It was a bit too aggressive to be a reverie and too abstract to be a 
hallucination. It didn't really clear away until a gust of cold mist hit him in 
his face, he opened his eyes, and realized that Kidnapper had stopped after 
emerging from the trees at the crest of a mossy ridgeline. Below him was a 
rocky bowl with a few cobblestone streets sketched out in a grid, a green park 
lined with red geraniums, a church with a white steeple, whitewashed four-story 
Georgian buildings surrounded by black wrought-iron fences. The security grid 
was tenuous and feeble; the software khans were at least as good at that kind 
of thing as Her Majesty's specialists, and so a New Atlantis clave in this area 
could rely on the neighbors to shoulder much of that
burden.