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The seriousness of my statement was somewhat undermined by Tanya’s eye-rolling observation of it. I went on peace marches for the likes of you, I felt like telling her. (And with Eleanor, a cry from inside me added.) Annette’s grip on my hand was tight, as if she might slip away. I stroked her shoulders, below the virtual image, and glared at the comrades.

‘I’m afraid I don’t agree with comrade Wilde,’ said Mike Davies, a black Liverpudlian in his twenties whose views I occasionally respected. ‘What he’s just said is exactly what the government’s saying, like, and if you ask me it’s the kind of TwenCen liberal pacifism that has got us into this mess in the first place. If Britain hadn’t ditched its responsibilities on the Continent, the Germans wouldn’t have had to take them on. As it is, the best we can hope for is that the Americans will bail us out again.’

‘What is this shit?’ Julie said. ‘Responsibilities? Well, thank you comrade, but I’ll take no responsibility for the bloody British state. Liberal pacifism – when did that become a dirty word? I’m a libertarian internationalist and proud of it. War is the state’s killer app. I’ll take a liberal pacifist over a libertarian militarist any day. Neutrality, non-intervention, and preparation for self-defence – that’s what we should be pushing, not trying to work out whether we should back the Germans or call for the bloody Yanks to come charging in. Which you –’ she added, turning to stab a phantom finger at Davies, ‘have evidently not even made up your own mind about!’

In another corner of the screen a light flickered urgently. Eleanor had got through!

‘If that was a motion,’ I said drily, ‘I’ll second it. Meanwhile, comrades, I beg your leave for a few minutes.’ I nodded to them solemnly, turned the sound down and flipped to the phone channel.

Eleanor’s face appeared and I patched it to the main television. A joyful babble filled the room and then fell silent as Eleanor spoke.

‘Hi folks,’ she said. ‘Sorry to have got you all so worried. I couldn’t get through on my handset, and there’s a queue of about fifty behind me for the hotel phone. Can’t stay long. Are you all OK?’

‘We’re all fine,’ Annette said. Eleanor’s partner leaned briefly into view, smiled and waved. ‘Oh, hello Colin,’ Annette went on. ‘When are you coming back?’

Eleanor frowned. Colin, behind her, was restraining the impatience of the next in line. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘The airport’s closed for now. They say flights’ll resume tomorrow, but there’ll be chaos out there. We might as well sit it out until the operation’s over.’

‘The operation?’ I squawked. ‘I don’t know what they’re telling you over there, but from here it looks like the beginning of the big one. The Yanks are very cross indeed, the Russians are sounding nervous, and some of the little republics the Europawehr’s bearing down on are fingering their nukes. Get the hell out as soon as you can. Get to the airport right now. If people around you are complacent, that’s their problem, and your opportunity.’

Eleanor was about to reply when the picture dissolved and a was replaced by an apologetic-looking man in a suit that said ‘Hotel Manager’ as plainly as a name-badge. ‘I’m sorry sir, we can’t permit this conversation to continue.’ The connection broke, to yells of indignation at our end.

Tanya turned on me. ‘Why did you have to shoot your mouth off? We didn’t even get to speak to her!’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I really am. But I don’t think anybody over there realises how serious it is. Maybe finding that their phone-calls are being monitored will –’

‘It won’t,’ said Annette. ‘You should know that. All that Eleanor will have seen is the screen going fuzzy.’

After some more recriminations, eventually calmed by Annette, I stalked out with my comms rig and sat down on a bed. Through the open window I could hear doleful singing from one of the many fundamentalist and charismatic churches that had in recent years congregated in the area. I wondered if my own activities were any