“Of course. Your presence is trophy enough. To declare this your home would be—”

“Excessive,” Ziller said pointedly. The drone’s aura field flushed a sort of muddy cream colour to indicate embarrassment, though a few flecks of red indicated it was hardly acute.

Kabe cleared his throat. The drone turned to him.

“Tersono,” the Homomdan said. “I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, but may I just ask whether, in all this, you are talking as a representative of Contact?”

“Of course you may. Yes, I am speaking on behalf of the Contact section. And with the full co-operation of Masaq’ Hub.”

“I am not without friends, admirers,” Ziller said suddenly, staring at the drone.

“Without?” Tersono said, field glowing a ruddy orange. “Why, as I say, you have almost nothing but—”

“I mean amongst some of your Minds; your ships, Tersono the Contact drone,” Ziller said coldly. The machine rocked back in its chair. A little melodramatic, thought Kabe. Ziller went on, “I might well be able to persuade one of them to accommodate me and provide me with my own private cruise. One which this emissary might find much more difficult to intrude upon.”

The drone’s aura lapsed back to purple. It wobbled minutely in the chair. “You are welcome to try, my dear Ziller. However that might be taken as a terrible insult.”

“Fuck them.”

“Yes, well. But I meant by us. A terrible insult on our part. An insult so terrible that in the very sad and regrettable circumstances—”

“Oh, spare me.” Ziller looked away.

Ah yes, the war, thought Kabe. And the responsibility for it. Contact would regard this as all very delicate.

The drone, misted in purple, went quiet for a moment. Kabe shifted on his cushions. “The point is,” Tersono continued, “that even the most wilful and, ah, characterful of ships might not accede to the sort of request you have indicated you might make. In fact I’d wager quite heavily on it that they wouldn’t.”