‘Right,’ the machine said floating at the man’s side as they headed down the corridor for the main reception area. ‘They’ll Displace over in a few minutes. Like I say; just nod to them and let me say whatever has to be said. I’ll make your excuses and you can go off to your suite if you like; I’m sure they won’t mind being shown round by this drone. Meanwhile I’ll be receiving the new ciphers and routines. There’s a lot of multiple-checking and bureaucratic book-keeping sort of stuff to be done, but even so it should only take an hour or so. We won’t offer them a meal or anything; with any luck they’ll take the hint and head off again, leave us in peace, eh?’

After a moment, Gestra nodded at this, vigorously. The drone swivelled in the air at the man’s side to show him it was looking at him. ‘Does all this sound acceptable? I mean, I could put them off completely; tell them they’re just not welcome, but it would be terribly rude, don’t you think?’

‘Y-yes,’ Gestra said, frowning and looking distinctly uncertain. ‘Rude. Suppose so. Rude. Mustn’t be rude. Probably come a long way, should think?’ A smile flickered around his lips, like a small flame in a high wind.

‘I think we can be pretty sure of that,’ the drone said with a laugh in its voice. It clapped him gently on the back with a field.

Gestra was smiling a little more confidently as he walked into the accommodation unit’s main reception area.

The reception area was a large round room full of couches and chairs. Gestra usually paid it no attention; it was just a largish space he had to walk through on his way to and back from the airlocks which led to the warship hangars. Now he looked at each of the plumply comfortable-looking seats and sofas as though they represented some terrible threat. He felt his nervousness return. He wiped his brow as the drone stopped by a couch and indicated he might like to sit.

‘Let’s have a look, shall we?’ the drone said as Gestra sat. A screen appeared in the air on the far side of the room, starting as a bright dot, quickly widening to a line eight metres long then seeming to unroll so that it filled the four-metre space between floor and ceiling.

Blackness; little lights. Space. Gestra realised suddenly how long it had been since he’d seen such a view. Then, sweeping slowly into view came a long, dark grey shape, sleek, symmetrical, double-ended, reminding Gestra of the axle and hubs of a ship’s windlass.

‘The Killer class Limited Offensive Unit Attitude Adjuster,’ the drone said in a matter-of-fact, almost bored-sounding voice. ‘Not a type we have here.’