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  face appeared in the small :com window.
    “Sorry to interrupt you at work, but I thought you’d like to know that I’ve made an appointment with an Aunt. She wants to come over tonight. Is that all right?”
    “That was quick,” Harlan replied. “Is it the same one we had for David?”
    “No. I did ask for Aunt Agnes, but she wasn’t available. They assure me this one

    is very efficient.”
    “Good,” said Harlan, looking pleased. “I’m hoping David will be out of the librarium very soon, so efficiency is exactly what we need if we’re going to surprise him with a little sister.” He smiled and imagineered a picture of their son with a baby in his arms. Eliza smiled back. “What’s her name, this Aunt, in case she gets there before I arrive?”
    “Gwyneth,” said Eliza. “Her name is Aunt Gwyneth.”

    9

    By the time Harlan Merriman had returnedhome that night, the Aunt Eliza had spokenof was already at the pod. They were inthe gardenaria with Boon, admiring Eliza’s latest construct: a rockery, whichshe’d populated with a dazzling array ofsmall green plants, many with intricateleaf  structures.   It  was   a   beautifulcomposition. A real feat of imagineering. Something which could not fail to impresseven the harshest of Aunts. As he watched
    them chatting from the kitchen window, Harlan saw the Aunt crouch down beside a group of plants near to the ground. This was some achievement, for the woman was dressed in a tight-fitting two-piece

    suit, and the skirt was all but clamping her knees together. He watched her shoo Boon away, then circle her hand over the place where the katt had been sitting. Eliza’s placid gaze changed in an instant. She was clearly unhappy about what the Aunt had done. But by the time the woman had raised herself, Eliza had fixed a gracious smile to her face. Quick to realise she could use his support, Harlan loaded up a tray with three tall glasses and filled them with a sparkling white juice. Then he strolled into the gardenaria, speaking a greeting. The Aunt turned to face him. She was older than he’d been expecting, with a sharpness in her eyes that their first Aunt, Agnes, had not possessed. Next to the Higher itself, the Aunts were the most powerful group on Co:pern:ica. This one

    bore her authority like a mask. It was etched deep into the lines of her face. Even her silver peppered hair, pulled into a bundle at the base of her neck (a recognised trademark of her profession) looked so brittle it would crack if it was touched. He felt her fain probing his, and knew that he must not resist. She was, by the nature of her business, allowed to do this and Harlan, although he did not approve of this most invasive manner of commingling, gave himself up to her. She could not read his mind, but she could measure his general auma in an instant. It was important for her to sense that he was happy in her presence. Any show of disrespect might influence her decision to grant them permission to imagineer the daughter they wanted. And that would

    break Eliza’s heart.
    “Harlan,” Eliza said, “this is Aunt Gwyneth.”
    He bowed his head and offered up the tray. “Thank you for agreeing such an early   appointment.   A   drink,   Aunt Gwyneth?   We   find   this   whiteberry construct very refreshing.”
    The woman lifted her chin and looked, almost suspiciously, at the glasses. “I do not like anything fizzy   .”
    “Well, I can—” Harlan began, but Eliza held up a hand and said, “We’ve already had a herbal tea, Harlan. Aunt Gwyneth has been here for a little while.”
    “Oh, I see. Forgive me,” he said. “I was, erm, caught up with something at work.”
    “You lecture in Realism, I understand?”

The woman’s fain reached out again, likefingertips pressing at the flesh around his
    ears.
    “That is one aspect of what I do,” said Harlan. And feeling somehow