The shouts of fury from the desks rose above the jubilant clamour from outside.

‘A new parliament will be formed!’ Slvasta shouted and ’pathed above the bedlam. ‘The Captain’s dictatorship will end. I ask all decent people of this world to join me in a democratic congress to establish a fresh constitution. Together we can build a new world based on fairness and democracy. Join me. Everyone.’

His rallying cry was gifted across the unquiet city. Supporters, goaded by cell members everywhere, added their emotional blasts of enthusiasm and confirmation to the psychic maelstrom.

Slvasta turned and gave the First Speaker an obscene finger gesture. Then he opened his mouth to deliver a final insult—

An explosive in the keel of the Alfreed detonated when the ferry was halfway across the three-kilometre span of the Colbal. The burst of terror and shock from the seven hundred Meor troopers on board washed across Varlan, swamping the giftings from the National Council. Everybody was suddenly there, on board as the ferry broke in two uneven halves. Through multiple viewpoints everybody seemed to be hurled about by giant forces, slamming them into bulkheads and decks. Lucky ones were tossed overboard to be engulfed by brown river water, arms thrashing frantically as saturated clothes abruptly seemed to be made of lead. People felt them open their mouths to scream, felt the water rushing in, felt them choking. Those still alive on board were overwhelmed by giant waves of water seething through the decks as the halves of the boat sank with incredible speed. The boiler plunged below the surface, and exploded in a giant plume of steam and spume, its blast wave pummelling the hysterical survivors struggling to stay afloat.

The Meor troopers on the Lanuux were watching in horror as their squadmates floundered in the treacherous surging water; they started to combine their teekay to pull people from the river. A second explosive blew the Lanuux’s hull open beneath the waterline, though it didn’t succeed in breaking the ship in half. Thick river water surged in, geysering up through the deck hatches as the ferry rolled alarmingly and began to sink. The aether was filled with anguish and fear as the Lanuux slid down, portside first. Troopers jumped to safety, only to be sucked under by the fierce swirling currents of water created by the descending hull. River water slammed into the Lanuux’s boiler. The explosion heaved the ruined hull up out of the river, echoing the death throes of some giant creature. It quickly slipped back under, pulling dozens of helpless troopers with it.

Within minutes, both ferries had fallen below perception, leaving the lethal whirl-currents of their descent stirring the surface. Over two hundred troopers were still straining to stay afloat. They were the ones who’d successfully shed their equipment and weapons. Now they had to battle the inordinately fast flow of the Colbal itself. Dangerous undercurrents belied the smooth surface, tugging more to their deaths, their minds gushing out the atrocious sensation of drowning for all to perceive. Desperate panic clogged the aether, reinforcing the feeble screams that washed across the banks on both sides. All around them, ferries and barges and fishing boats tooted whistles and horns as they converged on the survivors. Varlan perceived every nuance of their weakening battle against the devouring water in stunned horror as the whole disaster swept rapidly downstream.

‘What the crud happened?’ Slvasta demanded as he and Yannrith hurried out of the National Council building by a small lower level service door – an exit route they’d scouted weeks ago.

‘I don’t know,’ a mortified Bethaneve ’pathed back. ‘It wasn’t us, Slvasta, I swear on Giu itself. We didn’t plan this!’

‘Fucking Uracus! There were fifteen hundred people on those ferries.’

‘Fifteen hundred armed troopers,’ Javier ’pathed. ‘Deploying to kill us.’

‘Did you do this?’

‘No.’

‘Who? Who could plan such an atrocity?’

‘I don’t know, but it is a considerable help to us. And people, smart people, will want to know why the Meor was coming over the river. Don’t ignore such gifts.’

‘Uracus. It just seems . . . wrong.’

‘There is no good way to die. What we have started will kill many more.’

‘I know.’ Slvasta and Yannrith slipped through the door, into the bright morning light. A cab was waiting, driven by a cell member. They got in and fuzzed themselves. The driver set off down Breedon Avenue.

Giftings from cell members in First Night Square showed the sheriffs moving round the National Council building, their faces angry, thoughts eager for revenge, for vengeance.

‘It’s starting,’ Bethaneve ’pathed in wonder and dread.

‘Then we must control it,’ Slvasta replied. Strangely, after all his doubts and hesitancy, he had never been more certain than he was now. He ’pathed to the members of the level one cells.

‘The code is: Avendia. This is our day, comrades. Be bold. Be strong. Together we will succeed. Go now. Liberate yourselves. Reclaim our world.’

4

Bethaneve’s elites weren’t entirely made up of quick-witted observers and infiltrators and scouts; they didn’t all dart about the city watching and gathering information. Over the last few months as the group’s plans for the day of the revolution came together she’d quietly gathered up a few of Coulan’s rejects for herself. Not bad people, just possibles he’d rejected for final inclusion in his militia, the teams that would storm the palace and Fifty-Eight Grosvner Place. But still good people. Tough people who could handle weapons, who weren’t afraid of violence, nor of carrying out orders fainter hearts might baulk at.

There was something Bethaneve needed to do when the great day came. It would benefit the revolution – they’d even included it in their plans. But she had to be completely certain, and the only way that could happen was if she did it herself.

Coulan had been right. Explosives (unobtrusively acquired from the railway bridge teams) blew the hinges on the Faller Research Institute’s sturdy doors without any trouble. It was just one more detonation in a city plagued by fire and violence. Nobody really noticed. It barely distracted Bethaneve, she kept sending her messages into the network, marshalling the ecstatic comrades, keeping them on track. It didn’t matter where she was, just that she kept on ’pathing. Slvasta, Coulan and Javier all had their own objectives, and were busy leading their teams to achieve them. Coulan the palace, Javier the financial district, Slvasta the government institutions. They all believed she was sitting safely at the safe house, directing their comrades.

Guarded by her elites, she walked through the short smoke-filled tunnel and into the institute’s barren courtyard. Professor Gravin came out to meet her while his staff cowered nervously inside. He didn’t rush, but certainly managed to thrust his massive bulk forwards in an impressive fashion. ‘What have you done?’ he yelled. ‘Those gates must never be broken. The risk! Do you understand the risk?’

Bethaneve marched right up to the huge man and smacked him hard across his rubbery cheek.

He stared at her in shock. The blow was so fast, so unexpected he hadn’t even spun a protective shell. ‘What? Who are you?’

‘I am in charge of this institute now, professor,’ she told him. ‘I am going to ask you some questions. You will answer them without your shell so I can see the truth in your thoughts. Every time you refuse to answer a question, my people will shoot one of your colleagues.’

He gaped in fear as the armed elites jogged past him and started to enter the institute’s main building.

‘Please,’ he moaned. ‘Please understand, the work we conduct here is the most valuable thing on Bienvenido. We are not political, we are scientists; we will work with whoever is in charge, but you cannot destroy the institute. You would endanger the whole world, every human alive depends on us even though they never know it.’