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‘Ah, the wonders of the free market,’ Janis grouched, narrowly avoiding a tray of hot drinks being carried at alarming speed on the head of a five-year-old.

‘Not as free as it looks,’ Moh said. ‘These places tend to be run by gangs. Shady jurisdictions and that.’

They found the light container truck they were after in a corner of the park near the feeder road. The driver shoved a magazine into his pocket as they approached, and stood up, looking slightly embarrassed.

‘Hi,’ Kohn said. ‘River Valley. You’re expecting us?’

The man smiled and nodded. He handed Moh the key, took a receipt and headed off, evidently not straight to the nearest rail station.

Janis and Moh climbed into the cab. The truck was owned by a rental company and changed hands often – that much was obvious from the condition of the interior. Moh had a sudden thought. He passed the key to Janis.

‘You drive,’ he said.

Janis took the key, smirking, and turned the switch with a flourish. The engine responded with a faint hum.

‘Aw,’ she said. ‘It’s not like the films I saw when I was little.’ She made internal-combustion-engine noises as the truck glided out of the park.

‘Nah,’ Moh said, adjusting his seatbelt. ‘It were a man’s job in them days – aaarrrgh, stop…’

12

The Cities of the Pretty

There actually was a wall called the Stonewall Dykes, but it was more to prevent people from entering unwittingly than to keep anyone out – or in. In the bad old days of the Panic it had had a more serious function, but now it was just a bit of retrovirus chic – isolation camp. The real protection of the area – the Gay Ghetto, the Pink Polity, the Queer Quarter – was in the strong, gentle, capable hands of a militia called the Rough Traders.

The truck pulled off the clearway and down a side street, past a portion of the wall on which someone had written ‘Sodom today – Gomorrah the World!’, and they were in. Just another street, except suddenly there were no women. A bit further and there were no men; further yet and there were both, but you couldn’t tell which was which, all gaudy and glad-ragged and gay.

‘What’s the difference between this sort of thing and what’s outside?’

‘None at all, that’s the point. There’s nowt so queer as folks, as they say up North—’

‘Oh shut up. That’s not what I meant. What’s the difference between these specialized neighbourhoods, or whatever you call them, and the mini-states?’

‘No wars.’

‘It can’t be that simple.’

‘Looks like it can.’

‘The future and it works, huh?’

Kohn laughed. ‘It keeps people like me in work. In my future society we’d be out of a job. No wars over territory and no fights over property.’

‘Yeah, yeah…’

Kohn gave directions for a few more turnings. They came to a halt in a car park in front of a large housing estate built as a single block: four sides around a courtyard, the side in front of them having an opening about three metres high and five wide. Through it they could see a lawn and flowerbeds. All the windows in all eight storeys of the block had curtains of ruched peach satin in front of other curtains of frilled net. Another truck and some small vehicles and bicycles stood unattended in the car park.

A man came out of the entrance and walked up briskly. He wore a plain brown loose-fitting smock and trousers and had short blond hair. He stood for a moment at the front of the truck and then stepped up to the door beside Kohn.

Kohn lowered the window. He decided for the moment, to stick with the ostensible reason for their visit. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m the security adviser—’

‘Mr Kohn? Ah, hello. My name’s Stuart Anderson. Your agency told us to expect you. I’ll be asking you in in a moment, but first I’d like a word with the lady.’

Janis leaned across. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but would you mind waiting while your companion looks around? No offence intended – it’s just the rule of the community. The only women allowed in are those who live here or are associated with us, and you…’