‘Now, as for the South American Federation,’ said Musso, getting back on topic, ‘I don’t know what the President will do. You were in New York, you saw how hard-pressed we were up there. Blackstone could’ve made it much easier for us if he’d just released a couple of TDF battalions into the fight. But he didn’t. Said he was already overcommitted – securing the Panama Canal, dealing with his own pirate issues down in the Caribbean, the bandits on the frontier, and the southern flank against the Federation. All the best legal advice says the federal–state accords back him up. He wasn’t obliged to release one grunt to the battle in New York. But it left a sour taste in the mouth when he didn’t, whether all those other things were true or not, don’t you think?’

Caitlin didn’t answer immediately. Fact was, if she hadn’t had a personal investment in what had occurred in New York City, she would never have gone there. It would’ve been hypocritical therefore for her to judge Blackstone for having stayed out of it.

Or would it? she wondered. Her choices were personal. His were political. And arguably he had a responsibility that went well beyond his individual inclinations. A quarter of the post-Wave population of the United States was clustered around Mad Jack’s holdings in the Texas Administrative Division. One could argue that he had a duty, first and foremost, to see that they were protected.

Caitlin was glad of this opportunity to be free of the need to maintain her cover. It spoke well of Musso, she thought, that he’d given up his Sunday afternoon to come out and collect her. He could have sent a driver, or just left her to make her own way. In Caitlin’s experience, a lot of ambassadors – and that’s what he was, in all but name – didn’t much care to have undeclared agents spooking about on their turf, yet he seemed not at all concerned. He drove south for about ten klicks before turning off at the 2484 junction, where the ruins of Red’s BBQ were returning to the dust. The land out here seemed used up, leached of any real fecundity, and overrun by noxious weeds and creepers. Caitlin doubted whether she could’ve penetrated more than a few feet into the growth without a machete; and even then, she’d have been hacking and slashing away with all her might to advance very slowly through the thornbushes and wait-a-while vines. In places, the road was almost completely overgrown and it was only her driver’s familiarity with the track that kept them on the crumbling tarmac. The Hummer jumped around as it fought for traction, clambering over giant tree roots and the occasional monster vine that had snuck out over the road.

‘Was this trip really necessary?’ she asked, only half joking.