The higher ranking officers – General Mann first, followed by the Colonel – left the room without a word, but not without a grudging and loveless acknowledgement of their subordinates, and with no hint even of a backward glance at me. I watched them go and realised that I only had their word for it that they were real. Captain Small stood up. She looked relieved to be finally out of that chair. She straightened her outfit and checked herself discreetly in the mirror of a small compact she carried in her handbag, which matched her uniform perfectly.

I stood too. It felt like the right thing to do. Thompson switched off the projector and the wall was wiped clean in an instant. He busied himself collecting the sheaf of papers he had left on the long table, stubbed out the General’s smouldering cigar properly and approached me.

‘Shall we get some lunch?’ he suggested. Now he had brought up the subject, I had to admit that he did look hungry. ‘We can talk in a bit more detail, make a start on some kind of plan.’

I was happy to hear that. Enthused though I was with the whole challenge, I found myself disconcertingly bereft of ideas on how to begin. I had hoped that Captain Small would be able to give me some guidance, but still I felt reassured by the knowledge that the Major would be adding his weight to our planning.

We left the briefing room by the same door as had the General and Colonel, and took the express lift to the 33^rd floor. It made no sound at all, and nobody spoke. As we arrived, Major Thompson mechanically held his arm across the retracted door for Captain Small and myself to exit. I did exactly that, and stopped in my tracks.

Where I had expected to find some kind of a functional communal dining hall, I had been dropped into the sort of palatial banqueting suite I could not have conjured up in my wildest fantasies. Nothing, not even the blinding glister of the spotless crystal and silver, defiantly undamped by the luxuriant drapery framing the thinner ends of the chamber’s oddly elliptical form, disturbed the wraparound view of the capital, and seven or eight enormous tables were laid out formally, all positioned to make the most of the spectacular backdrop. It had been a long, confusing while, but I could have sworn the building had sharp edges when I had entered it at ground level, Major Thompson leading the way out of the warm afternoon. Yet there was no sense of those right angles in this cocoon of perfection.

Despite my initial shock, I began to find the whole scene disturbingly comforting as I sunk into it. Most men of my age would never have seen anything quite like it, but I had an advantage over others: it could have been drawn straight from the putrified lips of my great-grandmother, who would delight in regaling me with tales of lost leisure, especially dining, from deep in the distant past. The generations before mine had become used to dining mechanically and unobtrusively. Passable and nutritionally balanced offerings were quite sufficient for the efficient path through life their society demanded of them, and all unnecessary adornments had long been demobilised. But that grated with me: even as a child, I had recoiled from such a joyless and utilitarian annihilation of one of life’s simple pleasures and I would beg Grammy mercilessly for her husky and interminable stories of chandeliers, finery, quenelles and mille-feuilles, unfettered opulence, unabashed sociability and, above all, wanton sensory rollercoastery. From my stool alongside her bed, I would gaze at her as if she were an exhibit in a zoo, not a direct ancestor: the string of strange and fabulous words was one thing; her teeth, yellowed and browned by a lifetime of her strange and illegal cigarettes, would rock loosely back and forwards in her haggard gums with each dental stop; her crooked fingers crinkled and crackled like ricepaper, and she allowed me to touch them and feel their softness; her unmistakeable aroma, whilst not unpleasant, was almost indistinguishable from that of the fortnight-old chicken thighs I had to empty from her cold store on the day we discovered her body. I wasn’t allowed upstairs that day, my father told me.

More than anything else, as I stood on the threshold of the restaurant, that scent of hers arose in my senses. I had loved her like nobody else alive, and her death had changed nothing on that front.

Thompson indicated to the collected servants that we were just three, and the least subservient escorted us to a large round table, centred with an enormously wide dish of jet, home to a spellbinding ikebana arrangement. I noticed that each table had its own, but I considered ours the most stylish. I was pleased.

I accepted a glass of Montrachet and sipped it through my disbelief while pretending to search for familiar landmarks outside. Nobody had uttered a word to each other yet. I didn’t know at this point if Captain Small could even talk.

The Major curtailed whatever awkwardness might have been arising. He signalled for a refill and placed his bearlike hands on the table as he looked at me.

‘Why don’t I give you a bit of history? This is probably a lot for you to take in right now,’ he played with his puny glass and the wine sloshed difficultly around in a way I bet it didn’t enjoy. ‘You probably thought, like most civvies out there, that prosperity was some kind of default, self-perpetuating state? Hmmm. Sadly that’s not necessarily the case: it requires care and attention and a sympathetic environment, just like everything else, to thrive. Neglect the nurturing side at your peril.

‘When I was first commissioned, things were very different,’ he went on. It was difficult to ascertain exactly how old he might have been. Parts of him looked much older than other parts. He certainly gave off an aura of having been around for a long, long time, and appeared totally comfortable in the grand surroundings, despite his quite obvious lack of any personal class. ‘They were simple, and they worked just fine, up to a point. People grew or made goods, every now and then they would come to market – there were markets everywhere – buy their food, sell their food, sell their wares, whatever it was they did. It was a totally natural setup that suited everyone. There was a small tax on transactions, but everyone was happy about that. They were safe, see? It was all they wanted. Their way of life was being preserved. It was the government who kept them safe, and they were quite willing to contribute to that. Every part of their lives had some value, and people understood it. In many ways you might contend that it was the pinnacle of social organisation. The government officials got rich, but nobody cared. It was all part of the balance of life. Don’t underestimate how highly the people value organisation and patronage.’

Our first course arrived. It looked like an expensive dead bird in a more expensive sauce. I guessed it was more likely to be a jus, not a sauce, but nobody had formally introduced it. Maybe a reduction. Thompson warned me about the shot I might find embedded in the flesh. Apparently that gave the bird more validity. I wondered how that would work in the world of values he had just described to me.

‘But, you know, that couldn’t continue for ever,’ he mumbled, forcing tiny pieces of lead back through his lips to drop on his plate as he spoke. ‘We grew. Of course we did. It’s a natural consequence of stability and prosperity. And how. We grew huge. All around the world, the same was happening. Populations were exploding. There was nothing to worry about: governments actively encouraged it. See, the more people there were, all producing something, the more overall prosperity grew. It was inevitable and good. Some very great men were leading our development, and our country was doing just fine: we were keeping up with our direct competitors. In many cases we were outstripping them.’

He stopped to drain his third glass of Montrachet. Captain Small was picking politely at the breast on her plate, but appeared unsure of it. I sensed an opportunity.

‘Excuse me interrupting, Major,’ I addressed him as politely as I could, without letting him think for a second that he didn’t have to hear me out, ‘but when you say we were “keeping up with” or “outstripping” our competitors, could you just clarify that, please?’

‘Clarify what, man? Am I not speaking in clear enough English for you?’ He waved his glass impatiently at the wine waiter, who had been lurking and was just about to start over toward the empty patient anyway.

‘Well, I was meaning… who exactly are our competitors and how were we outstripping them? As a nation, is it not our duty to ensure we, ourselves, remain happy and healthy and have everything we need? Do we really have direct competitors?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course we do. That’s what life’s about. I can’t believe you’re asking. We’re in direct competition with just about everyone we share this piece of rock with. We have to grow, we have to develop, otherwise we’ll be crushed. More people, more wealth, a better life, that’s the only way to keep them at bay.’ He glared at me, daring me to disagree.

‘I see,’ I murmured. His plate was empty and he was looking around for things to do with his hands and mouth. I still didn’t know him well enough to feel totally safe in that situation.

‘Anyway,’ he took up the story again, ‘we were growing. I think we’ve established that’s a good thing. And it was clear to even the most blithering idiot that we needed to have a serious go at our infrastructure. We were evolving from what was not much more than a market gardening, cottage industry model to a high-tech production line. If that was going to be a success we needed to build the right platform for it. Yes?’ I nodded. He nodded back. ‘And that’s what we did. Enormous amounts were invested. Hah! You could almost see the pain actually etched on the faces of our leadership as we built the best, quickest, safest storage and distribution network anyone had ever known. We were so far ahead of the opposition it almost hurt.

‘And it worked. We attracted more and more bodies to our thriving country. Some of the best, too. People wanted to live here. Who wouldn’t? A land of plenty, it was. Great days.’ He carved a piece off his monstrous slab of steak, which had been cooked to within an inch of cremation. Captain Small waited for him to finish his mouthful before she started on hers. We were still the only diners in the room, although the service remained impressively unobtrusive.

‘Years have passed,’ he continued, ‘and the days of plenty have continued. The population has grown, and, as that has happened, the tastes of the populace have developed. It’s a constant challenge to make sure we can produce the sort of food they demand now. That takes a very great deal of the available investment, and the result is that a couple of the important infrastructure improvements have been shelved. I’ve tried to get them off the ground, but we haven’t had the right set of circumstances yet.’

Involuntarily I scanned the gilt and crystal, the damask finery all around me. The polished glassware winked in the sunlight at my roaming eye like a battalion of mischievous scamps and liars. A corpulent group of high-flyers had taken their places at one of the large tables by the wraparound glass frontage and were arguing noisily, yet good-naturedly, over sherry while a crack team of servants patiently awaited instruction.

‘Listen, nobody can deny we need to invest once more,’ he said quietly. ‘You’ve seen the outline of the current state of things. What we’ve got was spectacular when it went in, but it’s been pretty comprehensively milked. The news hasn’t been well received. Each penny spent here is money that can’t be invested in other areas; areas that hold a more personal and immediate interest to the nation’s purseholders. I try and think of it as two conflicting illnesses: the first is the illness of the governing body. It’s a sort of collective addiction. Have you ever been addicted to something?’ he asked me.

I thought for a second. I didn’t want to admit to illegal habits, but wanted to be open with him.

‘I used to be quite a committed smoker,’ I told him. ‘But I gave it up when my great-grandmother died.’

‘Good. Then you’ll sympathise. They’ve become so dependent on the concept of meeting every requirement of our people, that the idea of a year or two of slightly less impressive results is quite terrifying. Of course, the reality is that a small sacrifice now will open the door to another cycle of quite spectacular advantages, but it’s very difficult to see that far ahead in their situation.

‘The other illness is the trouble we face if we do nothing. There’s a universal understanding that it exists, of course: these great men might be under the spell of an unshakeable addiction, but that doesn’t mean they’re blind. They know what’s going on. Only they can’t bring themselves, yet, to accept the recommended course of treatment. They demand that the problems be cured as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Just happens that there’s no such thing as a painless cure for this particular body. Yet we still have a delicate job on our hands. There are options, and it’s our place to dress them up as temptingly as possible.’

Captain Small stood, quietly, and excused herself. She had somehow emptied her plate while Thompson had been painting his picture of our broken-down invalid state. She disappeared behind a velvet curtain in a far corner, and the Major leaned in closer to me.

‘I’m not going to mince words,’ he kept one eye on the plush drapes for a few extra seconds, to make sure she wasn’t about to re-emerge prematurely. ‘I need you to take charge of this initiative. Grab it by the neck and own it. Small has been assigned, and she’s been briefed to keep everything oiled, but that’s about all she can do. She doesn’t have the skills to achieve anything else. She’s the best I’ve got, but without someone like you she’ll be hopelessly out of her depth. You have to do the business, and use her to smooth the way for you, wherever you can,’ he continued chewing while he told me this.

It hardly seemed like the ideal team for the job: a junior officer who appeared to inspire no confidence in her superiors whatsoever, and me, as good as picked up off the street, with as good as no relevant experience at all. I suggested this, as optimistically as I could, to him. Usually, I had no shortage of faith in my abilities, but it seemed the right time to raise it with him.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he waved my misgivings away with a fork. ‘You’ll just be doing the initial basics. A team will be put together to help you, and another team to take on your designs, turn them into something real. It’s all in hand. I’ve had some conversations already. I’ve seen your work and the way you operate. I know you’re capable of it.’

‘I’m concerned about the six week timescale,’ I told him. ‘It’ll be about that long before I work out who’s who and what they can do for me. I’m not convinced I can have anything meaningful actually in place by then.’

‘Don’t worry about any six weeks,’ he scoffed. ‘That’s a pipe dream. You might have a challenge on your hands as far as the landing of the shuttles is concerned, but they can’t even launch the damn thing yet.’ I raised my eyebrows at this intelligence. He looked deadly serious. Captain Small retook her seat. ‘Every time they’ve tried it for real, the thing has blown up before it’s got beyond the launch pad. Thirteen deaths so far.’ This time my mouth joined in with my eyebrows, and dropped wide open. ‘They’ll get it fixed, but not in six weeks. And not before a few more failures. They can do it just fine under the full simulation environment in the underground labs, but as soon as they try it outside there are big problems. Atmospheric considerations, I reckon, maybe gravity, but they’re keeping things close to their chests.’

If this conversation had happened even two weeks later, I would undoubtedly have reacted as impassively as Captain Small, who appeared totally unmoved by this bombshell and dipped an insouciant spoon deep into her chocolate fondant. The Colonel’s and the General’s easy optimism about the whole programme now seemed on shakier ground. Not only was the landing, storage and distribution side of things in need of an overhaul, we couldn’t even get our shiny new rockets off the ground. It was impossible for me to predict how close they were to a successful launch, but it didn’t sound ideal.

‘If we’re not talking six weeks, then how long, realistically?’ I asked the Major.

‘It’s not six weeks, that’s for sure,’ he replied, even though I already knew that. ‘If they have a workable solution in place by the end of summer, I’ll be surprised. And I’d recommend they test at lower temperatures, too, because that can call for some serious recalibration of the important vectors. What works in the height of summer might not be so perfect for a freezing January morning.’

The end of summer. That meant three months at the very least. Still daunting, but approaching the realms of fathomable. We might be able to have one or two improvements in place in that sort of time, if we could get the task force of experts assembled straight away.

‘Would it be sensible to formulate the plans we make with the end of the summer in mind, then?’ I asked him. He stared straight at me. I turned to see what Captain Small’s thoughts were on the matter. She stared straight at me. I had said something wrong, possibly.

The silence, my silence, as I liked to think of it, ebbed gently away into the growing furious din coming from the two large tables now occupied by the windows. Thompson remained calm. ‘Let’s take a look at what we’ve got,’ he declared, and rummaged amongst his papers. He passed me a thickish wedge of printed material. He gave nothing to Captain Small.

I leafed through it, feeling feeble under its weight. There were a lot of boxy graphs, and diagrams of a profoundly low resolution in shades of grey. I understood very little of the content at first glance, but I was determined to persevere.

‘This presentation ought to give you the starting point you need,’ he explained. ‘It’s actually two separate decks, both of which I’ve presented to Colonel Brown and his Executive Committee at various times, and received broad support for.’

We spent some time, or rather Thompson spent some time, clarifying what the boxes were to telling me. I grew more and more concerned as we progressed through the picture it painted, which was slightly more detailed than the initial piece I had envisaged, with which to keep myself busy for the coming few weeks. Specific areas of infrastructure had been highlighted as sub-optimal, reasoning given and some basic recommendations made. Apparently they were expecting a little more from me than they were making out.

I listened closely to Thompson’s commentary, slightly deflated but mostly cross with myself for setting my sights so low. These people expected much from me and, if I wasn’t careful, I was going to disappoint them.

In the lower corner of one page, something caught my eye. It didn’t seem right, and it snagged me out of my train of thought as soon as I got near it. There was a date. Something about it reverberated inside my head and drowned out his voice. I had to stop wandering and concentrate. What was it?

Of course. Not only was the printed date not the current date, it wasn’t even a date in the same year. Nor the previous. It told of a time almost two years in the past: the day these blocks of shadow had first (maybe not even first, but most recently) been aired to a human community. Two years ago? I scampered through the rest of the pages. It was no mistake: the others around it bore the same date; the last few pages wore a different stamp, around six months more recent – presumably they comprised the second ‘deck’ to which Thompson had referred.

I waited for his next breathing pause. ‘I’m sorry to butt in again, Major, but this presentation appears to be dated almost two years ago. Is that a mistake?’ He leaned over to look more closely at the page. I helped him out, with a finger. He nodded slowly.

‘Is it that long ago? I suppose it is. I’ve made a number of pitches to the Executive on this matter. That’s one of the reasons why it’s so important you succeed now. It’s very probably our last chance.’

‘I hate to ask,’ I said, tentatively, unsure if I should raise the subject, ‘but what exactly are the implications if we don’t succeed? If we fail to get the new shuttles up and back?’

‘If you don’t succeed?’ he mused. ‘Well, that doesn’t really bear thinking about. A famine, they call it. It’s happened before, in other lands. People perish before coming to terms with it. That always happens. Nobody will be able to believe that we couldn’t answer such a basic need. They’ll hang around until crisis point. Then, when the starvation doesn’t go away, a few will start to emigrate. And they’ll be welcomed with open arms: each country works on the same basis as ours; more people, more prosperity, more profit. Word will get around pretty quickly.’

‘Where does that leave us?’ I asked. ‘People like you, me, Captain Small?’

‘Tricky to say exactly. Your average immigrant will be cherished by our competitors, but that’s not the case for everyone. I’ve seen it before. Quite often an unpleasant situation, to be honest. Some are accepted and integrated. Others aren’t so lucky. Let’s face it: the blame has to be carried somewhere.’ He raised his hand, cocked it and fired silently at my temple. I waited for a smile which never came.

‘Before too long, the concept of the country itself is consumed, ingested. The only detail impossible to predict is how many predators it’ll take to dispose of the corpse. I expect no more than two or three of the closest neighbours. The population will be assimilated into those already existing national identities; any reusable assets like schools, hospitals, libraries might be retained, at least for the short term; the land itself will be organically shared amongst the vultures, who’ll just extend their superior infrastructure into the deserts that have formed. Never ceases to amaze me how chillingly simple and silent it appears. Most armies have an entire regiment constantly planning for it, creating reusable campaigns with an almost zero-touch deployment mechanism. Quite sophisticated, now. The name of the country never lasts more than a generation in memories. There’ll be no reason for anybody to keep it alive. Descents of the kind you’ve suggested tend to be disturbingly rapid.’

He sat back and looked at me and at Captain Small with tiny screwed-up eyes. His Major’s cufflinks flashed on his wrists in the sunshine. He seemed totally unmoved by the potential doomsday scenario he had outlined, and I attempted to draw on his unshakeable confidence, but somehow all I felt was trepidation. It was difficult to recall a time when I had been involved in an initiative of such fundamental importance. It was impossible, in fact: I had never been.

On my right, Captain Small sipped her coffee and glanced aimlessly around the room. She, too, appeared completely carefree. Evidently she had cultivated a sense of similar invincibility, or else she had wholly failed to grasp what Major Thompson had been saying. I pushed away my cheese. I was replete.