‘They’re Aurora’s,’ I said, probably a mite too defensively. ‘She was planning to take them up to HiberTech.’

‘Must have run out of time. Treacle will be on the front desk. I’ll catch you up.’

She patted me on the shoulder and climbed into Aurora’s four-wheel drive.

I was buzzed in through the shock-gates, where little had changed. On the counter was a tear-off calendar telling me there were ninety- one days until Springrise, and at the rear I could see Laura, doing some filing. She looked at me curiously and gave a cheery wave, which I returned. Beyond the desks was a frosted-glass partition to an inner office with a half-glazed door, upon which were painted the words:

Ms A. Toccata Chief Winter Consul Sector 12

Through the frosted glass I could see Toccata as a shadowy figure who appeared to be having an animated conversation on the telephone. I say ‘conversation’, but it really seemed to be a one-sided rant. The glass was soundproofed so her voice was muffled and indistinct, but it seemed she was yelling about the incompetence of the other party, and sporadically peppering her speech with a colourful array of expletives. I felt myself tense. I wasn’t going to enjoy this.

Standing behind the counter and speaking on the telephone in more measured tones was Jim Treacle. He looked fatter than when I’d last seen him; only bondsmen could afford to gain weight in the Winter. He looked up, smiled and placed a finger in the air to indicate he’d not be long.

‘We’ve currently got fifty-four extra winsomniacs, which is way in excess of our official allocation,’ he said on the phone, ‘so if we don’t get at least two hundred person-days of food by the end of the week, then the Chief Consul will come over and explain her displeasure to you in person with a steel spike.’ There was a pause. ‘Yes, those were her precise words and I think she will almost certainly make good on her threat. Good day, sir.’

He put the phone down, coughed his deep racking cough and then turned to face me.

‘So, Worthing,’ he said with a grin, ‘Jonesy said you overslept big time.’

‘I had an alarm clock issue.’

‘Sure you did.’

He leaned forward.

‘Did Jonesy mention me at all?’

‘No,’ I lied, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘I’m up to be married to her with a siring-in rider, but I think she’s getting cold feet. What do you think?’

Jonesy didn’t tell me Treacle had contracted for genetic rights within the marriage. It was kind of a big deal and controversial. Women needed more genetic options than partner choice alone might provide, and there was talk about enshrining that right in law. I lowered my voice too.

‘It’s a big decision.’