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all. Go right ahead, Douglas. That’s what it’s there for – get you merry. Is this going to be a formal meeting? Do we have a quorum?’
     
    ‘Pamela, I think you need to sit down.’
    ‘I am going to sit down, Douglas.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘Is there a problem?’
    ‘Not at all.’
    ‘Because there have been too many problems lately.’
    ‘Sit down, Pamela.’
    She sat down with a sigh.
    ‘Pamela…’
    ‘Oh, do get on with it, Douglas.’
    ‘Pamela, I’ll come right out with it. We are asking you to step down as Chairwoman.’
    Mrs. Bellingham was silent.
    ‘It’s not that we don’t value your leadership…’
    ‘It’s that I’m a woman…’
    ‘Not at all. It’s about results.’
    ‘We are getting results.’
    ‘Well, no, we’re not. Are we? And now, the moon, destroyed. It’s just that we feel we need a change of direction.’
    ‘May I guess who you have in mind as the new Chairman?’
    ‘Pamela, it’s not like that.’
    ‘Then what’s it like?’
    ‘You’re making this needlessly difficult, Pamela.’
    ‘I should shut up.’
    ‘Not at all. But the decision is made. I’m afraid we had a vote in your absence. It was unanimous.
    Geoffrey is to be the new leader of the Resistance.’
    Mrs Bellingham gave Geoffrey a stern look. He sat across the table at its head position. It was her table but he was at its head.
    ‘We have lots of business to attend to, Mrs. Bellingham,’ he said.
    ‘Go right ahead,’ she said, turning from him to cross her legs and sit sideways so she faced the French windows and the patio. ‘Don’t mind me.’
    ‘I think you should start, Geoffrey,’ said Douglas.
    ‘Very well.’ He took a breath, cleared his throat, and began. ‘There is news from the uniSwarm that concerns us. The Praetorian Guard have mutinied. They have commandeered a transporter.’
    ‘And why does that concern us?’ said Mrs Bellingham, still staring out of the window.
    ‘It is an opportunity of a sort, Mrs Bellingham. The Emperor has consequently taken a new Guard. We have reports from within the Palace that they’re unpractised. For instance, they are not tasting the Emperor’s food. Not aware that that is part of their responsibilities.
    ‘Now, the Pastry Chef is a Cramptonian. Name of Mimic. He is married to a Juval Councillor in Gamos Province. I have taken the liberty of having the Councillor kidnapped. I think she might be coerced into helping us.’
    ‘You want to torture her?’
    ‘Douglas, a point of order.’
    ‘Yes, Geoffrey.’
    ‘Can Mrs. Bellingham be quiet when I’m talking?’
    ‘Pamela, let Geoffrey finish.’
    ‘As I was trying to say, apparently the Councillor and the Pastry Chef are still close. They have a child.
    They correspond regularly. With a little intimidation we might be able to persuade her to contact him.
    And then in turn, we might be able to persuade him to help us.’
    ‘Do you see, Pamela? It’s a real opportunity. We’re not saying it will work. But we can at least try.’
    ‘What exactly are you proposing? It’s all very will-o’-the-wisp.’
    ‘We’re planning an assassination attempt, Pamela. Against the Emperor.’

Chapter Ten
    The hive-mind had made a suggestion to the Emperor and they had tried it with a duct they had borrowed from the Sub-Commissar, who had abandoned it because he wished to trade up to a newer model.
    If the Emperor could put it in his mouth while it was still fresh and warm, and keep it steady in the back of his throat, the hive-mind could make a connection using the saliva that flowed there as a conducting material. Then they could read it together through the throat cable. Ducting had always been denied the Emperor - he was supposed to use the hive-mind instead - so this was very interesting for him.
    The Commissar’s early childhood memories were, however, lacklustre and proletarian; his conversations were improperly referenced and largely inaccessible; the maps and reference material, utilitarian and