Most of his students had absented themselves today. Some, with excuses he wished he could frame. Others had simply been honest. They wanted to walk in protest. And why not, he privately thought.

Granted, they had picked a site that meant the impact on homes was limited. But the Mayor had recently announced they’d also need to clear the flanks of the approach channel. More families would be relocated. It’s how they worked. Once a thing was underway, it was very hard to stop. It was a bullying in some ways.

The professor noted the gun baffle on the building roof across the river, sited to overlook the bridge. On its transparent hood, the varnish of its baffle number caught the sun. Baffle three. The dark blue cap of the rifleman as he moved about the roof looked something like a lycaenid butterfly, the professor thought. Purple Hairstreak. In this light.

The professor wasn’t sure what one police marksman would be able to do if something did happen while the protest was in sway. Better to have him there than not though, he supposed.

He knew the science of why animals formed groups. But it seemed madness, to him. A crowd was a condensed target, should anybody want to cause them harm.

Better to be better at being a one.

There was a hiss from his comms button.

‘Hello.’ He pressed the patch.

‘There’s a parcel for you here, professor.’

With the large bulb of her cycle helmet and the bright material of her clothes, the courier looked like a bee herself. Or, perhaps more a wasp. The way she tapered at the waist.

The professor eyed the parcel, set there on the desk, as he clambered from his bee-keeping suit.

‘I hear you on the radio,’ said the courier.

Despite himself, the professor couldn’t help a little smile. He was unsure about being wheeled out. About being the face of the city’s environmental push. Afraid it would mean he had to compromise his opinion. But it had worked well. The rooftops. The diversity. The insect hatcheries in the park.

‘I’ve got a gutter garden on my building,’ the courier said, excitedly. ‘We group-funded.’

‘That’s good to know.’

‘And we’re going to get an alittlement on the roof!’

The professor looked at the package on the desk. An itch in his fingers.

‘They’ll make a difference.’

‘A lot’s got from alittlement,’ the courier smiled, reeling off the jingle. People called it to him on the street! ‘I love your accent,’ she said.

That offsided him somewhat.

‘Where are you from?’ the wasp girl asked.

‘North East,’ said the professor. ‘Near Redcar.’

The package, small as it was, gave the impression it was waiting for him to succumb to its attention with the patient way some cats have.

‘There’s an ice dock up there, isn’t there?’

‘One of the small ones,’ the professor answered.