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in unlicensed warfare? But she still believed his assertion that inter-municipal aggression on an organised scale was impossible in the Midlands. And no other council had reported a military engagement.
    “ An accident of some kind?” she asked.
    Disappointment showed in his expression. “A carefully orchestrated operation, requiring dozens of workers and tonnes of explosives. Haven’t I made myself clear yet, Ms Sting?”
    “ Apparently not. But I’m all ears.”
    His response was a shrug denoting both irritation with her naivety and satisfaction with himself for preserving a mystery. “You’ll realise the truth before long. Let me show you the ongoing work.” He tapped the chauffeur on the shoulder. “To Sarehole Mill!” Turning back to Melissa, he chuckled. “It’s like a jigsaw. Concentrate on the edges first. Comes together in the middle of its own accord.”
    “ I think I understand. To encourage people to relocate to the moon, you destroy their homes and places of work.”
    “ Places of work? Oh, Ms Sting, you’re a romantic!”
    They drove south in silence. At various points throughout the city, sheets of blackened fabric from the aeolipile glimmered in the drizzle, caught on lampposts like the sails of ships in mourning, or draped over tenements like the awnings of repossessed shops. Finally, reaching Cole Bank Road, they stopped to watch a group of surly labourers demolishing what was apparently a famous building. Charges were set in the edifice, a ponderous corn mill. The detonation itself was a less dramatic affair than the aeolipile incident: the mill leaned over and briefly regained its feet before sprawling in a polluted pond, cleared of algae for the purpose of receiving its body. Alleneal explained the details in muted tones, as if suffocating the facts.
    “ Your earlier remark about fireworks was most apt, Ms Sting. There are many local factories producing gunpowder that we have pressed into our service. The workers daren’t protest on pain of public flogging. We have had few problems with forced labour.”
    “ Just what sort of official are you? This is barbaric behaviour for a councillor. Not even in Hull…”
    “ Obviously, when our colony is fully functioning, I shall no longer be content to remain a standard councillor. I intend to award myself the title of Conducator and rule by decree.”
    “ I often think total devolution was a mistake,” Melissa sighed. She decided to press him on seeing the actual project hardware. “I thank you for the tour of the city. The craters and social collapse have been most instructive. However, my report must not be delayed. I wish to view your transportation and surface hardware.”
    “ How can you entertain doubts?” Alleneal spluttered. His tormented eyes took in the urban landscape, accepting its pain and tragedy with an obscene stoicism, a father who witnesses the circumcision of a terrified boy. “The noose of desolation is tightening. Soon even the Council House will be torn down. A total wasteland.”
    “ With all respect, these perverse civil operations hold very little interest for the Commission. I was specifically charged with grading the viability of your colony tender.”
    He was amicable again. “I know this, Ms Sting. Allow me to show you our fleet of moon-buggies. They are fine beasts, heavy and powerful. The best way of sculpting lunar seas.”
    Chewing her lip, she allowed herself to be ferried back to the city centre. The councillor fumbled in the glove compartment for a torch. The rains were in benevolent mood, each greasy droplet falling slowly enough for Melissa to avoid. She sidestepped from limousine to National Indoor Arena, a structure that was plainly sick, bulging like a raped wife. As if tuning in to her thoughts, Alleneal twisted his nose. “Pregnant? Yes, expectant mothers are our chief export.”
    They passed the bored guards, who barely offered them a glance. She saw how the structure had been disembowelled