And with that, a single hard-encrypted message beamed out across the city to hundreds of identical devices.

‘It’s done,’ he said. ‘It’s happening.’

Most of the delegates at the convention had succumbed to the lack of air-conditioning and removed their jackets; ties were loosened and, in some cases, dispensed with altogether. The atmosphere in the auditorium was sour, hot and rank, although partly that had to do with the split on the floor that was threatening to tear the whole process apart. James Kipper pressed his lips together in an effort to maintain his calm as some asshole from Spokane attempted to tell him how to do his job.

‘This isn’t how we would run things, let me tell you, Kipper. We’d have had this show wrapped up days ago, and there wouldn’t have been any of this school-camp bullshit with lights out and no air, either. How the hell do you expect people to make decisions under these conditions? It is impossible.’

Kipper’s jaw moved like he was chewing gum, which he wasn’t. It was simply an old habit. He folded his arms and resisted the urge to tell this… Malcolm Vusevic, according to his name-tag – that he was full of shit because Spokane, lying behind the Wave, wouldn’t be organising anything ever again.

He kept his mouth shut, because, in his experience, people who’d hailed from the dead zone tended to be a little sensitive about it, which was only reasonable. What wasn’t reasonable was the delegates demanding that they get special treatment over and above what the rest of the city could expect.

‘Not gonna happen, sir,’ said Kip, resolutely shaking his head. ‘Redmond, Finn Hill and North Creek are all on their allotted power-ups at the moment. If you want to turn up the air-con here, it means diverting grid power from those folks. I’m not going to do it. Not on your say-so.’

‘Well, on whose then?’ Vusevic demanded to know. ‘Would an order from General Blackstone do it for you?’

‘Nope.’ Kipper shook his head equably. ‘I work for the city, not the military. At least not yet.’

He instantly regretted the indiscretion as Vusevic’s eyes lit up in triumph. ‘Oh, I see… one of those anarchists, eh? You’re just doing this to delay the inevitable. Whatsa matter, buddy – don’t like losing a vote? Can’t handle democracy?’

Kipper’s shoulders and arms ached with the tension building up in them as he restrained a violent urge to beat this idiot into a pulp. ‘It’s none of my business, sir,’ he replied flatly. ‘City utilities are my business. And you’re not getting any extra power.’

With that he turned and walked away from the delegate from Spokane, wondering how the fuck anyone from Spokane got a ticket here in the first place. All Vusevic represented was a burnt-out ruin of urban wasteland.

‘Whoa there, Nelly! You’re gonna throw a shoe, stomping off like that.’

Kipper pulled up at the sight of Jed Culver, who’ d just emerged from the crush around the refreshments table. He seemed to live there, and it was taking its toll. The guy looked like he hadn’t slept. His face was puffy and dark bags hung under his eyes.

‘Sorry, Jed. Not today, man. I’ve got a world of fucking hurt on my shoulders.’

‘Who doesn’t, Kip, who doesn’t? Just a word in your shell-like. Won’t take a minute.’

Kipper frowned at the odd phrasing, until he remembered that Culver had worked in London for a couple of years. Or he said he had. Sometimes with Jed you were never quite sure when he was feeding you a line. The engineer sighed, exhausted. He really was buried by work, and being called down to the conference floor to get reamed out over the air-conditioning hadn’t improved his mood. He hadn’t slept last night, after the Gestapo, as Barb called them, had left. Partly because Barney Tench had stayed until just before dawn, attempting to win him over to the cause. His friend had left in a police cruiser of all things. ‘Not everyone in uniform wants to be the Fuhrer,’ Barney had explained, winking.

Kip shook off Culver’s guiding hand and continued on his way to the exit. The lawyer fell in beside him, not saying anything. Just grinning and waving at the other delegates as he passed them, even those who Kip knew for a fact he hated. How the hell he did that was a mystery for the ages. When James Kipper didn’t like someone they didn’t die wondering.

‘You going back up to your office?’ Jed asked, as they left the auditorium behind.

‘Yes, I am, but…’

‘Great. I’ll come with you. Come on.’

‘Don’t you want to be here for the vote?’ the engineer enquired. ‘It’s on soon, isn’t it?’

‘Already lost that one, Kip. So no, I have other plans, my friend. Come on.’

He reluctantly allowed Culver to tag along with him, mostly because he knew the man was congenitally incapable of taking no for an answer. Kip could have blown him off, but he knew that by the time he reached his office many floors above, this expensively suited fixer would most likely have been waiting in his chair with a big dumb grin on his face.

‘That doesn’t sound like you, Jed, giving up because you can’t win.’

‘Who says I’m giving up?’ Culver asked in reply.

Kipper spared him a glance and was disturbed by the wolfish smile he found there. ‘What’s happening, Jed? This really isn’t the morning for it.’

‘No, that’s where you’re wrong, Kip. This is very much the morning for it. This is the morning the American people – what’s left of ‘em, God help us – take back their government.’

They entered the elevator, which Kipper had tried to shut down without success – the city councillors had baulked at that power-saving measure. Jed punched in the number for the Engineering Department’s floor, before smiling graciously and using his arm to bar the way of a young woman who’d rushed up behind them to share the ride. ‘Sorry, darlin’. Do you mind?’

She did, but there was nothing she could do about it as the doors slid shut.

Kipper bristled at the impoliteness. ‘That wasn’t very nice, Jed, and it was wasteful,’ he chastised the lawyer. ‘And what are you crapping on about anyway? You already said you were going down in that vote this morning. Blackstone is gonna get his congressmen, whether the rest of the army wants it or not.’

Jed put a finger to his lips before gesturing around the elevator. Kip sighed with exasperation, but after last night he wasn’t so quick to dismiss paranoid speculation about surveillance.

The lawyer nodded. ‘Well, you’re right about one thing, Kip. Not all of the military wants this situation. Ritchie and Franks are dead against it.’ Culver looked around as if addressing an unseen audience. ‘And nobody in uniform is arguing in favour of it, of course. But in the end they’ll accede to the wishes of the people.’