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And with that he let go her shoulders, nudging her as he did so. She looked ahead again, and found that they were walking straight into the group of people around David Reid.

Reid was wearing a loose woollen suit, and a blue cotton shirt without a tie. He leaned with his left hand on the back of a seat, on which he’d left his mug of coffee. His right hand held a cigarette, with which he made sweeping, smoke-trailing gestures. He was speaking to three men and a woman, all dressed with similarly casual care. His long hair was damp from a recent wash, and the morning air.

When he saw Wilde he stood up straight, transferred the cigarette to his left hand, and held out his right. The two men shook hands, both smiling, studying each other’s faces and finding in them recognition and, almost, disbelief.

‘It’s been a long time,’ Reid said.

‘Not for me,’ replied Wilde.

Reid acknowledged this with a brisk nod.

‘I appreciate that,’ he said. ‘Perhaps with more time, you could have seen things differently.’

‘I can see the Karaganda road quite clearly,’ Wilde said. ‘And your face. When I close my eyes. I’ve had time to think about the look that was on your face, my friend.’

‘That wasn’t personal,’ Reid said. ‘And neither is this.’

‘I know it wasn’t personal,’ Wilde said. ‘I know you better than that, Dave. I almost wish it had been.’

‘We were both political animals,’ Reid said lightly. ‘You had decisions like that to make, too. In your time.’

Wilde shrugged. He fumbled for a cigarette. Reid pre-empted him, offering a pack and a light. Wilde accepted both with a thin-lipped smile.

‘Tobacco,’ he mused, as if noticing its anomalous presence for the first time. ‘Cotton. Wool. Where are the plantations, the flocks?’

‘Organic synthesis is our best-developed technology,’ Reid said. ‘As you should know.’

Wilde laughed. ‘The case starts in twenty-five minutes,’ he said. ‘That’s how long you have to convince me you didn’t let me die to shut my mouth for good.’

Reid touched Wilde’s shoulder, as though to remind him.

‘Not for good,’ he pointed out. ‘You’re here, and you’ve been –’

He stopped. Wilde spoke again immediately; it could have seemed he interrupted.

‘For long enough!’ he said. ‘You almost admit it, man! I want you to admit, and explain it. And to retract your ridiculous accusation that the actions of the robot Jay-Dub are any responsibility of mine, and to free the autonomous machine that you have walking around in Annette’s body. An apology for that insult to my wife and myself wouldn’t be amiss, either. Then we can talk about other matters.’

He was trembling slightly when he finished speaking.

Reid stood, blowing smoke slowly from his lips.

‘What other matters?’

Wilde leaned forward, speaking so softly that only Reid and Tamara, and the MacKenzie, heard him.

‘The fast folk,’ he said, ‘at the other end of the Malley Mile.’

Reid recoiled slightly. ‘Is that what Jay-Dub told you?’

‘I worked it out for myself,’ said Wilde. ‘It’s obvious, when you think about it.’

Reid shook his head. For a moment, his face showed genuine grief. Then, his expression hardening, he stepped back.

‘Jay-Dub made you,’ he said. ‘He made you as a weapon against me. And something else, I warn you, made Jay-Dub what he is.’

‘He?’ Wilde retorted, following his prompt. ‘That’s quite an admission.’

‘He was you,’ Reid said. ‘A simulation of you, I should say. And for a time, he was my friend. He had plenty of time to accuse me of his – your – murder or neglect, and he never did. Because he understood. He has a greater mind than yours or mine, Jon, and he understood. But he was, when all’s said and done, a machine. A machine with its own purposes, with endless patience, and bottomless cunning. I had hoped that the human element in it would overcome the machine’s…program. I was wrong, and I’ll put that mistake right. Legally, you own it, and I’ll nail you to that. But in reality, you are…’

‘What?’ Wilde challenged. ‘Tell me what you think I am.’

‘Instrumentum vocale,’ Reid said bitterly.