A quarter of the homes in Povenets B were old prison barracks, and the rest had been built in the same utilitarian style. Valera and Ledjo’s bungalow was one of the prefabricated additions. It had looked solid enough when they’d first arrived, but a few Karelian winters had revealed just how fragile it was. The walls were paper-thin, wind crept between the door and windows, and the water pipes that had been left running along the outside of it were bent and rusted from exposure.

There was a school for Ledjo, but so few teachers that all the children were taught together. There was no hospital, and only one food shop, which, depending on the day, might or might not be stocked.

All naukograds were expected to generate their own energy, a necessity both for security and because they tended to be built away from established supply lines. Povenets B’s power plant was by far its largest building. It was three storeys of dark concrete, patterned by stains from months of sun and more of ice; black, painted pipes that were big enough for a full-grown man to walk through and which seemed to knot through each other; and a tall, stretched-out cooling tower that for much of the day cast a deep shadow on the smaller structures next to it, including the school.

Valera had never understood why Povenets B’s planners had put these two buildings next to each other. There was some kind of minor emergency at the plant every day, and power cuts were a regular occurrence. But whenever she voiced her concerns she was informed that infrastructure policy was none of her concern.

Major Yuri Zukolev, the GRU administrator in charge of Povenets B, treated the city like a medieval fiefdom, and its scientists and their families as his personal serfs. Povenets B was a long way from Moscow and the prying eyes of Zukolev’s superiors, and as long as he kept the peace, didn’t ask for too much money, and delivered regular, positive progress reports, he was mostly left to run the naukograd as he saw fit. His chosen methods involved regimenting daily life down to half-hour intervals, restricting the supply of food to encourage obedience, and constantly demanding that the scientists under his care produced more results with fewer resources.

One of the sirens that marked the passing of another half-hour blasted from a tower next to the power plant as Valera and Ledjo stepped through the door into their modest little home. As the door shut behind them they both let out a high-pitched scream, shook their bodies, and gave each other a big hug.

‘Hello, Pikku,’ Valera said, using her pet name for her son.

‘Hello, Mama,’ Ledjo replied, squeezing her waist tight.