~ That was a rather intemperate bet, if I may say so, Genar-Hofoen. A thousand! Fivetide can’t afford that sort of money if he loses, and we don’t want to be seen to be too profligate with our funds if he wins.

Genar-Hofoen permitted himself a small grin. What a perfect way of annoying everybody. - Tough, he thought. So; the message?

~ I think I can squirt it through to what passes as a brain in your suit--

~ I heard that, said the suit.

~ without our friends picking it up, Genar-Hofoen, the module told him. ~ Ramp up on some quicken and--

~ Excuse me, said the suit. ~ I think Byr Genar-Hofoen may want to think twice before glanding a drug as strong as quicken in the present circumstances. He is my responsibility when he’s out of your immediate locality, after all, Scopell-Afranqui. I mean, be fair. It’s all very well you sitting up there--

~ Keep out of this, you vacuous membrane, the module told the suit.

~ What? How dare you!

~ Will you two shut up! Genar-Hofoen told them, having to stop himself from shouting out loud. Fivetide was saying something about the Culture to him and he’d already missed the first part of it while the two machines were filling his head with their squabble.

‘. . . can be as exciting as this, eh, Genar-Hofoen?’

‘Indeed not,’ he shouted over the noise of the song. He lowered the gelfield utensil into one of the food containers and raised the food to his lips. He smiled and made a show of bulging his cheeks out while he ate. Fivetide belched, shoved a piece of meat half the size of a human head into his beak and turned back to the fun in the animal pit, where the fresh pair of scratchounds were still circling warily, sizing each other up. They looked pretty evenly matched, Genar-Hofoen thought.

~ May I speak now? said the module.

~ Yes, Genar-Hofoen thought. ~ Now, what is it?

~ As I said, an urgent message.

~ From?

~ The GSV Death And Gravity.

~ Oh? Genar-Hofoen was mildly impressed. ~ I thought the old scoundrel wasn’t talking to me.

~ As did we all. Apparently it is. Look, do you want this message or not?

~ All right, but why do I have to gland quicken?

~ Because it’s a long message, of course . . . in fact it’s an interactive message; an entire semantic-context signal-set with attached mind-state abstract capable of replying to your questions, and if you listened to the whole thing in real time you’d still be sitting there with a vacant expression on your face by the time your jovial hosts got to the hunt-the-waiter course. And I did say it was urgent. Genar-Hofoen, are you paying attention here?

~ I’m paying fucking attention. But come on; can’t you just tell me what the message is? Précis it.