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‘Who’s that?’

‘She’s a teller at the Body Bank. She’s learned about your position and she’d like to help you.’

‘I don’t want to be a security guard, thanks.’

‘Oh, that’s not the idea at all. Nothing like that. That’s why she wants to see you. I think you’ll be interested.’

Catherin shrugged and agreed. A few minutes later the bank teller walked in, heels clicking, clothes whispering together. She poised herself on the chair beside the bed.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Annette. I understand you’re looking for a safe place to stay, out of the fights.’

It didn’t take Annette long to convince Catherin that the femininist community was a good place to go until her status as a combatant was restored. It would give her a retreat, a chance to plan.

‘But that’s all,’ Cat explained hastily. ‘I’m not saying I agree with your ideas or anything—’

‘Of course not,’ Annette said. ‘But don’t count on it. We’ve won over quite a few combatants who’ve got tired of the boys’ games.’

Cat smiled. It wouldn’t happen to her. ‘When can I go?’

‘First thing tomorrow morning?’

‘Fine.’

‘Good. That’s settled, then.’ As she stood up to leave, Annette picked up Catherin’s denims and looked at them with some disdain.

‘We’ll have to get you something decent to wear,’ she said, making to take the whole blue bundle.

‘No, no,’ Catherin said. ‘I want to keep these. I can do something with them.’

‘All right…Let me just get your measurements. Excuse me a moment.’ She took a scanner from her pocket and waved it from Cat’s neck to her ankles. ‘See you tomorrow, Catherin.’

She returned at an ungodly hour the next morning with long paper bags draped over her shoulder. The nurse pulled a screen across the bay. Catherin looked at the bags.

‘Modesty,’ she said. ‘Oh, Jesus!’

‘Go out in style, kid,’ Annette said.

They had to help her to dress. It wasn’t because of her broken arm in its shell, or her innocence of the intricate fastenings. There simply was no way to put on or take off these clothes independently. When they had finished they stepped back and smiled at her.

‘Oh. Oh,’ the nurse said. ‘You’re so beautiful.’

Annette took Catherin’s shoulders and turned her to face a wall mirror. She stared at this strange double, coiffed and corsetted, crinolined in blue satin and white lace. She stepped forward, then back, amazed at the sheer amount of stuff that moved with her, the trimmings that fluttered and swayed. She had to laugh, shaking her head at the absurdity of it. She plucked at the skirt in front of her with gloved fingers, let it drop.

‘I feel silly,’ she said. ‘Helpless.’

‘Not quite,’ Annette grinned. She reached over to give Catherin a small handbag. ‘In there, my dear, along with some make-up carefully chosen for your complexion, you’ll find a neat, ladylike little pistol.’

Catherin smiled, relaxing. This trace element of the kind of protection she had always counted on reassured her and enabled her to accept the kind on which she must now rely: a power that didn’t come out of the barrel of a gun. The shaping grip around her waist, the frame of fabric below her waist – they were not a prison but a castle.

‘OK, sisters,’ she said. ‘Let’s make an exit.’

She walked out of the ward with her head high, looking straight in front of her. She had once seen a royal wedding on television, so she knew how to get the effect.

Moh looked at her for a long second.

‘Look, Cat, I’m honestly sorry about what I did. What I didn’t do. But it’s settled, it’s squared—’

‘Not with me it bloody isn’t. That’s the point. Now I’m back in action I can take you prisoner.’ She grinned. ‘And I just have.’

‘On whose behalf?’ Moh said sourly, playing for time. ‘If it’s the Left Alliance we’ve already worked out what—’

‘Oh, no,’ said Cat. ‘On behalf of Donovan. I called him when I was logged on to sign the release, as soon as I was in the clear. The CLA are sending a couple of agents—’

‘You did what?’

The lady’s gun wasn’t much of a stopper, he thought; he could kill her before he