She clutched the oblong box closer. Inside her, the unborn child stirred restlessly, responding to the adrenaline that was running in her bloodstream.

“I’m going to try and get out of here,” continued Gregor’s voice. “I’ll take the transmitter with me, but it doesn’t have enough range to reach you once you get a few miles out of the airport. According to our schedule, you should be about ready for takeoff. I wish there was some way you could send to me. Look, tell McGill a couple of other things. The Goblin that Morrison was working on died the same way as the one you have with you. Vacuum exposure. That suggests they both died in the same place — in a non-pressurized plane compartment. Morrison came up with an age estimate, twelve months or so. Body mass was five and a half kilos. Length a little under half a meter, about the same as the one you have with you. I hope you’re somewhere where you can hear all this. We still have no idea how they got to the lab, but I’m sure now that they only died a couple of days ago.”

Julia Merlin was through the boarding lounge now and walking along the connecting tunnel to the aircraft. She was vaguely aware of the steward smiling at her and gesturing towards the box she carried. She shook her head, walked heavily back to her seat and sat down in it. Gregor’s voice had ceased in her ears. She leaned forward and tried to push the oblong box under the seat, but it would not fit. Leaning far forward was a great effort. She straightened up, gasping at the sudden jab of pain.

“It won’t go there, ma’am,” said the steward. He was standing beside her, holding out his hand. “Here, let me stow it in the rear, where there’s room. No need for you to come with me,” he added, as she began to rise from her seat. “Look, see that space in the back? I’ll just tuck it in there.”