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"
Not
at
the
moment
,
"
I
said
firmly
.
"
Is
Irene
here
?
"
"
Yeah
.
"
He
shifted
the
child
to
his
other
arm
and
pointed
.
"
The
‘
fab
with
the
stars
on
it
.
Been
expecting
you
.
"
As
he
spoke
,
Irene
Elliott
emerged
from
the
structure
in
question
.
The
horned
man
grunted
and
led
us
across
,
picking
up
a
small
train
of
additional
children
on
the
way
.
Elliott
watched
us
approach
with
her
hands
in
her
pockets
.
Like
the
ex
-
fighter
,
she
was
dressed
in
boots
and
coveralls
whose
grey
was
startlingly
offset
by
a
violently
-
coloured
rainbow
headband
.
"
Your
visitors
,
"
said
the
horned
man
.
"
You
OK
with
this
?
"
Elliott
nodded
evenly
,
and
he
hesitated
a
moment
longer
,
then
shrugged
and
wandered
off
with
the
children
in
tow
.
Elliott
watched
him
go
,
then
turned
back
to
us
.
"
You
’
d
better
come
inside
,
"
she
said
.
Inside
the
bubblefab
,
the
utilitarian
space
had
been
sectioned
off
with
wooden
partitions
and
woven
rugs
hung
from
wires
set
in
the
plastic
dome
.
Walls
were
covered
in
more
artwork
,
most
of
which
looked
as
if
it
had
been
contributed
by
the
children
of
the
camp
.
Elliott
took
us
to
a
softly
lit
space
set
with
lounging
bags
and
a
battered
-
looking
access
terminal
on
a
hinged
arm
epoxied
to
the
wall
of
the
bubble
.
She
seemed
to
have
adjusted
well
to
the
sleeve
,
and
her
movements
were
smoothly
unselfconscious
.
I
’
d
noticed
the
improvement
on
board
the
Panama
Rose
in
the
early
hours
of
the
morning
,
but
here
it
was
clearer
.
She
lowered
herself
easily
into
one
of
the
loungers
and
looked
speculatively
up
at
me
.
"
That
’
s
you
inside
there
,
Anderson
,
I
presume
?
"
I
inclined
my
head
.
