For my men, of course; I’m referring to the fine corps of soldiers I command here. Our residents receive even less.” Another gesture, this time turned outwards to the bank of monitors. “The machines, of course, do not need to eat. They are self-contained, undemanding, and have no inconvenient empathy for what they are guarding. Fine soldiers, every one. As you see, I’ve tried to turn myself into one, but the process isn’t very far along yet—”

“I haven’t come for your supplies, commandant.”

“Ah, then it’s a reckoning, is it. Have I overstepped some recently drawn mark in the Cartel’s scheme of things? Proved an embarrassment to the war effort, perhaps?” The idea seemed to amuse him. “Are you an assassin? A Wedge enforcer?”

I shook my head.

“I’m here for one of your internees. Tanya Wardani.”

“Ah yes, the archaeologue.”

A slight sharpening stole through me. I said nothing, only put the hardcopy authorisation on the table in front of the commandant and waited. He picked it up clumsily and tipped his head to one side at an exaggerated angle, holding the paper aloft as if it were some kind of holotoy that needed to be viewed from below. He seemed to be muttering something under his breath.

“Some problem, commandant?” I asked quietly.

He lowered the arm and leant on his elbow, wagging the authorisation to and fro at me. Over the movements of the paper, his human eye looked suddenly clearer.

“What do you want her for?” he asked, equally softly. “Little Tanya the Scratcher. What’s she to the Wedge?”

I wondered, with a sudden iciness, if I was going to have to kill this man. It wouldn’t be difficult to do, I’d probably only be cheating the wire by a few months, but there was the sergeant outside the door and the militia. Bare-handed, those were long odds, and I still didn’t know what the programming parameters of the robot sentries were. I poured the ice into my voice.