‘My sister’s there,’ Sofia lied, yet again. ‘I have to help her. What do you know about the place, Mr Bowman? Anything you can tell me would be useful. I’ve heard it will be difficult for me, because I’m from Mexico. Although, that seems unfair. I don’t remember anything of life before the boat journey to Australia. I am from nowhere now.’

Bowman gazed off into the distance for a moment, apparently able to see through the clouded windows of the canteen as Sofia filled a bowl with beans and bacon chunks. He worked at slicing his mushy apple up into manageable components before they took a seat at the table with the others. But not Cindy yet; she was still in line, picking over the sad, grey franks.

‘Fort Hood’s not what Seattle says it is,’ Dave said. ‘On the other hand, not everything Seattle says is wrong either. It isn’t the old Unreconstructed South, for instance.’

‘I’m sorry, what?’ Sofia asked, confused.

‘I mean, it isn’t a bunch of rich white folks owning everything, including other people. A lot of army vets live down there. The other services too, but mainly army. Drawn there by money, benefits and the kind of jobs Seattle can’t or won’t provide.’

‘What about Mexicans?’ she asked. ‘My sort of people.’ She wondered if Dave wasn’t someone who agreed with Blackstone. Perhaps even supported the tyrant.

‘I’ve seen them down there as well,’ he said. ‘Normally, if they aren’t in the military, they’re stuck doing the menial jobs in town, in Killeen, or labouring on the big farms. That isn’t all that different from before the Wave, is it? Or down under, where you were, from what I’ve heard tell.’

‘No,’ Sofia admitted. ‘Although, the farm my family worked on in New South Wales was not a prison either. And the homestead killings – are they truly as people say, the work of Blackstone’s agents?’

Bowman regarded her warily now. ‘Well, there’s some that say that, of course. But I wouldn’t be so free with my opinions when I reached Fort Hood if I was you, young lady.’

‘Well, it’s a hell of a thing when a young woman can’t feel free with her opinions, don’t you think?’ interrupted Cindy, having arrived from the chow line hauling a tray loaded up with cheesy taters and franks. Almost as large a stack as she’d had of chicken when Sofia first met her.

‘No politics at the table,’ Melissa called over, adopting a warning tone.

Thin Dave Bowman’s face had been clouding over, but that seemed to pass now like a single cloud on a clear day.

Cindy hooked out a plastic chair with one foot before sitting herself down next to Sofia. ‘Old Dave here is quite the fan of Governor Blackstone,’ she smirked.