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for the third or possibly the fourth time, his fingers groped for the keys on the bottom of the panels. But he was rolled under the water again before he could find what he wanted. When he felt air again, nearly a minute later, he had no strength left to sob, or even to breathe. Somewhere deep inside him some instinct forced one frozen frightenedfinger, taut like a talon, to scratch at the surface of the machine. It felt a key. It pressed, as he was engulfed by a huge grey wave. He was not feeling the cold of the water now, just its weight.
    Then that giddying moment of horror emptied him of everything, even himself, until he was suddenly standing, staggering knock-kneed, at the back of an old wooden shed. He didn’t care where he was until he had stopped being sick, and then for some minutes more after that. The first thing he noticed, to his relief, was that he was dry – the water had not travelled the years and kilometres with him. The second thing he noticed was that no-one was nearby and this was also a relief. And then finally, some minutes later, he started to wonder where he was. But a few steps, to the corner of the building, brought recognition. The old wooden shed was one of the car pool garages, a few hundred metres from Administration. James circled around the back of the Administration building and entered the square through the network of old laboratories. As he passed Lab 17 he gave a quick nervous sideways glance. He was scared of it now. He did not want to go in it or near it, did not want to think about what it looked like, or about any of the moments he had spent in there.
    IN THE MACHINE called his memory James went back, back to Mt Speakman. There had been three days of sleet that stung like wasp bites – cold hard unfriendlylittle bullets – and fogs, and strong winds. By then they were all ready to go home. This is no fun,’ James grumbled to his parents. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll clear up,’ they said each morning.
    The first day he had played Monopoly with his sister until nearly lunch time, when they had a gigantic squabble that, in relation to their earlier ones, was like Mayfair compared to Old Kent Road. She had run off in tears and he had gloomily packed the game away, getting no pleasure from his neatly stacked piles of money, nor his glittering array of hotels and houses. In the afternoon he had skied for an hour, but the weather was painful and bitter.
    The second day they played cards in the morning and watched videos all afternoon until their heads ached. The third day James met up with friends from school, Peta and Rupert, and went off with them to their flat, leaving Ellie to do. . . what? He tried guiltily not to wonder too much about how she would spend her day. Their parents had gone to the Curlewis’ place to play bridge.
    But on the fourth day James awoke to the certainty that all the world was either blue or white. Through his window, from his bed, he could see nothing but blue, and when he sat up he found to his delight that the blue was limited only by the white. He sprang out of bed and got straight into his ski clothes before running into the kitchen for breakfast. There was a new mood in the apartment: a mood of lightness and silliness. People made silly jokes and other people laughed immoderately at them.
    Ellie had her pink ski-suit on, which James privately thought looked revolting, but he told her she was looking good and she beamed. By nine o’clock he was tumbling out of the door, getting his boots and skis in a clatter of noise and excitement. Then, suddenly moved by a moment of compassion, which he knew he would later regret, he said to Ellie, ‘Come on, El, you want to ski with me?’
    He was rewarded by the life that came into her face.
    They skied all morning. Fresh powder snow had fallen overnight and they cut through it in laughing sweeping turns and delicate sharp manoeuvres. James was longing to go over to