It had, bitterly, chosen the latter. And it had made its way to Chiark Orbital, where it hoped it might fit in.

"Meatbrain," Mawhrin-Skel told Chamlis Amalk-ney, and zoomed off towards the line of open windows. The older drone's aura field flashed white with anger and a bright, rippling spot of rainbow light revealed that it was using its tight-beam transceiver to communicate with the departing machine. Mawhrin-Skel stopped in mid-air; turned. Gurgeh held his breath, wondering what Chamlis could have said, and what the smaller drone might say in reply, knowing that it wouldn't bother to keep its remarks secret, as Chamlis had.

"What I resent," it said slowly, from a couple of metres away, "is not what I have lost, but what I have gained, in coming — even remotely — to resemble fatigued, path-polished geriatrics like you, who haven't even got the human decency to die when they're obsolete. You're a waste of matter, Amalk-ney."

Mawhrin-Skel became a mirrored sphere, and in that ostentatiously uncommunicable mode swept out of the hall into the darkness.

"Cretinous whelp," Chamlis said, fields frosty blue.

Boruelal shrugged. "I feel sorry for it."

"I don't," Gurgeh said. "I think it has a wonderful time." He turned to the professor. "When do I get to meet your young Stricken genius? Not hiding her away to train her, are you?"

"No, we're just giving her time to adjust." Boruelal picked at her teeth with the pointed end of the savoury stick. "From what I can gather the girl had rather a sheltered upbringing. Sounds like she hardly left the GSV; she must feel odd being here. Also, she isn't here to do game-theory, Jernau Gurgeh, I'd better point that out. She's going to study philosophy."

Gurgeh looked suitably surprised.