‘It’s bedlam,’ Charlie told Gwen as she stepped out of the quarantine box and moved behind the serving counter. ‘What’s going on?’

With no access to vaccines or quarantine programmes, the developing-world farmers who grew most of the world’s cocoa, tea and coffee had been devastated by Killer-T. Gwen explained to Charlie that she’d unearthed a supplier of fresh pains au chocolat, baked with real dark chocolate. Word had spread among local office workers and there was pandemonium whenever they got a delivery.

The busy store was the first good piece of news Charlie had heard in a while, and she also felt pleased with her own business brain: Charlie let managers like Gwen decide what to sell and paid a bonus based on how much profit each shop made. At a time when the supply of basic items like coffee and milk remained erratic, it meant managers went the extra mile to find local suppliers, while staff at the big chains put up out-of-stock signs and awaited delivery from a warehouse hundreds of miles away.

Charlie had no modding clients to meet. After scoffing two pains au chocolat, she grabbed a bundle of money from her office safe, then jumped into another taxi. First stop was her most recently reopened coffee shop. She’d hoped the location close to the University of Nevada’s Las Vegas campus would be popular, but so far business had been underwhelming.

Two staff stood inside with hands in their apron pockets, jolting like anxious schoolboys when Charlie stepped out of the quarantine box. There was a studenty crowd at the tables, but most of them were chatting and not buying much. Some were blatantly scoffing cola and cheap space-food doughnuts that came from the supermarket across the parking lot.

‘Where’s Bill?’ Charlie asked, squaring up to a bearded barista several years older than she was.

‘He was here earlier, but he had to go run an errand for his girlfriend.’

‘Oh, did he?’ Charlie hissed as the barista got a you-shouldn’t-have-said-that look off his colleague. ‘When Bill gets back, tell him to call me. And when you get this crowd in, hogging the tables and not buying anything, here’s what you do.’

Charlie reached under the counter and turned the music up loud.

‘And how come I see you two standing around, but the floor’s filthy and four tables need wiping? Also change the code on the bathroom lock. That guy just walked in off the street. If this place is still losing money in eight weeks, I’m closing it down.’

The two workers gave Charlie filthy looks as she stormed out to a waiting taxi. She told the cabbie to take her to The Paddler motel.

Before Killer-T, this stretch of East Harmon had been a lively strip of old-fashioned motels, wedding chapels, convenience stores and family restaurants, mostly frequented by tourists who couldn’t afford fancier places on The Strip.