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my family and my house – right? My hands tremble as I reach to connect to Mama and Papi, only to get the same please wait please wait please wait message.
    The sky crumples with the sound of distant explosions. This is what I’ve been afraid of ever since seeing Crux face to face.
    ‘It’s war ,’ I whisper.
    ‘What is? Really? Aura’s not said so.’
    I can see for myself without Aura’s information. It’s a real war in real places, not just on the stream-screens. For now it’s hundreds of klicks away. Nearer to us, towns like Sorrowdale and Rimm are blazing with normal lights. The Crux will never get this far. Aura won’t allow it.
    Zoya’s forgotten the wider landscape. She’s noticed the Crux pilot.
    ‘Ugh! What’s that you’ve dragged out of the forest? Why’s he looking at you like that?’
    As if he’s got something to say to me  . . .
    More explosions crackle faintly away west.
    Zoya pulls on my arm. ‘Come on, let’s get inside where there’s more light. Night is coming.’
    Steen sneers at her, like she’s cack on his boots. ‘Sooner than you think,’ he calls out. ‘And darker than you dare believe.’

‘ W ake up, Pip,’ says Zoya. ‘This is Sea-Ways Station.’
    ‘I wasn’t sleeping.’
    ‘Me neither.’
    Zoya’s been asleep and snoring. Me, I’ve been awake with my eyes closed the whole train journey, as if this will somehow make me invisible. Most of the other passengers are hunched over their keypads, flicking glances up from time to time but not daring to discuss whatever messages they’re getting.
    A woman nearby starts to ask, ‘Has anyone heard from folk in Hardhills . . . ?’ but she’s quickly told to hush, so she sits and fidgets instead.
    Our carriage is so packed that once it pulls into the city centre station we’re squeezed out of it like toothpaste from a tube. There seem to be more Scrutiners in position than usual.
    ‘What are you waiting for?’ Zoya asks as I shrink from the lights and noise. ‘Stick with me – the platform’s jammed. Aren’t you boiling with those gloves on? There’s heat machines everywhere. Hey – look at the big screen! That’s her! Marina Furey!’
    We push through the press of people to get a better view of the roof-high screen in the station hall. News banners scroll down the sides of the main picture – industrial production targets fulfilled, a hundred jobs created at Glissom’s Gun Factory, three more criminals convicted of superstition . . . Nothing about traptions in the forest, or Air Cadet crashes. Who cares about that, when Marina Furey’s face is smiling down at us all?
    She looks amazing, with hair all suntan brown, leaning against the fuselage of a People’s Number Forty-eight Fighter Jet. The HRN medal is the biggest and brightest of all in the row on her immaculate uniform – Hero of Rodina Nation, the highest award a person can win. I bet she could single-handedly wipe out the entire Crux Air Force, Steen Verdessica included.
    As she looks out of the screen her eyes seem to rest on each and every one of us. First she talks about pride, hard work and loyalty. Everyone stops dead to listen. Then she drops the bomb.
    ‘It saddens me to say a threat has risen up against Rodina. Without warning, provocation, logic or reason, Crux forces have attacked innocent civilian towns along our western border. This despicable act of aggression has been met with a quick and crushing response by brave Rodinan soldiers.’
    Over the rising waves of shock and outrage Furey reassures us all. ‘Victory will be certain and soon! If we stand together as a Nation we will defeat all our enemies. Together we are normal, innumerable, invincible! You are not one, but One of Many !’
    ‘ One of Many !’ we chant in reply.
    There are crowds but no chaos. Aura’s orders give pattern and purpose. We are just tiny dots in a massive city, full of life. Street lamps shine on sweaty workers just finishing afternoon factory