Margaret Lewis bustled busily around the house, dusting and polishing. She'd already done the kitchen and the bathroom, leaving every surface spotless and gleaming. Now she was doing the living room. Wiping the dust from the framed photographs of the family and from the shelves and cupboards that lined the walls. Plumping the cushions on the chairs and sofa and wiping fingerprints from the mirror and the television screen. The radio was playing in the background, something from the last century, but she was barely listening to it. In her mind, she was replaying memories of her life here. The happy times, such as when they'd first moved in with two young children who could no longer share a bedroom. The frightening times, such as when one of the children had come down with a mystery illness, or Paul was waiting to hear whether he was going to be made unemployed with debts that they couldn’t possibly repay on a job seeker’s allowance. In her mind, the walls echoed with laughter and tears that had soaked in over the past ten years, making the house almost an extension of her soul. She and Paul had talked about selling up and buying something smaller now that the children had left home, but in their hearts they had both known that they were going to grow old in this house together. It had become so much a part of them that they hadn't been able to imagine living anywhere else.

She would vacuum the carpet next and then, if she had time, she would do the bedrooms and the spare room. She wanted the whole house to be spotless. She would be leaving soon. Leaving forever in all likelihood, and even though she knew what would happen to the house when the floodwaters came, she wanted her last memory of it to be like this. Spotless and immaculate. The house that she and Paul had made into a home and in which they had raised two fine children.

The phone rang. Space Oddity by David Bowie. Chosen by their son Richard as a joke when Paul had been chosen to go up to the Space Station. “Answer phone,” she said, straightening up and leaving the duster lying across the arm of the sofa.

“Hi, Mum,” said Hazel, her daughter, her voice issuing from the speakers around the living room. The same speakers used by the television and the music system. The radio continued to play, but at a lower volume. “Just wanted to let you know that the car's come. You okay?”

“Fine,” Margaret replied, wiping the tears from her eyes and trying to keep her voice under control. “I'm just doing a bit of cleaning and polishing while I wait. Just something to keep my mind occupied. How are you?”

“We're okay,” Hazel replied. She did indeed sound okay, Margaret thought, a little bitterly. She and Len had only moved into their house a few months ago. She didn't have the same emotional investment in it that Margaret did in hers. Her house was just bricks and mortar, it hadn't become a home yet. They hadn't even had time to decorate! As for her childhood home, she'd severed her emotional bonds with the place when she'd moved out. Her happy memories of the place were just that, memories. She’d already moved on from it.

“Len’s loading everything in, all the stuff we're taking with us,” she continued. “It's not much. They said two suitcases. One for clothes, the other for valuables and memorabilia. We haven’t really got much, though. To be honest, we're having trouble filling two suitcases.”

Margaret made a sound of agreement while looking around the house. Everything she could see held a memory. The expensive china on display in a wall cabinet, for instance. She'd inherited it from her mother, who’d been taken from them early by Variant CMS just a year after her husband, Margaret’s father, a Commander in the navy and a member of the peacekeeping force, had been killed by an IED in South Africa. Then there was the chest of drawers they'd brought with them from their first home. Scratched and dented, but which they’d never dreamt of replacing. And the clay dinosaur that Richard had made in school at the age of seven. It had pride of place on the shelf over the fireplace despite having been broken and glued together after Hazel had hit it with a ball that had bounced in an unexpected direction. So many things. So many memories.

“Are you sure you're all right?” asked Hazel, concern in her voice.

“Fine,” she made herself say. “When things have settled down a bit we'll find a new place for ourselves. Close together, so we can visit. Cornwall, perhaps. You used to love our holidays in Cornwall.”

“That would be nice. Look, we've got to go, the driver's waiting for us. We'll see you in Cranwell very soon.”

“Yes, see you there. Love you, Nut!”

Hazel chuckled at the use of her childhood nickname. “Love you Mum! See you soon.” There was a click and the connection was severed. The radio returned to its previous volume. The music had stopped, though, and had been replaced by a man warning people of the penalties awaiting people who looted empty houses and closed shops.

Margaret stood there for a long moment. The house suddenly felt very empty. Her children would, in all probability, never come here again. Her husband would probably never come here again. If he did, it would be to salvage what he could from the waterlogged wreckage. Margaret wouldn’t come with him. It would be too heart breaking.

The doorbell rang and she gave a sigh of relief. The default voice of the house computer informed her that the person at the door was nobody they knew. Margaret knew who it was, though, and a glance out through the window confirmed her guess. A large black hatchback car with the logo of the Comfrey Automobiles company on the side, that being the company that leased vehicles to the military. She went to the door and opened it.

A man in RAF uniform was standing there. “Mrs Margaret Lewis?” he asked. Margaret confirmed that that was who she was. “I’m Captain Larry McMillan. I've come to take you to your temporary accommodations at RAF Cranwell.”

“Thank you. I've already locked up and everything. Hey, computer. Power down the house, please. Long term absence.” The house computer acknowledged and the radio turned itself off. Around the house, everything else would be turning itself off. The media system, the environment system, the fridge and the freezer which she'd already emptied. Finally the house computer would put itself in minimal power mode leaving only the security system active, and that would also go down when the power company cut power to the whole neighbourhood as the floodwaters came close.

She directed the autoporter to carry her two suitcases out to the car, which loaded them in the back, and then the porter returned to its garage and turned itself off. All that was then left to do was for Margaret to leave the house. She paused in the hall, looking back towards the living room. She looked left and right into the kitchen and the stairs up to the first floor. She didn't want to go. She wanted to go into the kitchen, make herself a cup of tea and take it into the living room where she would settle down into her snug chair in front of the fire and wait for her husband to come home. She turned and stepped out the front door, closing it firmly behind her. With an effort of will she forced herself not to start crying.

“Okay,” she said. “Let's go.” She marched down the drive towards the car, which opened a door to let her climb in. The RAF officer got in beside her. “RAF Cranwell,” he said, and the car moved off along the road. Margaret forced herself not to look back at the house as they left it behind.

Some of the houses they passed already had broken windows, she saw. There were very few people out and about. A couple of children going home from school, another child standing at a bus stop. Classes must be almost empty, she thought. Pretty much everyone with children had already moved to higher ground. Either staying with relatives or camping out on any bit of open ground they could find, picking out the good spots before they were taken. She wondered how many teachers were left to teach the children who were still turning up.

“May I ask where you live?” she asked the RAF officer.

“Norwich, Ma'am. Safely above the high tide mark. The house is a bit crowded, though, since we took in my sister and her family plus my mum and dad. Still, got to be thankful. There’s plenty worse off than us, or will be soon enough.”

“Are there many other people being given refuge at the airbase?”

“Some. Officers families mainly, and the families of VIP’s. People who need to know their families are safe so they can give all their attention to their jobs.”

“Like astronauts, for instance.”

“Yes, Ma'am. Ma'am, is it true the Chinese can stop it happening? The floods, I mean.”

“You know as much as I do, Captain.”

“It just sounds so incredible! Like science fiction!”

“I know. I spoke to my husband just this morning. He finds it hard to believe as well.”

“But if there is a chance it could work, if there’s even a small chance, then your husband is one of the people who'll make it work, so he can't be distracted wondering if his family's okay. You'll be safe there, Ma'am. Lots of soldiers to look after you and barbed wire fences to hide behind.”

“Are you expecting trouble, then?”

“Always best to be prepared, Ma'am.” That was a rather disturbing statement and Margaret stared at him for a moment, wondering if he would elaborate, but the RAF Captain just looked out the window at the empty, snow covered houses while the car, entering a long, straight stretch of road, picked up speed. She briefly thought about asking what kind of trouble he thought they might have, but then decided against it and told the car to play some music.

Some people were putting out sandbags, she saw. Lines of sandbags stacked three or four high making walls around their houses half a metre tall. Margaret shook here head in amazement. They had no idea what was coming! This was an area that was often flooded as rivers burst their banks during times of heavy rain. Water would flow down the streets, entering houses under the doors and soaking their carpets. The carpet would be ruined, but if the house could be dried out before mold damage occurred it could be made as good as new quite quickly. That's what they thought was coming, she realised, despite all the public information broadcasts on the television and across the internet. She could imagine stubborn old men and women telling their neighbours that they'd survived half a dozen floods and would survive this one as well. She took her phone from her pocket and called up a flood map. It confirmed that the street they were driving along would soon be under ten metres of water. Even the satellite dishes on their roofs would be beneath the waves!

“Maybe they're putting their faith in the Chinese,” said Captain McMillan when she mentioned it to him. “Who knows, maybe they really can do it. Maybe your house will be spared. You might be moving back in in a few days.”

It was a nice thought, but Margaret couldn’t make herself believe it. To most people, the moon was just a small, round thing in the sky. Even today, most people didn't really understand what it was. A world in its own right. More than three thousand kilometres across! The idea that any man made device could remove the mass from an entire world... She shook her head in disbelief. It wasn't going to happen. The flood was coming, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

When Margaret drove anywhere, she normally liked to take the back roads and enjoy the rustic scenery, but Captain McMillan clearly wanted to get her there as quickly as possible and so he told the car to take the most direct route. The car took them to the A16, therefore, to the Sutterton roundabout where they turned left onto the A17. As always, the traffic was dominated by huge trucks carrying shipping containers and other forms of cargo. What family cars there were stayed in the outermost lanes while the driverless trucks thundered past them on the innermost three lanes. The countryside around them was covered with snow, and another flurry was beginning to fall, slipping off the frictionless windscreen to leave it so perfectly clear that it was easy to believe that there was nothing between them and the cold winter air. Of course, if that had been the case, the car would have been nothing like as cosy and warm as it was. Margaret relaxed in her seat and watched the world go by beside her while the music continued to play.

RAF Cranwell consisted of a hundred acres of flat grassland containing two runways crossing each other almost at right angles and two clusters of buildings. One cluster of buildings was responsible for the day to day business of running an airport and also contained the Royal Air Force College that trained new officers and aircrew. The hangers in which the aircraft were stored and serviced were also in that area, although separated from the other buildings by an area of snow covered tarmac. After passing the gate and checkpoint in the barbed wire fence, though, the car took them to the other cluster of buildings, which served as housing for the airport’s personnel and such guests as they might be hosting at the time.

As they passed the closer of the two hangers, Margaret saw a Typhoon parked on the tarmac in front of it. Gleaming silver and white, its cockpit dome shining in the sun. She craned her neck to keep the fighter in sight as the car turned away from it, wondering whether she'd get a chance for a closer look at it during her time there. There was no-one in sight near it. There didn't seem to be anything to stop someone from walking right up to it.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” said Captain McMillan. “We've got four of them here, four of the new ones with all new avionics. It looks the same, but it’s a completely new aircraft in every way that matters. I've flown one myself. Amazing aircraft, and forty per cent if it was built right here in Britain.”

“They say it’s the best in the world,” said Margaret. “My husband certainly thinks so.”

“He's right. Has he ever flown one?”

“Not a Typhoon. He was in the navy air wing originally, before he entered the space program. He flew 147's a couple of times, but he was mainly an F 35 pilot, flying from the Prince of Wales.”

“That's a fine plane too. A bit long in the tooth these days, but still a good airframe. Many countries around the world still have them as the backbone of their air forces.”

“It's funny that you still need pilots for them. We've got self driving cars, self driving trucks and ships, self driving passenger aircraft...”

“No-one's ever going to give machines the power of life and death over human beings. And radio controlled aircraft, drones and so forth, are too vulnerable to jamming and hacking. No, combat aircraft are going to need human pilots for a long, long time to come.”

“Good. How does the Typhoon really compare to the F 35? The Americans always say their aircraft is better.”

“Well, the F 35 is partly British as well, the yanks tend to forget that. And everyone thinks their own aircraft is best. The Russians think their SU 57 is best and the Chinese think their J 20 is best. They’re all designed for slightly different operational roles, of course, and some are better at one thing while another is better at another, but ours is without doubt the best fighter killer. In a one to one showdown, there's nothing in the air that can match it.” Margaret nodded and looked back one last time before turning her attention to the cluster of buildings ahead.

The car stopped in front of a five storey apartment block. The car opened its doors and the two passengers stepped out. The car's rear hatch opened and the two suitcases were lowered gently to the ground. “Well, here we are,” said the Captain. “You've been assigned apartment twelve, and your children and their families are in ten and eleven. You'll be neighbours.”

“Good, I was hoping we would be.”

“If you send your luggage ahead, I'll take you to reception.”

Margaret nodded and gave the two suitcases their instructions. They darted off on their little wheels to a hatch in the side of the building which opened to let them in. Inside, a small elevator would take them up to the first floor and she would find them outside the door to her apartment when she got there.

Captain McMillan, meanwhile, led the way to the main entrance, which opened for them as they approached. Inside the foyer were two elevators, a flight of steps, a door that led through into the common room and a potted plant beside a padded chair. There was also a display screen and a speaker mounted on the wall. The screen lit up as they approached to display the computer generated image of a young woman's face. “Good morning, Captain McMillan,” it said. “How may I help you?”

“Good morning, Maxie,” said the Captain. “This is Margaret Lewis, she's staying in apartment twelve.”

“Good morning, Margaret Lewis.”

“Call me Maggie, please,” said Margaret.

“I'd be delighted to. I've recorded your face and voice print. Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Maxie. Do you know if Richard Lewis and Hazel Montgomery have checked in yet?”

“Leonard and Hazel Montgomery checked in half an hour ago. They're still in their rooms.”

“Thank you, Maxie.” The image on the screen smiled at her, then vanished.

“I'll show you the way,” said Captain McMillan, pressing the button on the elevator.

“That's okay, Captain, I'll be fine now. I prefer the stairs anyway.”

“Very well. You can contact me through Maxie if you need anything, or just ask anyone you see. They'll all know how to get in touch with me. Please don't approach the military facilities on the other side of the field, though. It's embarrassing for the guards to have to turn people away.”

Margaret smiled. “Understood,” she said. “Is there somewhere nearby I can rent a car?”

“Just ask Maxie, there's a terminal in your apartment. She can give you all the information you need.” Margaret smiled her thanks and the Captain left, going back to the car.

The elevator door opened but Margaret ignored it, heading for the stairs instead. Upstairs, she followed the corridor, looking at the numbers on the doors until she came to number eleven. She knocked and waited but there was no reply. She crossed the corridor to apartment ten and knocked there as well, and a moment later it opened.

“Mum!” cried Hazel in delight. “Len, it’s Mum!”

“Hazel!” said Len, coming into sight from the bedroom. He gave her a hug and gave her bottom a friendly squeeze. “Still as beautiful as ever! Sometimes I think I should have married the mother instead of the daughter.”

“Len!” cried Hazel in shock. “Behave yourself!” She turned to Margaret. “I keep trying to teach him some civilised manners...”

“You wouldn't love me if I had civilised manners. You wanted a rogue and you got one.”

“It's true,” Hazel admitted to her mother. “He really is a rogue. I worry sometimes what effect he’ll have on our children, if we ever have any.”

“Of course we're going to have children!” said Len, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “A girl as clever as you and a little boy as good looking as me.”

“Let's not put a curse on him before he's even been conceived.” Len just grinned wickedly at her.

“We're still unpacking,” said Len as the two women hugged. “Not that there's much to unpack. A couple of suits and dresses to hang in the wardrobe, some socks and smalls to chuck in the drawers. We’re pretty much done, actually. We're enjoying the life of peace and tidiness before the little ones start popping out of Hazel's tummy and we're suddenly knee deep in baby stuff like poor Richard.”

“We're hoping to be settled down somewhere permanent by then,” said Hazel. “We were thinking of moving to Australia. Plenty of space, not many fault lines...”

“We can't stay in this country,” agreed Len. “Property prices are already crazy, and we don’t have much money to speak of. If we stay, we’re going to end up in some crowded high rise apartment block, probably sharing a place with a family from Yorkshire.”

“You could come with us,” said Hazel. “You and Paul. We could all live together in the outback. Every country with space is going to be building new cities in the interior, away from the coast. Russia, Canada, the USA... There's going to be plenty of work for architects. Len’ll never be looking for work again.”

“Yes,” agreed Len. “You'd be very welcome! It would be handy to have babysitters if we both decide to work.”

“That's my husband,” said Hazel, smiling sweetly. “Always thinking of the practicalities.”

“I'm sure Leonard would rather you had a place of your own,” said Margaret. “We could live nearby, though. We'd definitely want to be close enough to visit...”

“Richard and Cathy Lewis have just arrived,” said Maxie's voice from the wall speaker.

“Ah!” said Len, running over to the window and looking out. “We asked her to let us know when they got here. She told us you were here, but we'd only just arrived ourselves. Ah yes, there they are!” The two women went to join him and saw another black car parked outside. Richard was leaning into the back seat to remove the baby carrier, which he handed to his wife. They spoke to the driver for a moment, and then they all headed towards the building.

“Let's go meet them,” said Hazel. “Welcome them to their temporary new home.”

“Great idea!” said Len. “Coming, Mags?”

Margaret agreed enthusiastically, and so the three of them left the room and headed for the stairs back down to the foyer.