Coulan had commanded the mob assigned to storm the Captain’s Palace, an operation which had gone remarkably smoothly – mainly down to the perfectly placed snipers from his militia cutting down the guard. Cell members and Coulan’s militia were now going through every room, clearing them of furniture and clothes and trinkets and art and fine wines, distributing the booty to a throng of cheering supporters along Walton Boulevard. That was simple cheap popularity politics. Far more important was Coulan taking the Captain and his family into custody (apart from Dionene, his youngest daughter, who’d eluded them), which gave Slvasta tremendous leverage over the government institutions who were still holding out. As the palace had suffered little damage, they could have held the parliament in one of the huge intact staterooms there. Javier had advised against that. ‘We have to make a clean break with the old regime; don’t be tainted by association.’ Slvasta agreed totally. His hand still trembled from the memory of the Research Institute. He wanted the whole monstrosity blown up, the gardens turned into a public park, eradicating the last vestige and symbolism of the Captain’s power. But that might have to wait a while. For now, they held the city, but not the rest of Bienvenido.

Messengers had been sent to every city and province, explaining that the People’s Interim Congress was the new government, so they had a choice: join us, agree to democracy, or we will enforce the change. It wouldn’t come today or tomorrow, but in a few months or a year, the old mayors and governors would awake to find revolutionary forces besieging their city.

In the meantime, despite Bethaneve’s claim that they’d won, there were still pockets of resistance to be quashed in Varlan. It was Tovakar who had led a group of comrades against Fifty-Eight Grosvner Place, which was still burning. Trevene’s decomposing remains hung from one of the lamp posts just down the street from his broken headquarters. Over two dozen prisoners had been freed from its dungeons before it was firebombed, all of them associated with Democratic Unity or the cells. They at least would never know the Pidrui mines, or the horror of the Research Institute. Their erstwhile jailers and interrogators were either shot during the incursion or left dangling close to their boss an hour later.

Despite that, many government offices refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of the People’s Interim Congress. Their staff had ignored orders to report to work in departments where cell members had already installed themselves as managers. Comrades were arranging for each and every one of them to be visited at home by activists to explain why they should.

There were also nine city boroughs (the wealthiest nine) which repudiated Slvasta’s claim to government, along with all the outlying National Council constituencies.

He hadn’t expected quite so much resistance. Couldn’t they see the revolution was a success? That true democracy was coming?

A great many comrades wanted to march on these centres of defiance and bring the rich and privileged to their knees at the barrel of a gun. But there had been enough killing, so after they’d left the institute Slvasta had told Bethaneve to arrange a blockade of the boroughs that refused to cooperate with the People’s Interim Congress. After two days of armed struggle, food was already growing short in Varlan. ‘Let’s see how long the rich can eat their money for,’ was Slvasta’s message to his supporters.

In the meantime, those Democratic Unity members he’d appointed to represent the boroughs had arrived in the National Council building, and were finding themselves somewhere to sit among the splintered woodwork on the amphitheatre tiers. The number of women was heartening; before they’d been only a tiny number in the National Congress, now it was nearly half. He watched the new delegates jostling about good-naturedly as they hunted around for something to perch on, and he smiled at the three-strong team from Nalani who were shuffling sideways along the front tier. Javier grinned back and gave a quick, half-mocking salute. Slvasta thought his friend looked about as tired as he felt. There had been maybe three hours’ proper sleep in the last fifty hours.

‘How’s it going?’ he private ’pathed.

‘I think there would have been a lot more opposition to us nationalizing the railways if the railways actually worked,’ Javier replied. ‘None of the office staff complained when we went into their buildings and told them the government were their new owners – but then, all my aides are armed. They don’t quite believe this is real. Not yet. It’ll probably be different when the shock wears off.’

‘What about the owners?’

‘I’m sure they’re objecting,’ Javier chortled. ‘Wherever they are.’

Somewhere at the back of his mind Slvasta remembered Arnice telling him Lanicia’s family owned a lot of Grand South-Western Line stock. Uracus, I hope she’s all right. ‘There are a lot of people leaving Varlan. The roads are full with carts and cabs. And they say every boat leaving the quayside is packed to the gunnels. I didn’t expect so many to run away.’

‘Uracus take ’em. They’re the rich – people with country estates and second homes, crud like that. They’re parasites we’re better off without. None of the workers is leaving, not people who actually power the economy.’

‘The stallholders in the Wellfield,’ Slvasta reflected fondly.

‘Aye, they’re still here. Everybody we need to get the economy back up and running properly. And when we do, the workers will own the means of production.’

‘At last.’ It came out like a sigh from Slvasta’s mouth. It was hard to keep his eyes open in restful moments like this.

‘So have you got an agenda, prime minister?’

‘Oh, yeah. I think Bethaneve would have me carted off if I wasn’t prepared for this. We’ll start off with a vote on a planet-wide ban of all neuts and mods. Then I’m going to introduce an equality bill—’

‘You are crudding joking!’ Javier was abruptly on his feet, still private ’pathing, but staring hotly at Slvasta across the chamber.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘A mod prohibition? That’s our first law? You can’t be serious.’

‘What are you talking about? That’s what this was all about. Remember? The Fallers are our true enemy. Now that the Captain’s gone, we can hit them head on. And we start that war by getting rid of their creatures.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Bienvenido’s entire economy depends on them; every farm needs them to bring the crops in. If you want this Congress to be accepted outside Varlan, you have to be realistic.’

‘Varlan survived without mods and neuts.’

‘Survived, yes, because the city is stinking rich. It certainly didn’t prosper. Getting rid of the mods was an excellent piece of strategy for us back then. No, the first thing we have to do is restart the economy and bring back the prosperity we took away. That’s how we gain the support of everyone we’ve just spent two days scaring the crud out of.’

Slvasta felt his cheeks warming as he glared back at Javier. All he could see was the Ingmar-Faller looking up out of that terrible pit, the lies he pleaded with . . . ‘That was no mere political strategy. That was survival. No more neuts! They are evil. They are the Fallers’ creatures. They will overwhelm us if we don’t kill them first. Do you understand nothing?’

‘I understand perfectly. Get over your monomania or you will ruin us all! This revolution exists to improve the lives of everyone, and to do that we need mods. Playtime is over. This is life and death now.’

‘They will wipe us out!’ Slvasta was on his feet now, shouting furiously. ‘They will eat us. Is that what you want? Because if it is, you’re no better than the Captain was. A traitor to us, to your entire species!’