The squirrel scampered amongst the branches of the oak tree, chattering facts about its host in a Disney-style voice. Vincent Cornell made a mental note to reprogram the creature at the earliest opportunity.

“Sessile oak: WiredWood.org/Welby/oak27, age ninety-two years, height thirty-five metres. Sessile oak...”

“Details,” said Vincent.

A table of data materialised in front of him, seeming to hang in the air like some wraith of the forest. Several of the entries for this tree were blank, while others required updating. Three-and-a-half years after its inception, the Wired Wood project had yet to establish a complete inventory of the local flora and fauna. The task of updating the database was a routine but enjoyable aspect of Vincent’s work. After he had finished dictating the entries, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The aromas of growth and decay delighted him, as always.

The crackle of twigs breaking underfoot jolted Vincent out of his reverie. A pale-faced young woman emerged from behind the oak tree and walked towards him. She was dressed in combat trousers and a white tee shirt that emphasised her willowy physique. Her grin revealed teeth that were slightly crooked.

“Those aren’t ordinary sunglasses, are they?”

She spoke with a Welsh accent, but there was a hint of small-town America too. It was an odd yet beguiling combination. Vincent gave a nervous little laugh.

“They’re a new designer style. A thousand Euros a pair.”

“Really?” Her frown suggested that she was not convinced by their fashion potential. “I’m guessing they’ve been augmented in some way.”

“That’s right,” he said. “They let me view data overlays generated by my belt-top.” He tapped a forefinger against the wallet-sized device. “I’m conducting a survey for the Wired Wood project. You might have seen a documentary about our work on BBC4 last year.”

The woman brushed aside a few strands of auburn hair that had blown across her face. “Yes, I did watch that programme. But I’m afraid it didn’t convince me that connecting forests to the Web was a good idea. In my view, Welby Wood ought to remain a refuge from the unreal world.” She made an expansive gesture, as if claiming ownership of the stands of oak and hornbeam.

“I’m afraid that’s not how our masters in Brussels see things,” he said. “‘Logged-in for life’ is their slogan. Still, our work is not all dull tagging and cataloguing.” He extracted a spare pair of glasses from his rucksack. “Here, try these on.”

The glasses slid down her nose like a skier approaching a precipice. She allowed him to adjust the fit, not seeming to mind the physical contact. When he pressed a stud on the side of the frame the lenses darkened to full opacity, obscuring eyes that were black as peat.

Vincent spoke a series of commands. A moment later, her head was jerking from side to side. He grinned at her even though she could not see him.

“What am I looking at?” she asked.

“Squirrel-cam footage.”

She pushed the glasses up onto her forehead. “You are joking, right?”

“No; the video is genuine. I recorded it yesterday.”

She watched some more of the footage before handing the glasses back to him.

“I suppose it might just start a craze for Vermin Video. Not really my thing, though.”

“Most people seem to enjoy it,” he remarked.

“Well, I’m not ‘most people’!”

Stung by the put-down, Vincent held up his hands in a gesture of contrition. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you. Let’s start again, shall we? I’m Vincent...”

After a brief pause, she said: “And I’m Rachael.” With that, she turned away from him, bringing their conversation to an unequivocal end.

Vincent felt a pang of desire as he watched Rachael stroll along the path, her slender body dappled with sunlight. He was tempted to follow, but something in the set of her shoulders indicated that she wanted to be alone. Shortly after she disappeared from view he heard a loud sneeze ricochet through the trees, accompanied by the clatter of crows spooked from their treetop homes.

Feeling pleased with himself, Vincent unclipped the videophone from his belt. His progress report was overdue.

“Hard at work today?”

Vincent glanced up from the soil acidity equipment, which he was attempting to recalibrate. Rachael was standing between two hornbeam saplings, her exposed forearms as smooth as their bark. Her smile was beguiling.

“Hi, Rachael,” he said. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

Which was a simple statement of the truth, for Vincent had greatly enjoyed Rachael’s company during their half-dozen encounters in Welby Wood.

Her reply was lost to a succession of sneezes, each more powerful than the last. Vincent noticed that the tissue she held to her nose was spotted with blood. Concern tightened his face -- [End of Preview.]