‘You keep saying “she”,’ said Kirsty. ‘You mean the Captain’s a woman?’

‘A female,’ said Johnny. ‘Yes.’

‘But you called the Gunnery Officer a “he”,’ said Kirsty.

‘That’s right.’

Kirsty stood up.

‘That’s typical. That’s absolutely typical of modern society. He probably resents a wo— a female being better than him. I get that all the time.’

‘Um,’ said Johnny. He hadn’t meant to say ‘um’. He meant to say: ‘Actually, all the ScreeWee except the Gunnery Officer are females.’ But another part of his brain had thought faster and shut down his mouth before he could say it, diverting the words into oblivion and shoving good old ‘um’ in their place.

‘There was an article in a magazine,’ said Kirsty. ‘This whole bunch of directors of a company ganged up on this woman and sacked her just because she’d become the boss. It was just like me and the Chess Club.’

It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to tell her. There was a glint in her eye. No, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to be honest. Truthfulness would have to do instead. After all, he hadn’t actually lied.

‘It’s a matter of principle,’ said Kirsty. ‘You should have said so right at the start.’ She stood up. ‘Come on.’

‘Where are we going?’ said Johnny.

‘To my room,’ said Kirsty. ‘Don’t worry. My parents are very liberal.’

There were film posters all over the walls, and where there weren’t film posters there were shelves with silver cups on. There was a framed certificate for the Regional Winner of the Small-Bore Rifle Confederation’s National Championships, and another one for chess. And another one for athletics. There were a lot of medals, mostly gold, and one or two silver. Kirsty won things.

If there was a medal for a tidy bedroom, she would have won that too. You could see the floor all the way to the walls.

She had an electrical pencil sharpener.

And a computer. The screen was showing the familiar message: NEW GAME (Y/N)?

‘Do you know I have an IQ of one hundred and sixty-five?’ she said, sitting down in front of the screen.

‘Is that good?’

‘Yes! And I only started playing this wretched game because my brother bought it and said I wouldn’t be any good at it. These things are moronic.’

There was a notebook by the keyboard.

‘Each level,’ explained Kirsty. ‘I made notes about how the ships flew. And kept score, of course.’

‘You were taking it seriously,’ said Johnny. ‘Very seriously.’

‘Of course I take it seriously. It’s a game. You’ve got to win them, otherwise what’s the point? Now . . . can we get on to the ScreeWee flagship?’

‘Um—’

‘Think!’

‘Can we get into a ScreeWee battleship?’

Kirsty almost growled. ‘I asked you. Sit down and think!’

Johnny sat down.

‘I don’t think we can,’ he said. ‘I’m always in a starship. I think things have to look like they do on the screen.’

‘Hmm. Makes some sort of sense, I suppose.’ Kirsty stuck a pencil in the sharpener, which whirred for a while. ‘And we don’t know what it looks like inside.’ Johnny stared at the wall. Among the items pinned over the bed was a card for winning the Under-7 Long Jump. She wins everything, he thought. Wow. She actually assumes she’s going to win. Someone who always thinks they’re going to win . . .