“So that’s the maniac who’s responsible.”

“Responsible for what?” Toller said, frowning.

“For blinding me with smoke from those accursed stewpots.” Hlawnvert’s voice was charged with anger and contempt as he swung his gaze to encompass the array of pikon pans and the columns of vapour they were releasing into the sky. “I’ve been told they’re actually trying to make power crystals here. Is that true, or is it just a joke?”

Toller, barely clear of one potentially disastrous scrape, was nonetheless affronted by Hlawnvert’s tone. It was the principal regret of his life that he had been born into a philosophy family instead of the military caste, and he spent much of his time reviling his lot, but he disliked outsiders doing the same. He eyed the captain coolly for a few seconds, extending the pause until it was just short of open disrespect, then spoke as though addressing a child.

“Nobody can make crystals,” he said. “They can only be grown — if the solution is pure enough.”

“Then what’s the point of all this?”

“There are good pikon deposits in this area. We are extracting it from the soil and trying to find a way to refine it until it’s pure enough to produce a reaction.”

“A waste of time,” Hlawnvert said with casual assurance, dismissing the subject as he turned away to confront Vorndal Sisstt.

“Good foreday, Captain,” Sisstt said. “I’m so glad you have landed safely. I’ve given orders for our ptertha screens to be run out immediately.”

Hlawnvert shook his head. “There’s no need for them. Besides, you have already done the damage.”

“I…” Sisstt’s blue eyes shuttled anxiously. “I don’t understand you, Captain.”

“The stinking fumes and fog you’re spewing into the sky disguised the natural cloud. There are going to be deaths among my crew — and I deem you to be personally responsible.”