and looked up at her.

"Will you stop disappearing when I'm trying to talk to you?" she exclaimed good-naturedly, her foot still playfully poking Salvatore in the side. "Talk about a short attention span. You're worse than my kids!"

"Aren't you coming in?" asked Salvatore, to deflect any further comparison between himself and one of Aisha's offspring. He didn't want her to think of him as a kid.

"I'm not very keen on swimming." Aisha looked down at him and smiled. "I usually do that when I'm pregnant. But I thought it sounded like a good idea when I heard you and Mike were coming down here. I'm glad we got an opportunity to talk, Sal. I've always thought you were an interesting little fellow."

With that, she pushed herself into the water with a splash and swam off to join Claude. Salvatore stayed where he was for, momentarily paralysed by the thought that Aisha might have come to the swimming pool specifically to meet him.

Michael could hear the music and laughter long before he reached the bottom of the stairs that lead to the Catacombs. He vaguely recognised the music as one of Davey Kano's compositions, although the electronically-generated sounds were distorted by the echoing walls. It had been a long time since Michael had been to the Catacombs. He had vague memories of his father talking about the place when he was a child on Loki, but the dark corridors excavated under the Moon's surface meant nothing to him now.

The mines where his father had once worked had been abandoned almost as soon as the Alphans arrived in the Lokian system. Since they were air-conditioned and pressurised, some parts had been converted into storage areas and manufacturing plants. The rest had been gradually taken over by Alpha's younger generation and eventually turned into a sort of alternative entertainment area. There were recreational facilities elsewhere on Alpha, offering far more salubrious pursuits in Michael's opinion, but the Catacombs seemed to exercise a strange fascination on some people.

Michael had never been interested. He knew Salvatore spent a lot of his time there, drinking alcohol and 'seeking inspiration', but Michael couldn't see the point and had always resisted Toto's attempts to lure him there. In the month since Fatuma's new show had started, Toto had suggested a night at the Catacombs virtually every rest day eve -- he was evidently under the impression that Michael needed cheering up. Since Michael wasn't about to tell him what was wrong, he just refused to go and that was it.

But today was a bit different. Hester's sister Sarah was celebrating her 25th birthday and had chosen to invite all her friends down to the Catacombs. Sarah lived on Ceres II and didn't visit Alpha very often; Michael couldn't quite refuse to escort Hester to her sister's birthday party. Even when he knew perfectly well that Salvatore would be there, no doubt slobbering over some new conquest.

"The music is very good," remarked Hester as she followed Michael down the steps.

Michael turned to look at her and smiled. Hester was a very pretty young woman, with large black eyes, a small nose and a little pink mouth. At her sister's instigation, she was looking her best, dressed in the sort of very revealing party dress that was in fashion on Alpha these days, her abundant mass of frizzy dark hair drawn attractively off her long pale neck. Michael was proud to have such an 'aesthetic' girlfriend, as Salvatore would say. He reminded himself that he shouldn't be thinking about Toto at all; he was supposed to be going out with his lovely girlfriend, after all.

This determination notwithstanding, Michael wasn't particularly surprised to find that the very first person he noticed in the crowd when they entered the Grotto was Salvatore. It was as if he had developed a sixth sense which allowed him to see his roommate before anyone else. Admittedly, Salvatore's current attire was difficult to ignore; the young man was wearing tight black trousers and a shiny yellow shirt which caught the dim lights as he circulated through the crowd with a tray of drinks, deftly handing out the mass-produced plastic mugs to the patrons. Toto was evidently tonight's designated waiter.

Tearing his eyes away from the yellow shirt, Michael remembered to smile reassuringly at Hester. Imitating some of the couples around them, he placed his hand on her bare back and guided her into the room. They soon located Sarah's low table near the stage and went to sit down with her, piling up cushions to make themselves more comfortable on the floor. Michael looked away politely as Hester's attempt to sit down revealed a great deal of her left leg, right up to the point where the colouring makeup stopped on her hip. Pale-skinned Alphan girls sometimes coloured their legs to emulate the nylon tights that their Earth forebears had once worn. There was talk of the Chem Lab developing some new synthetic fabrics, including nylon, but the official line was that the Alphans had better things to do than manufacture tights.

Sarah introduced Michael to her Ceresian friends, two men and one woman who had also come over for a holiday in the big city. Her voice was barely audible above the music and Michael promptly forgot what he was told. He learned that the girl was her sister-in-law Ling Ling, but only because it was an unusual name and the woman was Eurasian. The others were just ordinary-looking young men.

With the loudspeakers so close and everyone a stranger, Michael didn't feel there was any hope for much conversation. In any case, he was so upset by his obsession with Salvatore that he rarely trusted himself to speak to anyone these days, for fear of biting their head off or, worse, starting to tell them about Salvatore. He had already been tempted to tell Hester what was happening, though he had fortunately realised the mistake before revealing the extent of his problem. Michael didn't want to bother other people with his obsession. He was an Alphan: he could handle this alone.

As the conversation continued without him, Michael turned his attention to his surroundings. Unlike the caves at Dover, the panelling in the Catacombs wasn't complete. This particular room had a floor and some walls covered in plastic panels, but the ceiling and one of the walls was just bare rock with the infrastructure of scaffolding and wiring that usually ran behind the panels. The ensuing half-finished effect was no doubt a deliberate design, but Michael thought it just looked messy.

The panels were not white, but a dark blue which Michael had seen used elsewhere. The Mare Frigoris plastic manufacturing plant had started experimenting with different colours in recent years, giving people a bit more latitude in their choice of internal decor. Here, though, the panels were also elaborately decorated with various paintings which Michael recognised as Salvatore's surrealist work. The picture opposite him was one of Fatuma, completely naked and holding some kind of flower.

Annoyed by this picture, Michael firmly turned his back on it, only to find that Salvatore was heading confidently for their table, a smile on his lips. Michael stared at him, mesmerised by the shiny shirt as it glistened in the lights from the stage. Toto didn't seem to notice.

"What can I get everyone?" he asked loudly, his voice easily covering the music.

It was as if a bolt of electricity had run through the small group; as one, they all turned towards him and stared. The Ceresians had probably never met Salvatore before, and it was likely they had only ever seen the official pictures of Maya, either; they seemed fascinated with Salvatore's brown streaked face.

Recovering from her surprise, Sarah leaned forward on the table; Salvatore bent over to hear her and no doubt got a good look down her low-cut top. Sarah was a widow and she was visibly looking for a husband.

"It's my birthday party," she told him. "What kind of drinks do you have?"

"Fruit juices are grape, apple, pear, apricot but no orange: we just ran out of that. Alcohol drinks are red wine, cider, vodka, sake, beer, pear or apricot liqueur. Any combination of the above is also possible, but you'd better come up to the bar and watch me or you might get a surprise. We also have a strawberry wine that someone's given us, but I wouldn't recommend it," he said with a grin. "I think Mrs Devers said it was unfit for human consumption. It didn't look too good to me either!"

He caught Sarah's eye and she smiled at him. Encouraged, Salvatore continued. "You can also have some food if you're hungry. We have fifteen kinds of bread or biscuits of various kinds, as well as some fruit..." He turned and peered at the bar area as he enumerated a number of other home-made or factory produced delicacies.

After Salvatore had repeated the food and drinks list a few times, the Ceresians finally sorted out their orders. Before leaving to get their food, Toto crouched down beside Michael; although he realised that Salvatore was merely being friendly, Michael's heart skipped a beat when he caught his eye.

"I think I'm going to need help carrying this lot back," said Salvatore. "Maybe you could come up to the bar with me."

Michael could see this as a transparent ploy to get him away from the others to have a quiet word. He knew that Salvatore was beginning to get suspicious all was not well and the Psychon had probably decided to take this opportunity to find out what. With no desire to have a quiet word with Salvatore, Michael was about to make up some excuse when, to his surprise and Toto's too, one of the Ceresians spoke up.

"Hey, I'll come and lend you a hand if you need help," offered the young man, immediately standing up. He was a short blond fellow with a ruddy complexion; noticing him for the first time, Michael realised he had no idea who the man was or why he'd been invited to this get together.

Salvatore looked at the Ceresian curiously for a moment and then got up with a half shrug. "Sounds good to me," he said with a grin. "Come, follow me and we'll get these orders sorted out."

"My name's PJ, by the way," said the man as he followed Salvatore through the crowd.

Toto said something to him and PJ laughed, but by then, Michael couldn't hear them anymore. He watched them head for the kitchen area, a row of plastic tables and cooling units cordoned off with panelling. Michael wondered why this guy PJ suddenly wanted to help Toto. It was usually the women who looked for excuses to accompany Salvatore somewhere.

The music changed to a softer, quieter piece which made conversation easier. Taking this opportunity, the Eurasian woman, Ling Ling, suddenly piped up, leaning affectionately on the arm of the dark-haired fellow beside her.

"I have to say we're very impressed with Alpha," she declared. "I haven't been here often in the past, but Greg and I are thinking about transferring here when we get authorisation. I think it would be better for the little ones to grow up somewhere there's enough room to run around. Little Jimmy -- that's our three-year-old -- is just so full of energy I'm afraid he's going to run straight into an airlock some day. Anyway, now we've got three children, we get top priority to come and live here, because of the school. As soon as there's a three-children apartment available, we'll be entitled to it."

Her husband Greg, evidently a man of few words, merely smiled and ruffled his wife's bristly black hair.

"Is it my imagination, or is PJ trying to pull Sal Verdeschi?" said Sarah suddenly, craning her head around Ling Ling to look at the bar. Everyone turned to see what she was looking at.

The two men were in great conversation, so much so in fact that Toto had stopped pouring out the drinks and was listening with rapt attention to whatever PJ was saying. PJ leaned forward to whisper something in Salvatore's ear; Toto drew back, staring at him in obvious surprise, but then smiled and shook his head, evidently explaining his refusal. PJ shrugged his shoulders and started laying out the plates and glasses on a tray.

"Looks like the boy Verdeschi isn't interested," remarked Ling Ling. "Still, I can't blame PJ for trying." She winked flirtatiously at her husband. "Yer man Verdeschi isn't what I'd call handsome -- funny-looking fellow actually -- but he's a pretty snappy dresser. I haven't seen a fellow making such an obnoxious fashion statement since old man Johnson turned up in drag for the fancy dress at New Year!"

There was much laughter at this last statement and the Ceresians started to reminisce about the party, with Hester chancing an occasional polite laugh. But Michael wasn't listening. Somewhere in his foggy brain, there was the thought that Ling Ling seemed to have an Irish accent. Most of his mental faculties, however, were currently analysing the information he had just been given about this fellow PJ. The idea that he was... was a... Michael couldn't even formulate the thought in his mind. That was too disgusting.

Determined not to show his feelings, Michael swallowed hard and tried to follow the conversation at his table. Ling Ling and Sarah were chatting about their children and comparing notes on their offspring's progress. After a few moments, Michael's gaze unconsciously drifted back to Salvatore and PJ.

If he was aware of PJ's intentions, Salvatore obviously didn't seem to mind. He was still laughing with the blond Ceresian as they laid out the food on a tray. Maybe Salvatore was interested after all; maybe he was going to add this guy PJ to his list of conquests. Michael suddenly felt sick. There were times when he hated Salvatore and the way he made him feel.

"I think you lot ordered enough food to feed the five thousand!" said Salvatore good-naturedly as he and PJ served the people at Michael's table. Casting a glance at his friend, Salvatore thought Michael looked as if he'd swallowed a sour almond. His attempts to broach the subject had been unsuccessful so far, but Salvatore decided it was really time they had a talk about what was bugging Michael these days.

"The five thousand what?" asked the Eurasian girl.

"It's just an expression," said PJ with a shrug. "Goodness knows what it means."

"Actually, I think it comes from a religious story about Jesus feeding five thousand people with three fish or something," explained Salvatore. He was by no means an expert on religion, but he had been known to look up Earth paintings in the library, and most of the old Italian ones depicted biblical scenes.

"Are you religious?" asked the woman whose birthday it was. Salvatore shook his head and smiled politely. He tucked the tray under his arm and was about to leave when the woman spoke again. "Why don't you join us?" she called.

"Join you? I don't even know you," he said with a disarming grin. He'd perfected the expression over the last couple of years and it had the desired effect. The woman looked completely disarmed.

"I'm Hester's sister Sarah," she explained. "This is my sister-in-law Ling Ling and her husband Greg, and I think you've already met everyone else. We're from Ceres II."

Salvatore nodded: PJ had told him as much. He observed Sarah thoughtfully for a moment. She wasn't unattractive -- small and vivacious with large black eyes and short hennaed hair -- but there was a hardness in her face which made him decide he'd be best not to pursue her. In any case, she was unlikely to be unmarried, and he didn't want to get involved with Hester's sister. That might make things awkward for Michael.

"And I'm Salvatore Verdeschi," he said, in case they hadn't already guessed. "Pleased to meet you all, but I'm afraid I'm on duty this evening. We take turns, and this is mine," he explained, spreading one hand apologetically. "Maybe later, hey?"

To be quite honest, there was no reason he couldn't go and look for Fatuma or any of the other organisers of the Grotto and ask them to cover. Waiting on tables was a purely voluntary function with the sole purpose of making sure a limited number of people had access to the food and drink, so that not too many of the supplies went missing at one time. But Salvatore didn't feel like having an embarrassing evening with a sulking Michael, a homosexual he'd just turned down and a bunch of Ceresians he didn't know. People he didn't know usually asked him the same questions all over again. Could he metamorphose? Was he telepathic? Did he grow hairs and howl at night?

He left the table to return to his duties. Most of the people in the Grotto were regulars, the same group of about 20 or 30 young Alphans who still came down here for an evening of talking, flirting and drinking, with some dancing thrown in when the right music was playing. It was unusual to see any new people; most of the older second generation who had originally created the Grotto had moved onto other pursuits, drawn away by family responsibilities and changing tastes as they approached their thirties. The ones that were left were mostly the youngest of the generation like Salvatore and Fatuma.

Salvatore looked to see if Fatuma was around, but there was no sign of her. He was rather looking forward to telling her what had happened between him and PJ; he knew she would be absolutely fascinated. The Ceresian had been pretty straightforward, asking Salvatore if he'd ever been out with a man and suggesting they meet up the next day. Once he'd got over the shock and refused, Salvatore had found himself thinking he might be missing an interesting opportunity. On the other hand, though, it wouldn't have been fair to lead the man on simply to assuage his curiosity. As it was, PJ just shrugged his shoulders and said he needed a 'gay dating agency'. Salvatore was rather flattered by the whole incident.

A couple of hours later, Salvatore was on his knees rooting around one of the cooling units when he noticed that someone had joined him in the kitchen area. He glanced at what he could see of his visitor and grinned as he recognised the bits he saw: dark brown feet in model 5 plastic sandals, thin shaved legs barely concealed by a shermeen dress dyed black -- Chem Lab pigment BK03244, to be precise, the one with a characteristic brownish tinge. After years of mixing his own paints, Salvatore was getting to be quite an expert at distinguishing the Chem Lab's haphazard experiments with colorants. Black was not one of their specialities.

"Busy night?" he heard Fatuma ask.

"It's been busier," he said noncommittally as he got up, having finally found the flask of apple juice he had been looking for.

"I saw Michael leave with his girlfriend. Looks like he might be planning a move for once."

"Damn, I needed to tell him my mother's coming up next week." Salvatore frowned thoughtfully and then shrugged his shoulders. "I'll see if I can catch him tomorrow... or maybe on his rest day." He grinned. "So you think he's taking Hester back to our place?"

Fatuma spread her hands. "Who knows? He might have been simply escorting her home. I don't see why they'd be leaving Hester's poor sister on her birthday night, though. Maybe Michael took the huff or something."

"I really don't know what's up with Michael these days. I keep trying to talk to him, but it's as if he's avoiding me. He's definitely been in a foul mood tonight. He kept giving me dirty looks every time I went over to serve them drinks... Ah well, anyway, I'd better go and serve Purnima and her friends before she gets after me." He picked up the tray and headed out of the kitchen area.

"I think Purnima fancies you," said Fatuma. Salvatore assumed she would be one to know; Purnima was a relative by marriage, since Purnima's sister Lakshmi was married to Fatuma's brother Azizi. Alpha was one big extended family these days -- Salvatore was one of the few who was related to no one. Not officially at any rate.

"Everyone fancies me," he said with a grin.

He served Purnima's clique their drinks and glanced over at the Ceresians' table. PJ was dancing with a few others near the music system, but Sarah, Ling Ling and Greg were in great conversation. Salvatore had been back to serve them several times, so they were all looking pretty merry by now. No one else in the room called for his attention, so he collected the empty cups off a few tables and returned to the kitchen.

As he went to the sink, Salvatore realised it was high time he started to do the washing up. There weren't many cups left on the shelf, and the basin as well as the tables beside it were covered in dirty cups and plates. With a sigh, Salvatore rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

"I had a talk with Michael's friends," said Fatuma. Her sudden appearance beside him made Salvatore jump.

"Ah, now I know why you're wearing black," he declared, nodding his head dramatically. "You're applying for a new job as my shadow, aren't you?"

"This isn't black, it's flesh coloured," said Fatuma, spreading out a fold of her dress. "And anyway, don't change the subject! I know what you've been up to. I was talking to the Ceresians and Michael suddenly pipes up to announce that I'm your girlfriend. Fair enough. Then this girl Ling Ling starts to go on at that boy PJ about how he chatted you up and stuff. I thought he took it well. I wouldn't be too pleased if I'd been turned down by someone and then everyone was making fun of me like that. Especially with strangers present and everything."

"What were you doing talking to them anyway? Don't tell me you have family on Ceres II as well."

"Actually, I am sort of related to Greg Sanderson, Ling Ling's husband. His brother is married to Maggie Reilly, whose brother Billy is married to Aisha Habibi from Dover. And as you know, being from there and everything, the Dover Aisha's brother Karim is married to the Dover Helena, whose brother John is my sister Halima's husband."

"Right, well, I'll take your word for that; I couldn't make head or tail of any of it!" laughed Salvatore, though he was getting very good at drawing a mental map of everyone's genealogies. "Small world, isn't it!"

"Getting smaller all the time. Anyway, what's all this about that guy PJ asking you out? What did he say?"

"He helped me get their drinks," said Salvatore, no longer so enthusiastic about telling Fatuma now that she'd heard the story from another source. "And then he asked if we could perhaps meet up tomorrow. I said we could and asked why and then he said he should warn me that he... how did he put it? He said 'I'm the sort of man who fancies men'. Well, I said I wasn't, not that I've noticed, anyway. And that was that."

Fatuma's black eyes widened. "Is he a singer or an actor? Lots of singers were homosexual on Earth, weren't they?"

"I don't know," he answered, turning on the water tap. "I didn't ask."

"Oh well, it looks as though we're going to get a golden opportunity to find out anyway..."

Turning around, Salvatore saw PJ heading towards them. The young man's face was rosy with drink and the effort of dancing; he had stripped down to his undershirt.

"Any chance of a drink?" he asked, leaning over the panelling that served as a partition for the kitchen. "Phew, it gets hot in here when you're dancing!"

"Cider?" suggested Salvatore. That was the last thing PJ had ordered.

"Good memory. Yes, a cider will do just fine." PJ turned his attention to Fatuma. "Hello, dear. I hope I'm not disturbing you two love birds."

Fatuma guffawed. "No, it's fine. We were just talking about you, actually." Salvatore's heart sank, knowing what Fatuma was going to say. "Are you artistic at all, PJ?"

The young man grinned. "No, not unless mining is artistic."

"You're a homosexual miner?" Fatuma sounded disappointed.

PJ shrugged his shoulders as Salvatore served him his glass of cider. "Well, seeing as the head man over there is homosexual, I guess I'm not much of an exception. Besides, that's what we do over on Ceres II -- mining. So we're virtually all miners anyway."

"Sounds like an interesting place," said Fatuma sarcastically. She had an aversion for any kind of hard work. She despised the miners at Ceres II, the farmers on Loki and the workers at the manufacturing plants on Alpha.

"You should come there," suggested PJ, though his comment was directed at Salvatore. "It's not as dreary as it sounds. We're a very close community, and we have a good time. It's like living in one big family. Well, not that big, but you know what I mean."

Salvatore did know what he meant and felt a sudden twinge of regret as he remembered the close, friendly community he had grown up in at Dover, the way it had been when he was a child. It had never been the same since his father died. Not that he had waited around to find out what had changed.

"I'm sure it's a nice place," he said shortly, before swallowing his regret and continuing more amiably. "Not much demand for painters over there, though, I can imagine. It sounds more like Michael's calling than mine."

"Michael is your friend who left early, isn't he?" asked PJ. "Who is he related to?"

"That's the eternal question, isn't it," said Salvatore gruffly. "The first questions whenever you meet someone new are always 'What's your name' and 'who are you related to'." He wasn't in the mood to enumerate Michael's relatives.

"He's the son of Michelle and Patrick Osgood," explained Fatuma. "That should place him for you. Aside from that, he's related to the famous Shermeen through his sister."

"I've heard of Pat Osgood," said PJ, evidently impressed by this information. "My mentor Andy Johnson worked with him a lot down here until the mining team was split to man Loki and Ceres II. I suppose Osgood preferred Loki because he could leave his wife and children at Dover. And of course, everyone knows Shermeen Collins," he added, plucking demonstratively at his shermeen undershirt. "Michael is well related."

Fatuma made a face. "You're pretty well related yourself, PJ, being Richard Koenig's brother-in-law and everything."

"Oh no!" exclaimed Salvatore. "That means you're related to my boss. I'd better not say anything bad about him, then." He winked at PJ, which seemed to please the young man.

"It's not as if there's anything special about being related to the Koenigs," said PJ. "They're just like everyone else, except for the weird thing about the puffballs."

Salvatore shuddered at the mention of the creatures. They gave him the creeps; whenever he approached one, he could feel its thoughts and emotions in his mind, and he hated the sensation. Doctor Mathias had run multiple tests on him when he was a small child which showed that Salvatore did have a higher than human average ESP rating. This apparently made him hypersensitive to the puffballs' empathic abilities.

"What weird thing?" asked Fatuma.

PJ opened his mouth and then shut it. This evidently wasn't something he'd been planning to tell them. "Oh, the puffballs made them sort of telepathic or something," he said finally. "Well, no, empathic, I think is more correct, like they can read each other's feelings. It's a bit weird when you see them together and they sort of look at each other for no apparent reason. Um, Doctor Helena Koenig and Commander Koenig, that is -- not their children... Anyway, I'm sure I can put in a good word for you with brother Alex if necessary, Sal."

PJ seemed satisfied that his explanation would suffice, so Salvatore decided not to pursue the topic. He wasn't very keen on the whole idea of being able to read or even sense someone's thoughts or emotions. After Mathias ran his tests, Salvatore's parents had explained to him that some Psychons had telepathic abilities, and that it was something he should develop, because it could be useful to Alpha. He'd believed them then. But then Salvatore started school.

All the children had had history lessons about an evil Psychon called Dorzak who tried to take over Alpha. Logical little monsters that they were, the human children assumed Salvatore was exactly like Dorzak. It wasn't the happiest time in Salvatore's life. No matter what the adults said or did, there was always doubt in his schoolmate's eyes. From that time on, Salvatore had systematically refused to develop his abilities for fear of really becoming a madman like Dorzak. He'd even gone so far as to deliberately fail any further ESP tests so that no one would force him to perfect his skills. By now, the ability was so well dissimulated that Salvatore didn't even need to pretend; he really couldn't read minds.

"Hello? Eagle One to Salvatore, can you read me?"

Salvatore glared at Fatuma, annoyed at the interruption. She flashed her sparkling white smile at him.

"So Mike is an engineer like his father?" asked PJ apropos of nothing.

Surprised at this sudden change of subject, Salvatore hesitated and then nodded. "Oh yes. I guess he inherited the talent from his father. Not that I'd be able to tell -- the only bit I enjoyed in engineering preparation was drawing the diagrams. And learning about perspective, of course: a very useful Florentine invention. Though that became a bit tedious too. Michael sometimes tells me about his work, but it all goes in one ear and comes out the other. Maybe you should talk to him. It might cheer him up to talk to someone who actually understands what he's into."

"And goodness knows he needs cheering up," agreed Fatuma. "I don't remember him being such a miserable sod before."

"He did seem rather upset about something..." PJ voice trailed off and he drank his cider thoughtfully. He glanced at Salvatore and then Fatuma. "Maybe I caught him at a bad time."

Salvatore nodded philosophically and then glanced at the sink, still full of cups. "I hate to say this, but I do have to deal with these dishes," he said apologetically. He knew he'd be there all night if he didn't get the first batch sorted out.

"Why don't you get people to do their own washing up?" asked PJ.

"Because they tried that system years ago and found the washing up just didn't get done," explained Salvatore. "Besides, the whole point of this place is to give Alphans a break from the ordinary. Speaking as a patron as well as a waiter, I can say it's very pleasant not to have to do the washing up when you're here for a night out."

"You don't do the washing up at your place anyway," remarked Fatuma, leaning against him affectionately. "As far as I can tell, Michael usually does it."

"Ah, well, then me doing it here is a good learning experience," said Salvatore, automatically sliding his arm around her waist. "I'll get back to it. You can still talk to me, but I'll have to turn my back on you." He kissed her on the cheek.

"Super, we get to admire that great backside of yours," exclaimed Fatuma as he let go of her.

"That's an excellent idea," agreed PJ enthusiastically.

His face burning with embarrassment, Salvatore turned back to the sink and started diligently cleaning the dishes. There had been some talk of getting a machine to do this task; Michael had even heard rumours from the engineering department that someone had drawn up some specs. But dishwashing machines were hardly a top priority in a community which was only just past worrying about food and housing. The powers that be probably felt that the engineering team's energy would be better spent designing more efficient mining modules and Eagle craft. And Salvatore couldn't blame them. Dishwashing wasn't such a bad job anyway. Once he had stopped procrastinating and actually started the job, he found its monotony quite soothing. It was an ideal time for wool-gathering.

With the water running, Salvatore couldn't hear what Fatuma and PJ were talking about. They seemed to be getting along well, so he assumed they didn't need his input to have a good conversation. He was uncomfortable with the thought that they might be talking about him, literally behind his back as they were. On the other hand, they both seemed to like him, so he could only hope they wouldn't say anything nasty.

As he scrubbed away at the plastic cups and plates, Salvatore wondered once again why he seemed to have such an effect on the humans around him. Maybe it was a bizarre side-effect of his repressed telepathic abilities. Or a result of all the treatments his mother had endured to have him. He was more or less an artificial construct after all, and it wasn't inconceivable that his creation might have had unforeseen effects -- a question which bothered him now and then. Whatever the reason, Fatuma was right: everyone seemed to fancy him. Or at least, quite a few people did; this trend fortunately didn't extend to the likes of Alex Koenig. He grinned at that idea.

Salvatore had nearly finished the dishes when he suddenly felt Fatuma wrap her arms around him. She gave him a kiss on the nape of the neck.

"I might have to marry you, Sally-boy, to make sure no one else can get their hands on your lovely body," she said, breathing seductively on his neck. "With all these people wanting you, I'm beginning to get jealous."

Salvatore wasn't at all sure he liked the sound of Fatuma talking about marriage all of a sudden. Neither of them had ever mentioned it before. He definitely didn't like her calling him "Sally" -- he'd had enough problems with silly nicknames at school.

Fatuma laughed before he got a chance to protest. "Oh, I'm just kidding Salvatore, you know I am. If only you could see the look on your face, though! I'll have to mention the 'M' word more often!"

Salvatore smiled reluctantly and let her kiss his lips. Looking around, he couldn't see PJ. "Where's the Ceresian wonderboy, then?"

"Gone off to join his mates. I think they're about to leave: it's probably way past their bedtime. I like PJ, even though he's another person to add to your long list of admirers."

As he started to put away the dishes, Salvatore could tell Fatuma had more to say on this subject. She was even willing to help him tidy up to make sure she had his undivided attention. Salvatore looked beyond the partition to check that none of the patrons were clamouring for a drink. Most of the people had left by now; they would all be working the next day. Salvatore went back to tidying the kitchen.

"PJ reckons there's someone else you can add to the list," said Fatuma mischievously. "Michael."

Salvatore stared at her, holding a stack of plates in mid air. "Michael? Michael Osgood?"

"The one and only." Fatuma was positively beaming with satisfaction at the effect her news was having. "Apparently, PJ was a bit suspicious because of a few things Sarah had said about Michael and Hester, so he was keeping an eye on our friend this evening. PJ said that Michael never took his eyes off you."

Salvatore's heart seemed to turn in his chest, and he felt a rush of adrenaline leave a sour taste in his mouth. "What the hell does PJ know about Michael?" he said, speaking through clenched teeth the way his father used to when he was angry. "Come on, Mike's going out with Hester. He isn't a homosexual."

"Has he ever actually done anything with Hester?" argued Fatuma. "No, right? It all makes sense, Salvatore, he's in love with you and that's why he's so miserable."

It did make sense. It made too much sense, in fact. Salvatore turned and put the plates he was holding onto their shelf. His mouth was still dry with shock.

"That's not possible," he muttered, amazed that the thought hadn't occurred before.

But he knew why he had never thought of it. He had never met any homosexuals, not that he knew of at any rate, and so had assumed that there just weren't any on Alpha. It would never have occurred to him that his own flatmate might be one.

"Of course it's possible," said Fatuma more gently. "It's that irresistible charm of yours. It drives us all crazy, and Michael actually lives with you. Maybe he isn't a homosexual at all, but just fancies you because of those good vibes you give out."

Fatuma's tone was flirtatious, but Salvatore felt sick. Bad enough that he should be an artificially-created freak, but he was a freak who was making his best friend miserable for no good reason.

He must have looked completely wretched, because Fatuma poured him a vodka.

"Here, darling, don't take it so hard," she said, handing him the cup. "Maybe you should talk to Michael about it. If he really is in love with you -- and maybe he isn't, after all -- then he'll probably get over it. If he's just horny, then he should have it off with someone else and get it out of his system. It can't be healthy, all that repression."

Salvatore drank the vodka straight and immediately felt better. "Yeah, it's just you and PJ making things up," he said hopefully. "I'll talk to Michael and if it isn't true, then the whole ludicrous idea should cheer him up." Salvatore could remember the days when Michael had a sense of humour; it seemed to have vanished recently.

"Why don't you finish off here, and then we can go to your place," suggested Fatuma. She stroked Salvatore's striped cheek. "I'll try not to give you any more nasty shocks!"

Michael watched as Hester slipped on her dress. Her eyes were downcast and he knew she was as embarrassed as he was. She shivered as the cool shermeen touched her bare skin; Michael could see the goosebumps on her arms.

"I can lend you a cardigan," he offered.

She shook her head silently, still averting her eyes as she finished arranging the dress. She slid her feet into her plastic sandals and then leaned down to tie them up. Michael could see the bones in her back lift her skin into little bumps that seemed to run up into her hair. She straightened up again and tied back her curly hair with a clasp.

Observing her small nose, her sensual lips and her long eyelashes, Michael wondered why no one else had pursued this lovely woman. It wasn't fair that she should find herself in this situation with someone like him.

"I'll see you later," she murmured as she got up, still timid even now.

"Don't you want to have a shower or... something?" He realised he was being too practical and too indelicate. Of course she didn't want to stay here a minute longer than she had to. She wanted to go home to her parents and her sister, to wash away the whole disgusting experience within the comfort of her family.

Hester shook her head. This time, she did look at him and chanced a little smile. Her lips parted as if to say something and she rung her hands hesitantly, but ultimately, all she said was, "I have to go."

Michael stood up and escorted her to the front door. He kissed her cheek as she left, trying in vain to tell himself that this was normal, that they could get married and have a relationship like everyone else's. The first time was supposed to be difficult and embarrassing. They would soon sort the logistics out once they'd been married for a while.

Because he would have to marry her, of course. That was clear in his mind; he wasn't going to have a string of meaningless relationships like Salvatore's. He was going to get married and have children, just as his parents had done, just as nearly all his friends had done. That was the "normal" thing to do, and Michael wanted to be normal.

He would propose to Hester later, perhaps in a day or two, when the acute embarrassment of this moment had worn off. He didn't know if Hester would accept, though he assumed she would. On the other hand, it was never easy to tell what Hester wanted or what she was thinking. She was never enthusiastic about anything, just consistently easygoing and polite. She had accepted his invitation to come here after their evening in the Catacombs as if he were inviting her to an afternoon stroll around the biosphere. His excuse for bringing her in was to show her Salvatore's painting, but she didn't seem surprised when he kissed her. She had followed him into his room as soon as he suggested it, and seemed mildly interested at best in the rest of the night's proceedings, despite the fact he had obviously hurt her a lot more than he had imagined he would have to.

Michael returned to his room. He felt completely numb, emotionally drained by the terrible feeling that he had made an enormous mistake. Still sheltered from the full realisation by this cocoon of apathy, he stripped the bed and put new sheets on it before carefully putting away all his clothes and laying out his uniform for the following morning. He stared at the zip on the yellow sleeve for a long while, exhaustion momentarily prolonging his state of shock. But then it really hit him.

It was all wrong. Hester was a pretty woman and given a little more vivacity, she would even be very attractive. But he didn't want her; her thin body, the scent of her long hair, the touch of her small hands on his skin had meant nothing. He had made love to her like a machine, following incomplete instructions that the reproductive imperative had left in his mind, but it wasn't her body he had wanted to feel against his. He needed something else.

Michael refused to formulate in his mind what he knew he wanted. He still felt terrible guilt at the knowledge that he had tricked Hester somehow, that he had only lured her here to prove to himself that he did want her... and all he had proved in the end was that he didn't. The only useful lesson from the night was that he could pretend. That would probably be enough to keep up a socially-acceptable marriage. And so what if it meant repressing his ignoble desires?

Almost of its own volition, his mind returned to that fact: he didn't want Hester because he wanted something else. Michael tried to resist the thoughts, but they came anyway, so he lay down on his bed and turned off the light. Curled in a ball on his bed, with nothing but the comfort of darkness around him, he let himself think about the body he wished he could hold in his arms and cried.

"Oh no..." groaned Salvatore as the beeping of his slate finally broke through into his sleep.

"Will you answer the bloody thing?" mumbled Fatuma. "It's been beeping for ages."

Turning towards her, all Salvatore could see were a few thick plaits sticking out from under the duvet. As per usual, Fatuma was lying with her face to the wall. She was usually a heavy sleeper; the slate must indeed have been beeping for some time if it had woken her up.

Realising there was nothing for it, Salvatore pulled himself out of bed and started searching for his slate in the mess on his storage shelves. He had started a new painting -- something he had seen in a dream -- so all his other possessions had been relegated to the shelves and cupboards. Fatuma was of the opinion that it wasn't healthy to sleep in the same room as his paints, which were indeed foul-smelling chemical concoctions, but given that he didn't have a studio to work in, he didn't have much choice. He didn't see what Fatuma was complaining about though; nobody was forcing her to stay at his place, after all.

He finally found the slate and switched on its audio mode -- he was in no mood to show his face to anyone.

"Hello?" he said cautiously. He didn't often get calls, so it had to be something important.

"Oh Toto." He smiled as he heard his mother's voice; she sounded surprised, as if she hadn't expected him to answer at all. "I hope I'm not waking you up, angel. It's 11.00 on Alpha, isn't it? It's nearly 17.00 down here. But I didn't want to wait until later; Eagle II-5 is leaving in a moment..." There was a pause. "...I gather you don't want me to see you right now."

"Um, I'm... I just got up." Salvatore cleared a space on the plastic sheeting on the floor and sat down. He grinned at the thought of his mother seeing him as he was right then, completely naked and with a flower painted on his chest -- courtesy of a bit of fun with Fatuma the previous night. He had a slight headache, the result of one drink too many; this was definitely not how he wanted his mother to see him.

"Are you with someone?" she asked.

"No, no one..." He glanced back at the bed; the only sign of Fatuma now was one long, pink-soled foot sticking out at the bottom of the duvet. "Are you leaving Dover now, Maya?" he asked.

"Yes, angel. And I've finally set a limit on my stay. I'm coming up for three months, during which I'm planning to nag you about your hair and ask at least twice daily when you're going to get married and give me some grandchildren. I just thought I would call and make sure everything is all right and you still want me to come..."

Her voice trailed off and Salvatore pictured her sitting in her little office, her bags packed and everything booked and ready for the trip to Alpha. Maya didn't often come to visit; Alpha apparently brought back sad memories of his brother and two sisters who had died before he was born. She was not very keen on the Eagle journey either, even though she had sometimes piloted the craft herself back in the Wandering days.

"I'm really looking forward to seeing you," said Salvatore sincerely. Although he had built a life largely without her these days, Maya was a good friend, and his only relative. "Anyway, you said you wanted to come and see Mrs Koenig. I'm sure she's expecting you, so you have to come whether I want you to or not!"

"Ah yes, of course. It's Helena I'm coming to see, not you. You see, I'd completely forgotten; it's her I should be talking to right now!" Salvatore could hear she was smiling. "Mind you, I suppose I could go and see that fresco of yours while I'm up there. I find it difficult to believe you're working for Alex Koenig nowadays. I remember when he was born!"

Hearing the rustling of the duvet behind him, Salvatore turned around and found that Fatuma had finally emerged. They exchanged an amused glance as Maya continued.

"I gather you and Mike are still living in that broom closet," she said. "Will I have to stay in your room like last time? I hope you have it all cleared up."

"Oh yes," said Salvatore confidently. Looking at the mess around him, he realised he was going have to do some rearranging before Maya arrived. "When will you be here?"

"In five days' time, though Trevor seems to think he can make it in four and a half days."

"Trevor?"

"Trevor Worcester, my Eagle pilot. Our Eagle pilot, that is; there's eight of us going up today, and a waiting list a couple of weeks long. We need a more regular transport service: I think I should discuss that with John and see about building some Eagles on Loki, perhaps. Or we need more Eagles from Alpha. I told Karim he should talk to John, but he didn't get much result -- you know Karim, he thinks Dover can do everything on its own, so he doesn't really want to ask for anything from Alpha. You can tell he was your father's apprentice. Anyway, we'll see. I did the calculations after Trevor said he could do it in four days and I think he's wrong; we'll be there in five. So I'll see you then."

"I'm looking forward to it," said Salvatore tenderly.

"Me too. I haven't seen you in ages, my love. In fact, I might have to call you on video later today -- when you feel more presentable -- just to remind myself what you look like!"

Salvatore guffawed. "Don't worry, Maya, I'll be the one who looks like Tony Verdeschi with stripes on his face. Same as the guy you talked to three days ago."

"Oh you know, my memory is going in my old age; I'll probably need to see you again a couple of times during the trip, just to make sure I'll recognise you at the travel tube reception area. Now, I'll let you get on with whatever it is you're doing and I'll speak to you from the Eagle. Ciao, angelino."

"Ciao, mamminetta."

Salvatore switched off the slate -- something he should have done the previous night -- and tossed it aside. Fatuma was now sitting on the edge of the bed; Salvatore crawled back to rest his head thoughtfully on one of her knees.

"What are you grinning about?" he challenged, noticing her smile.

"I was thinking how cute you and your mother are when you talk to each other," she said with a laugh. "You tease each other the way I'd tease my brothers."

"Hmm." Salvatore drew his head off her knee and nodded. "She's always been more like a big sister than my mother. It sometimes felt as if my father was the only adult in our family... I wonder if she's heard about you and me," he said to change the subject. "I don't know whether I should introduce you as my girlfriend or not."

Fatuma shrugged her shoulders. "Depends whether my sister's been yacking to her and Helena Habibi or not. I can't imagine it's a big secret: most people who are interested know about us up here, so word is bound to get around down there too."

"Trouble is, if I start introducing girlfriends, she's going to start expecting marriage and grandchildren and all that." Salvatore rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Oh, it's too early in the morning to be worrying about that sort of thing."

He stood up and stretched, flinching as Fatuma reached out and stroked his chest. She laughed and got up to embrace him.

"I doubt your mother knows how popular you are up here," she said in a low voice. "I wonder what she would make of all your admirers... male and female."

Salvatore sighed and pulled away. He knew Fatuma was still fascinated by what had happened three days earlier and he was ready to bet the next remark out of her dark brown lips would be something to do with Michael. He would have won his bet.

"Talking about which, you really should talk to Michael," she said, starting to look through the mess on the floor to find her own clothes. "Your mother's as sharp as an Eagle; she'll know something's wrong the minute she sees you two together."

"She's not likely to see us together." Salvatore sat down on the bed with a huff. "I never see the guy! If he wasn't avoiding me before, he's definitely avoiding me now. I haven't so much as laid an eye on him since he was in the Catacombs. I'm hoping I can catch him today; it's his rest day so he's bound to be around somewhere."

"You're going to have to sort something out," said Fatuma. She was now looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, critically plucking at the frizzy roots that were beginning to form at the base of her plaits. She interrupted this activity and leaned out of the door to speak to him. "I mean, if your mother is staying here, where are you going to put Michael?"

"Well, last time she came, she stayed in here and we --" Salvatore interrupted himself. "Um..."

Fatuma flashed her bright smile at him and widened her eyes dramatically. "You're not going to share a room with him until you know exactly what he wants from you, right?"

Salvatore made a face. "Oh dear. Yes, I suppose that would be embarrassing -- there's only one bed in Michael's bedroom. It's like this." He indicated the room.

Designed for short term use back in the days when Alpha was still in the Earth system, the rooms were furnished with a double bed, a dresser -- Salvatore used his as an easel -- and a built-in wardrobe and shelf unit. There was also a small en suite bathroom with a shower and toilet. Salvatore didn't like the idea of sharing a similar little space with Michael under present circumstances. They had managed perfectly well the last time Maya had come to stay with them, a year earlier, but Salvatore got the feeling things would be very different this time around.

"Mind you," said Fatuma from the bathroom. "Maybe you should just let Michael show you what he wants. Who knows? You might like it. Perhaps PJ chatted you up because he thought he was in with a chance. I mean, you're not exactly the most masculine man on Alpha."

Salvatore couldn't see Fatuma from where he was sitting, so he glared in the direction of the bathroom and said nothing. He might not be the most "masculine man", but he knew he wasn't like PJ. For one thing, he was certain that he would have noticed before now; so far he had only ever been interested in women. On the other hand, the thought of sleeping with a man was intriguing... even though he couldn't imagine what they would do.

"There's a song like that," said Fatuma, emerging from the bathroom, still undressed. She twirled around once in the doorway and started to sing.

"Well I'm not the world's most masculine man
 But I know what I am and I bet I'm a man
 And so is Lola -- L.O.L.A. Lola"

This was no doubt one of the many old Earth songs that Fatuma stored in her mind. She was apt to belt them out at the slightest provocation; although she didn't have a particularly good singing voice, she could carry a tune and watching her miming the lyrics was usually very entertaining. It was certainly very entertaining right then.

"You should do your show like that," he said, looking her over appreciatively. "You'd probably get a much larger audience."

Fatuma frowned and looked down at herself. "I bet I would! I'd probably get arrested too, if we have laws against that sort of thing. 'Sides, who would want to look at skinny little me?"

Salvatore laughed. He knew Fatuma was very proud of her body and he had to agree with her. She had the thin muscular build of an ancient statue, with narrow hips, small breasts, and long graceful limbs. Combined with her extremely dark skin, her elegant features made her look asexual in some way. Maybe that was why Salvatore appreciated her. He did admire uniqueness.

On the other hand, it suddenly occurred to him that his interest in Fatuma's androgynous body might be an indication that he subconsciously desired males. He paused to think about that; maybe he did have homosexual desires which he had unconsciously repressed and which now manifested themselves in a relationship with an unfeminine woman. Interesting theory, but it didn't explain why he thought he was in love with Aisha. He couldn't see why he would be subconsciously repressing his sexuality either. He would have to do some more research on human psychology and homosexuality in particular. Perhaps a trip to the library was in order.

Fatuma was getting dressed. "I see you're off in Piri land again. I think this thing about Michael is getting to you." She came to crouch in front of him. "Talk to him and sort it out. I like you much better when you're fun."

"Sorry if I've lost my entertainment value," he said wryly.

Fatuma kissed the tip of his nose. "Hey, as long as you can talk and make love, that's plenty of entertainment for me!"

Michael had let three days pass before he proposed to Hester. They had lunch in the Cafeteria on Michael's rest day -- Hester was on her lunch break from the primary school -- and he decided this was as good a time as any to broach the subject. Having made his speech about wanting to have a family with her, he was amazed when Hester said she would have to discuss this with her parents before she could give him an answer. It was as if she hadn't been expecting him to propose at all.

They had parted company when she went back to the school and Michael, thoroughly puzzled, went about his usual rest day activities. He went swimming as he always did and then he collected some groceries from Supplies and dropped off his sheets at the laundry. Having done that, he returned home.

Michael wasn't prepared for the strong spicy smells that hit him as he opened his front door. Tossing his slate down on the nearest chair, he approached the kitchen area cautiously, astonished by what he was seeing.

Salvatore was actually cooking. Michael knew from past experience that Salvatore was an excellent cook if he put his mind to it, but it had been months since he'd seen him do anything in the kitchen area. In fact, he hadn't expected Salvatore to be there at all.

"Ah, welcome home," said Salvatore cheerfully, looking up from the steamy saucepan he was working on. The steam had made the hair around his face frizzle out of its usual curls as if he had just been in the sauna. "See, I said I'd return the favour, and since this is your rest day, I thought this would be a good time to do it. You're just in time: everything is ready. Now, give me those groceries and get out of that uniform before you get tomato sauce all over it."

Stunned, Michael did as he was told and went to change into his casual clothes. This was turning out to be a most peculiar day.

When he returned to the living-room, he found Salvatore laying the table. His roommate was wearing a undyed shermeen shirt and the black trousers he usually wore in the Catacombs. Michael thought he looked beautiful, but he firmly suppressed the thought. He had just proposed to Hester, and here he was finding Salvatore beautiful? Annoyed at himself, he sat down at the table and could barely muster a smile as Salvatore served him and they started eating.

The food was a spicy vegetable risotto which made Michael cough with the first mouthful. He sipped some wine and that made him cough too.

"Are you all right?" asked Salvatore, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Michael nodded and smiled. "I'm not used to such good food anymore. Anything more exciting than mashed potatoes and apple juice is liable to give me a heart attack!"

"I'm sure I can rustle up mashed potatoes and apple juice if that's what you want," laughed Salvatore.

Michael just shook his head and continued the meal. "No, this is great. Delicious."

"Something my father taught me," said Salvatore.

"Oh, I'd never have guessed that," said Michael wryly as he poured more tomato sauce on the risotto. "Though I must admit I sometimes forget you're half Italian."

"What do you mean you sometimes forget -- my name's Salvatore Verdeschi," exclaimed Toto, pronouncing his name with an Italian accent: Salvatory Verdeski. "If that's not Italian, I don't know what is! I'm an Italo-Psychon, and don't you forget it."

"I suppose it beats being plain old British," said Michael wistfully. "Though we're all Alphans nowadays; in a few generations' time, it won't matter where anyone came from originally."

Salvatore nodded. "And all our descendants will be brown."

"You reckon?" Michael had heard this theory once or twice before.

"Definitely. I think we're well on the way," said Salvatore seriously. "The Castellanos have eight children who are bound to marry into other families. The Vincents back at Dover are all brown, then there's the Chakrabortys and the Kanos. I think it stands to reason that we'll eventually have more brown people than pink people. They have dominant genes anyway; that's apparently what humans looked like when they first became humans. The rest are all genetic mutations."

Michael didn't know anything about genetics or anthropology, so he didn't say anything. He remembered Giovanna Habibi, Karim's mother, teaching the Dover children that skin colour had been the cause of much misery back on Earth -- wars, prejudice, murders, oppression. Michael got the impression Earth had been a horrible place to live; he was glad he was living on Alpha.

Skin colour had no importance here -- the only person Michael had seen picked on for his looks was Salvatore, but then Toto was from a different species, so maybe that was normal. It didn't stop Michael from beating up anyone who did it, though. He half wished he would have the chance to do it again these days. Perhaps if he protected Toto from some threat, the young man might be grateful enough to touch him and perhaps... Michael dismissed that thought with disgust.

A more pleasant thought occurred to him as he continued his meal. "I think it's a safe bet all your children will be brown," he said with a grin.

Salvatore nodded thoughtfully. "Yes... Maybe I'm just preparing for the inevitable." He poured himself more wine. "One thing's for certain: there won't be any Psychons around. When my mother dies, that's the end of the whole species. Any children I have will only be part Psychon. That part will gradually die out in the human population. Just as well, too."

"Just as well?" asked Michael, puzzled.

"Given a choice, I suppose I'd prefer to be fully human. Not that I find humanity such an attractive proposition -- I don't seriously believe in its ability to avoid the mistakes of the past just because we're in a different part of the galaxy. But the truth is, it's no fun being the only one of your kind. I sometimes wish some of my brothers and sisters had survived... Ah well." Salvatore shrugged his shoulders -- Michael had noticed this was a habit of his -- and drank some more wine.

Michael let a few minutes go by while he continued his meal. Then something occurred to him. "Which brothers and sisters?"

"Don't you know?" asked Salvatore, looking at him in surprise. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. My parents had three children before me. Angelo, Francesca and Solvikt. Well, they were three children from my mother's point of view, three miscarriages as far as the medics were concerned. Psychons apparently believe that any baby that lives outside the womb, even for a couple of minutes, is a person. Anyway, that's basically why my mother hates it so much up here. It brings back bad memories."

Completely baffled by this revelation, Michael stared at Salvatore in amazement. He did remember overhearing his mother and sister talking about Maya's miscarriages, but hearing it from Salvatore's point of view cast a different light on things.

"I got your message about her coming over," he said. "Is she going to be staying here?"

Salvatore nodded and looked at Michael sheepishly. "I'm afraid so. I... I was thinking I should perhaps sleep in here while she's staying."

"She'll be here for months, though, won't she?"

"Well, it takes a week to get here, so I guess she wants to make the most of it. She'll be visiting the Koenigs and seeing various people she used to know up here. I'll clean up my room and try to do my painting elsewhere. It only seems right that she should stay with us; she doesn't have anyone else to stay with, not any family. And, well, she is my mother," he concluded with another shrug.

Michael looked down thoughtfully at his plate. "So you won't be staying in my room this time."

That was a relief; the last thing Michael wanted was to share a bed with Salvatore... he tried to dismiss the thought that came to mind, but it took hold. He felt a rush of desire run through him at the very idea of being that close to Salvatore. He drank some wine, but it tasted bitter and the alcohol seemed to fuel his desire further.

"I think we're getting a bit old to be sharing a room like schoolboys," Salvatore was saying, although Michael was no longer listening.

"I won't be staying here much longer anyway," said Michael suddenly as he got his emotions under control. "I've asked Hester to marry me. Once we've published our bans, we'll apply for a new apartment."

This was met with stony silence from Salvatore. Glancing at him, Michael could tell the young man was surprised, speechless in fact. He wondered if Salvatore had been hoping Michael wouldn't get married; and if so, why.

"Congratulations," said Salvatore finally, his voice emotionless. "When will you be getting married?"

"Soon."

"Will you have a ceremony?"

"Probably not. It depends on what Hester wants."

"Well... congratulations," repeated Salvatore. He finished his last mouthful and an uncomfortable silence ensued. "I didn't think... I thought..." Salvatore paused. "When did you decide this?"

"A couple of days ago." Michael could tell Salvatore was dubious about the whole plan and felt he needed to explain the reasons for his decision. "Sal, I'm nearly twenty-three and I have an assigned job here on Alpha. It's time I got married and had children; we all have to do our part and make sure the population increases. Hester has mentioned that she wants a family too, so I think the time has come for me to marry her. We have been going out for a year, after all."

Salvatore was silent for a moment, evidently pondering what Michael had just said.

"So you're not marrying her because you're in love with her or anything silly like that," he said slowly.

It was Michael's turn to be silent for a while. "I... I don't love her, you're right," he explained. "But I don't think I should wait until I find someone else..."

After the fiasco of his first sexual experience, Michael had a feeling he would never fall in love with anyone he could marry and have children with.

"I think that's very sad," said Salvatore seriously. He picked up their plates and put them in the sink. "You shouldn't give up hope. What will you do if you marry Hester and then fall in love with someone else? Dump her? Beat her up like Blake did when he was married to Layla?"

Salvatore had his back to him, so Michael allowed his expression to reflect his miserable state of mind. He knew Toto was right; here he was planning to marry Hester even though he was in love with Salvatore. In love with... Michael shook his head. He couldn't be.

Looking up, Michael realised that Salvatore was watching him. His heart skipped a beat.

"Are you all right, Michael?" asked Salvatore, leaning against the sink with a concerned look on his face. "You seem... you've been rather preoccupied these days. Was it because of Hester?"

"Yes," said Michael immediately. "I've been deciding whether or not I should marry her. Now that I've proposed, I feel much better."

Salvatore didn't look convinced and Michael wasn't surprised. He wasn't convinced either.

"Good," said Salvatore, nodding thoughtfully. "I just..." He smiled. "I got this idea it might be something to do with me."

Michael felt his throat tighten in anguish. He prayed that Toto hadn't guessed his secret.

"Fatuma thought you might... ah... fancy me."

It was as if Michael's world came shattering down around his ears. Not only did Salvatore know, but his tiresome girlfriend Fatuma was the one who had pointed it out!

"You think I'm some kind of queer?" growled Michael, the misery he felt making him aggressive.

"No... I mean, I seem to have this strange effect on people, like I'm exuding pheromones or something and I thought you might be affected... and if so, then I'm sorry, but it's -- it's something I can't help."

Salvatore sounded sincerely contrite, but Michael had no sympathy for him. Maybe he could get out of this situation by agreeing with Toto and saying that his sexual magnetism was to blame for the whole situation. It would be a lie, a complete lie, but at least he could continue to pretend and go on acting like a normal Alphan.

"Yes, I guess that explains a few things," he managed to say. Unable to continue the conversation, Michael left the table and headed for his room.

"What about your desert?"

Michael turned to look at Salvatore. The young man was clearly upset by his reaction; Toto was watching him over the counter that divided the kitchen from the living-room, his dark brows knit into a puzzled frown. He looked so lost and bewildered that Michael longed to run back into the kitchen and take him into his arms.

Defeated, Michael sat down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Toto. It can't be right. This isn't normal!"

Predictably, just as Michael knew he would, Salvatore came to sit beside him and placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" snapped Michael.

Salvatore removed his hand. "Mike... you're my best friend," he said pleadingly. "Just tell me what's wrong."

"You don't want to know."

"Believe me, I do. You've been like a -- a panda with a sore head for months!"

"A bear: the expression is a bear with a sore head." In spite of himself, Michael smiled.

"Oh never mind that. Those bloody things don't exist anymore anyway. Just tell me what's wrong and we'll sort it out together."

"Sort it out together," repeated Michael, shaking his head. He turned towards Salvatore. "Do you have any idea..."

He wanted to shock Salvatore, to describe in the crudest terms possible the sort of revolting fantasies he had been having. But looking into Toto's innocent brown eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say anything, so he turned away again. He couldn't tell Salvatore how much he wanted to kiss him, to make love to him. The thought was so disgusting that he winced.

"Do you fancy me, is that it?" he heard Salvatore ask. "It's not a problem if you do, you know. I'm not really sure what we could do about it, of course, but it really doesn't bother me. Not the fact that you're a guy, at least; obviously, it's a bit of a problem if you really like me, because I don't feel that way about you --"

Michael couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could Salvatore be chattering on about it as if it were normal? "It doesn't bother you... me being a man? Toto, do you have any idea how unnatural that is?"

There was a shadow of doubt on Salvatore's face, but it passed almost as soon as Michael noticed it. "Unnatural? Look who you're talking to, Mike. There's not an ounce of nature in me, but I'm still a nice guy aren't I?"

Salvatore smiled that winning smile that Michael found so irresistible and it was as if all the months of longing suddenly went to his head. Before he knew what he was doing, Michael had seized Salvatore's face with both hands and was kissing him passionately. He had been waiting to do this for so long.

At first, Salvatore seemed willing to go along with Michael's advances, returning the kiss and even embracing him gently. But Michael couldn't evade the fact that, as far as he was concerned, this was an unnatural situation. The things he was imagining, what he wanted to do was all a disgusting perversion.

Revolted by his desires, but unable to resist them, Michael pushed Salvatore roughly down on the sofa and kissed him more forcefully, using his weight to pin Toto down.

"Stop it, Mike, you're hurting me!"

It was as if Salvatore's skin under his fingers turned to molten carbonite. Mike immediately sprang back and fell off the sofa.

"Oh God, oh my God!" he exclaimed, shocked at what he had been trying to do. Salvatore didn't say anything. Glancing at him, Michael found that Toto was curled up in a ball on the sofa, staring into the middle distance with an unfathomable expression on his face.

"Oh God, what have I done?" murmured Michael, sitting on the floor and hugging his knees like a frightened child. "What kind of monster am I?"

There was a long pause, interrupted only by Mike's miserable whimpering. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, Salvatore spoke.

"You've done nothing terrible. And anyway I'm the monster around here," he said with an incongruous note of cheerfulness in his voice.

Michael didn't want to be cheered up. He was too ashamed of what he had done and even more terrified by what he had tried to do. This wasn't right. He had been pretending to be a normal Alphan, but he was just some kind of freak in their midst. Salvatore could joke about being a freak all he liked -- Michael felt like the real monster.

Incapable of handling the whole atrocious situation, Michael stood up so suddenly it made his head spin. Without thinking, he rushed out of the apartment and ran away through the quiet corridors of Alpha.

It was several minutes before Salvatore moved again. He knew he should have run after Mike, to console him and assure him that no harm had been done. Michael was the one who needed help -- Salvatore felt he shouldn't be wasting his time lying on the sofa when his only problem was a bruised lip. But the attack had been just violent and unexpected enough to plunge Salvatore into a minor state of shock. He hadn't been handled so roughly since he was a child picking fights with other children. He had never thought Michael was capable of such violence.

As he lay on the sofa, it suddenly occurred to Salvatore that Michael might turn that violence against himself. His research on homosexuals at the library that afternoon had revealed that they had a high rate of suicide...

Seized by panic, Salvatore sat up and looked around. He found that Mike had left his slate behind. That meant he couldn't be contacted privately. The only way of finding out where he was would be to ask someone in Main Mission, but Salvatore didn't know anyone trustworthy to contact. He certainly wasn't about to ask Security to look for him -- that would mean explaining what had happened to the likes of Alexei Petrov and his numskull staff.

Salvatore didn't know what to do. He wished his father was there with him -- he would have known where to look. Maya's presence would also have been a help. She could turn into animals that could scour the base much faster than a human. Not to mention that she could easily slip into Main Mission and search from there. He briefly considered calling Fatuma, but doubted she would be much help. Aisha was even more out of the question; he couldn't get her involved. With no friends or family to help him, Salvatore was left to his own devices. And he had to face facts: his own devices were pretty flimsy.

Undaunted, Salvatore got his slate and hooked it to his trousers. Slipping on his jacket, he went out, determined to search any places he could think of where Michael might be.

The first place that came to mind was Hester's. She lived with her parents in the Y10 section the Alphans had completed just before Salvatore's birth, so he would need to take a lift to the upper section and then two travel tubes out to the area she lived in. He was in a panic all the way, his mind obsessed with the idea of finding Mike before he did anything stupid.

The corridors were full of people, as it wasn't unusual for the Alphans to go for evening walks in the maze of corridors and tunnels with their jungle of potted plants and grow boxes. Salvatore met Richard Koenig and his ugly wife Suzi; the woman said something about him meeting her brother PJ and didn't PJ say Sal was a talented artist? Salvatore said oh is he your brother and other platitudes, as if he couldn't see that she and PJ were the image of each other, same ruddy complexion and tow-coloured hair. He asked if they'd seen Michael, but they didn't even know who Michael was, so he wished them a good evening and went on his way.

He met old Mrs Kano when he came out of the lift; she knew Michael but she hadn't seen him and she seemed rather embarrassed to talk to Salvatore, him being her daughter's ex-lover and what a little family scandal that had been all those years ago. Leaving Mrs Kano and still frantic to find Michael, Salvatore took the first of his travel tubes. He didn't meet anyone else he knew, beyond a few familiar faces. He had lived on Alpha for three years now, but people still stared at him and exchanged looks and then leant over to whisper to each other is that Maya's son and isn't he handsome or isn't like his father. The usual stuff.

Salvatore was quite relieved when he finally reached the Silberstein's home, even though it took him an extra twenty minutes in the Y10 section to find the right apartment. Mrs Silberstein was the one who answered the door. She was a wizened little old woman with large black eyes and frizzy short hair which had been hennaed an unnatural red. She had never been Sal's teacher, since he had grown up on Loki, but she evidently recognised him.

"Hester?" repeated Mrs Silberstein once Salvatore had made his request. "Yes, she's in. What happened to your face? Don't tell me, you young people, all you do is fight. Why don't you come in and sit down, child? I'll go and fetch her for you. Go on, sit down." She opened the door and indicated the empty sofa. Mr Silberstein was reading a book; he looked up over his glasses as Salvatore entered, but then went back to reading.

"Well, I..." started Salvatore, but something about the look Mrs Silberstein gave him made him decide he was better off obeying. Most of the second generation of Alphans had been through her class; she had the authoritative voice to prove it.

Salvatore had no sooner sat down than Hester was fetched and ushered into the room. She was plainly dressed, wearing one of the "A-line" dresses seamstresses like Aisha Castellano turned out in bulk. This one was made of "wool", a thick material the textiles department had come up with recently -- a cross between shermeen and viscose. It revealed nothing of her figure; if anything, it made her look pregnant. No wonder she had gone out with Michael for so long; her accoutrement was hardly going to attract anyone else.

"Sal?" she started, staring at him as if she wasn't sure who it was.

He stood up. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Hester glanced from one parent to the other and then smiled politely and nodded, as if there was nothing unusual about the request. She went to get her slate and jacket, and then indicated they could go outside.

"Your slate is turned off," she said reproachfully as soon as the door closed. "I tried to call you! Come on."

Salvatore followed her as she walked purposefully down the corridor. "Did Michael talk to you?"

Despite their animated conversation, Hester kept her head down, her eyes fixed on her brown plastic shoes as she walked down the corridor with Salvatore.

"Yes, he did. He seemed very agitated," she explained. "He asked me if I would marry him and then he said he wanted to meet me in the biosphere. I said no. I'm not going to marry him. It's not right. Then he just signed off and I wasn't able to contact him again."

"He left his slate at our place." Salvatore looked down at his own slate. "Oh shit, what a prat! I forgot to turn it back on this morning."

"So he wouldn't have been able to get in touch with you either," she said wryly. "Oh, who knows where he is now!"

"Where are we going?" asked Salvatore when he realised they had reached the travel tube door. The diagram above the door indicated the shuttle was still at the other end of the line, slowly making its way back.

"We're going to the biosphere, to see if Mike is there," she explained. "Isn't that what you wanted to do?" For a split second, she looked him in the eye, but almost immediately looked away. "I would have gone alone, but I'm afraid he won't be very pleased to see me. He seemed very upset when I said I wouldn't marry him."

"Like he's going to be pleased to see me..." said Salvatore thoughtfully. Out of curiosity, he added, "Why don't you want to marry him? You've been going out together for a year."

Hester sighed and shook her head. "That doesn't mean I have to marry him, does it? My sister married the very first man who asked her out and now she's raising two children alone on Ceres II. Mike might be the only man who has ever asked me out, but that doesn't mean I'm going to marry him. Anyway, he doesn't really want to marry me; he's just saying that because he wants to be like everyone else."

"But he isn't," said Salvatore. "Poor fellow. He's trying too hard to be Mister Perfect Alphan... I gave up long ago. You're either born that way or you're not."

Hester looked up at Salvatore and smiled. She was a bit shorter than him, though well proportioned for her size. The A-line dress didn't suit her, but he remembered her looking quite good in her evening dress a couple of nights earlier.

"Mike often talks about you," she said. "He's told me a lot about your un-Alphan ways. He admires you a lot."

"He would: he's in love with me," said Salvatore simply, looking away.

Hester's smile disappeared. "In love? With you?"

"So I gather." Now that he had told Hester, Salvatore felt embarrassed. He should have kept his mouth shut. "That's why he was so upset tonight. He told me and --"

"And you didn't take it well?" suggested Hester, evidently misunderstanding the situation. "Did he hit you?"

Salvatore automatically put his hand to his lip, now swollen and no doubt visibly bruised. "No. I... He... He didn't hit me." Salvatore realised he didn't want to tell anyone what Michael had really been trying to do. "And I'm not the one who has a problem with this. It's fine by me if Mike fancies me. I'll admit I don't fancy him and he's not even the most attractive bloke around even if I did fancy men. But I was relieved, you know, in a way. At least it explains his behaviour of the last few months."

"Yes, it certainly does," said Hester thoughtfully.

"But he completely blew his top when I said it was OK. Mike is apparently under the impression that being a man who fancies men is a hideous crime against nature. I told him I'm not the most natural thing myself. And anyway, if he was born that way, then it's natural. Now if it's just me making him feel weird because I -- because that's the effect I sometimes have, well in that case, it's another problem and it's my fault."

Hester looked up at the panel above the door as a chime rang out to indicate the tube had arrived; an old couple Salvatore didn't recognise tottered out slowly and then Hester hopped into the tube and Salvatore followed. The shuttle had twenty-five seats, seven of which were occupied; Salvatore and Hester chose seats where no one would overhear their conversation.

"It does seem more natural to me for men to be attracted to women," said Hester in a half-whisper. "That's what sex is for: having children. Isn't it?"

"Not the sort I practice!" protested Salvatore, careful to keep his voice down. "Besides, I've had a think about this and maybe this homosexuality business is a fail-safe so that people will be happy and find partners even if there are more women than men or vice-versa."

Hester made a droll face which clearly indicated she wasn't convinced. "So by that count, there should be a lot of female homosexuals among the original Alphans, right? There were more women than men when they got here, because a lot of security guards and pilots got killed on the way. But I don't think your theory works."

"No, I don't mean it works retroactively, like some people become homosexual because there's a situation like that," said Salvatore patiently. "According to what I read in the Library today, homosexuals are usually born that way. I'm just theorising as to why nature makes that happens. Either way, it's perfectly normal to be attracted to the same sex if that's how you're born. Like it's natural for you to have breasts."

Hester automatically looked down at her chest, flattened by the dress. She seemed a lot more relaxed now, despite their strange topic of conversation. "You talk about it as if it's a fact of life... I didn't even know people like that existed until my sister was going on about this guy she works with, PJ. I didn't realise that Richard Koenig's brother-in-law was one... I guess it must be okay."

"Why? Because a homosexual is related to the Koenigs?" Salvatore thought that was a hilarious assumption. "Who's to say one of them isn't one? Nah, come to think of it, I don't think any of them would have that much imagination."

Hester was visibly shocked. "Sal!"

"I'm just joking," he said with a shrug. "They're ordinary people, Hester. Just because they're the Old Man's children doesn't make them holy or something. But they obviously don't have a problem with homosexuals, so if you think they're something special, then you shouldn't have a problem with that either. And Michael certainly shouldn't!"

"No, I suppose he shouldn't," agreed Hester. She paused and then added, "Are you a homosexual, Sal?"

"Not that I know of." That was the only answer he had to that question for the moment, but it was an issue he felt he needed to investigate.

"I'm just asking because Sarah said PJ asked you out," continued Hester. "But I suppose he did that because you're so good-looking."

Salvatore turned and gave her a dubious look, as if to ask if she was chatting him up.

"Not that you're my type," she added, lowering her eyes. "But you're very pretty."

Pretty? thought Salvatore; that didn't sound very manly. "What's your type, then?" he asked, surprised to hear that timid, innocent little Hester even had a type.

"Tall and blond," she said unhesitatingly. "I've always fallen in love with men like that, so I know it's what I like. They didn't have to be real people, even actors from Earth movies would do the trick. The only real life person I really had a crush on was Alex Koenig, but that was all the same. He was so aloof he might as well have been living on another planet like the others."

"Ah, so that's where the respect thing comes in," said Salvatore knowingly. "Mike must be a bit of a come down after such high ideals..."

"I never said I was in love with him. He's a good man and he's what I got," she said with a shrug. "Maybe I'll have better luck next time... Oh we're here." They got up and came out of the tube.

"Let's hope Mike is in here," said Salvatore as they entered the biosphere gardens. The day lights were turned off, which left only the path lights and the natural starlight beyond the dome to illuminate the garden.

"We're never going to find him," lamented Hester. "I can't see anything."

"MIKE!" shouted Salvatore. Under different circumstances, he would have been loath to draw attention to himself this way. But Salvatore suddenly remembered his earlier fear about Michael doing harm to himself and was determined to find him. He led Hester further into the heart of the biosphere, still calling Michael at regular intervals.

"Will you two shut up?" came a hiss from behind them.

Salvatore spun around, half expecting to find some angry lover interrupted by their cries. But what he saw was Michael scowling at them.

"Mike! We were so worried!" exclaimed Hester.

"Why?" Michael looked from one to the other. "Did you think I was going to top myself? I don't believe this... I'm trying to have a quiet time and a think about all this mess I'm in with you two, and then you suddenly pop up together like you're some kind of search party. You been exchanging notes or something?"

"No, we're concerned about you," said Salvatore calmly. "We're only trying to help."

"I think of all the people on this rock, you two are the least likely to be able to help me! So just bugger off and leave me alone!"

Without a word more, Michael turned and walked away. Salvatore glanced at Hester. "Well, he doesn't sound suicidal," he said cheerfully. "I'll try and talk to him, shall I?"

Hester nodded. "I didn't tell my parents I'd be gone this long. I'd better get back." She smiled. "You'll have to tell me how it went. Call me tomorrow, okay?"

Salvatore agreed and then went down the path after Michael.

Mike was sitting on a bench near the edge of the dome, where he had a clear view of the sky and the dusty surface of the moon. He'd been sitting here for about an hour before Toto and Hester suddenly came barging into the biosphere, yelling his name as if there was some emergency.

Before they arrived, Mike had had time to have a long think about his situation and had made two decisions. First of all, he was not going to marry Hester; she obviously didn't want him to, and it was stupid to force himself into a situation which was so clearly unsuited to him. Secondly, he was going to get a transfer to another centre so that he could get away from Salvatore. He dismissed Ceres II and Dover -- the former because Hester often went to visit her sister, the latter because Sal's mother lived there. In any case, now that it was Springtime on Loki, Michael had a large choice of alternate places to go: Bedrock, Potter's Mine, the Morrow Forestry Centre in the northern hemisphere, the Koenigshafen spaceport north of Dover... Every centre needed engineers to design and maintain their equipment. All Michael had to do was move there and make sure he never made any sexual advances to anyone. People probably wouldn't notice there was anything wrong with him that way.

It was at this point that Hester and Salvatore turned up. With no desire to see either of them, Michael told them to get lost and went back to sit on his bench. He was still there when Salvatore came to join him.

"Nice view," said the young man conversationally as he sat down on the bench.

Michael could see Salvatore's profile outlined in the starlight; prominent pointed nose, long black lashes on his large eyes, a strong masculine jaw, a pale face lined with curly dark hair, marked by a brown stripe on each cheek. Michael had tried to deny the obvious, but he knew he was in love with Salvatore. The idea of moving away so as to never see him again immediately lost its appeal.

But the last time Michael had given in to his love for Salvatore, he'd ended up trying to put some of his fantasies into effect. So he looked away and channelled his emotions into anger.

"What's the deal with you and Hester?" he demanded, staring unseeingly at the stars outside. "Are you planning to add her to your long list of conquests?"

"No!" protested Salvatore. "I was looking for you, so I went to Hester's. She's the one who suggested you might be here. Just as well you were, too."

Ignoring Salvatore's explanation, Michael shook his head. "No, of course you wouldn't go for her. Hester's too white for you. You only go for brown girls, I forgot."

There was a pause; Michael wondered if he had actually managed to offend Salvatore. He looked at the young man and found that Toto was watching him, an annoyed expression on his handsome features.

"You really want me to go away, don't you," said Salvatore finally. "But it's not going to solve your problem. Don't you want to talk about it?"

"Last time we talked about it, I tried to jump you," Michael reminded him, looking away.

"Maybe you should go and see someone else, then. A doctor or something," suggested Salvatore more gently.

Michael shook his head. "I can't see myself describing all this to Dr Koenig."

"Actually, Hester and I were talking about Dr Koenig on the way here," said Salvatore brightly. "He's PJ's brother-in-law, remember? So he'd be an excellent person to talk to, because he probably doesn't have anything against homosexuals. On the other hand, you could try and talk to Dr Helena Koenig or Dr Mathias; they're a lot older, and they're from Earth, so they're bound to know even more about human problems."

Michael found it amusing to hear this sound advice from Salvatore. "I seem to remember advising you to speak to those same people a couple of years ago, when you started on your current spree of girlfriends. Weren't you going to tell them all about your obsession with Hilly?"

Salvatore's cheerfulness immediately evaporated. "It wasn't an obsession. I was sixteen and I was being stupid. I got over it by myself."

"Well, maybe you can trust me to do the same." Michael sighed. "I'm thinking about moving back to Loki. Take some time to think things over."

"Oh." There was a long silence. Looking at Salvatore, Michael found that the young man was staring thoughtfully at the ground. "You think getting away from me will make things better? That you'll become more normal if I'm not around?"

There was no irony in Salvatore's tone, just a straight question which seemed to echo around Michael's mind. Would he really become normal if he didn't see Salvatore again?

Now that he asked himself the question, Michael realised that the answer was no. Salvatore was the focus of his attention right now, but he had been plagued by the same sick fantasies ever since his teenage years. It didn't matter that he had now fixed on an object for these desires, the desires had always been there.

"I don't think I'll ever be normal," he said finally.

"Good, that makes two of us," said Salvatore, slapping him on the back. "You can get yourself a boyfriend and I'll continue being the weirdo I already am!"

Michael wasn't so easily convinced. "You make it all sound very simple. But that... the things I want to do are disgusting, Toto. You have no idea what's been festering in my mind for years."

"I did look it up this afternoon," said Salvatore earnestly. "Most of the stuff male homosexuals do is the sort of thing you can also do with a woman. Well, imaginative stuff you do with a woman if you know what you're doing, that is."

There was a pause while Michael wrapped his mind around this. He turned to Salvatore and stared at him. "With a woman?" he said in horror.

"Well, never mind. The point is that it probably isn't as disgusting as you think."

"It is. I'm never going to do that sort of thing with anyone," said Michael firmly. The very thought made him sick.

"Oh, you never know. You might meet someone who's into the same things and then everything will be all right."

Salvatore sounded so unconcerned. Michael stared at him. "Nothing bothers you, does it, Sal? I could be telling you I killed my parents and you'd be there, logical as a bloody computer, telling me that there's some rational explanation for acts like that and that, as a matter of fact, you killed your parents too, so it's OK. You're just so... unemotional about everything. Like a child with no sense of morals whatsoever."

He expected Salvatore to protest and say that a child wouldn't be talking about sex, but the young man didn't say anything. He was too busy pouting.

"So you're going to bottle it up until the next time you feel like pouncing on someone?" said Salvatore finally.

Michael swallowed hard, remembering what had happened. Toto hadn't seemed unconcerned then.

Salvatore continued. "It's not healthy, thinking that what you really want to do is disgusting. If you want to do it with someone you love then it's not disgusting. What you'd call normal sex is pretty icky when it all comes down to it, but it's fun and there are lots of possibilities, not just a man, a woman and 'in, out, shake it all about'." Toto smiled wryly as he said that. "I mean, I used to think that about some things, that they were pretty revolting from a sort of sensible point of view, but it turned out not to be a big deal, and then I didn't think about them anymore. Maybe you should go and talk to someone about all this, see what they say, get it off your mind. I'm sure old man Mathias won't judge you, whatever you're thinking about."

"Old man Mathias is half blind," said Michael apropos of nothing, although he was seriously considering what Salvatore was saying.

"So? At least he can listen to you, and there's nothing wrong with his brains. And he's from Earth: I'm sure he's heard it all before."

"Maybe," said Michael noncommittally.

Salvatore switched on that winning smile. "I'll take you myself if I have to!"

"Great. Dr Mathias will probably spend all his time talking to you."

It was meant to be a joke, but Salvatore didn't look amused.