“Their methodology had been suspect for years.”

“The resulting detonation destroyed approximately twenty per cent of the city and resulted in the deaths of nearly half a million people.”

She stopped walking. They had arrived at the piece of roughly cylindrical wreckage embedded in the fused silicate of the beach to which the hydrofoil was moored. She stared at the dark lump of half-melted metal.

“Your team split up immediately afterwards,” the machine went on. “You currently own one third of a tropical fish breeding and retail business on the island of Jorve.”

“Hmm,” she said, thoughtfully. “Sounds so banal, that last part. The approach of middle age; I’m losing my panache.”

She shrugged and waded into the water, waves washing around her boots. She unlocked the hydrofoil’s painter and let the rope reel back into its housing in the stem.

She looked at the beachcomber. “Well, thanks, but I don’t think so,” she said.

“You don’t think what?”

She climbed onto the hydrofoil, slung her legs inside the footwell and pulled the control wheel down. “I don’t think I want your services, machine.”

“Ah, now, wait a moment, Lady Sharrow…”

She flicked a few switches; the hydrofoil came to life, lights lighting, beepers beeping. “Thanks, but no.”

“Just hold on, will you?” The machine sounded almost angry.

“Look,” she said, starting the hydrofoil’s engine and making it roar. She shouted: “Tell Geis thanks… but no thanks.”

“Geis? Look, lady, you appear to be making certain assump-tions about the identity of-”

“Oh, shut up and push me out here, will you?” She gunned the engine again, sending a froth of foam from the stern of the little boat. Its front foil levered down, knifing into the waves.