Awe knows the interaction did not go like that and that Lagos dramatised it for his benefit. AIs talk to each other in binary and hexadecimal bursts of information over fractions of seconds.

The Ragtime goes dark while a flock of robot ships converges on it. They replace fuel cells, repair the micrometeorite damage on the outer Whipple shielding of the hull, replace panels, replace stuffing, run integrity tests, check the air quality, look for any relativistic travel side effects, and they check the integrity of Omega Protocol for last-resort safety.

There is one anomaly, but Awe chalks it up to instrument error. One of the passengers’ vital signs seems to read wakefulness, but a rescan shows all asleep.

Four days later, the Ragtime is spanking new, charged up, ready to soldier on to the colony Bloodroot, a mere fortnight away.

“Happy trails, Ragtime,” says Lagos.

“Stay reliable, Lagos,” says Ragtime.

The servicing-robot ships withdraw like a school of fish who spot a shark, and Ragtime fires engines, orients itself and heads for Bloodroot, ahead of schedule.

The video stops.

Awe rubs his chin.

“Are you happy with what you saw?” says Lagos.

“Yes, I am,” says Awe. “But I want to see it again.”

Beko

Secretary Beko is silent for the first few minutes, attending to documents; then she looks up, sharp, birdlike. “Well?”

“It went like it’s supposed to, like clockwork. Nothing missed, no shortcuts taken, nothing damaged left unreplaced. The gate dismantled, Dyson elements returned to the solar swarm without attrition. All the drones and bots returned to base, accounted for, and returned to routine construction in the dry docks. The whole process left me thinking of the Philosopher’s Axe.”

“What?”

“You know the saying. You buy an axe, the handle breaks, you replace it, then years later the head gets damaged, so you replace that too. At that point, do you still have the original axe?”

“Is this… meant to be funny or to provoke reflection on my part, Awe?”

“I’m sorry, Madam Secretary. I misspoke.”

She exhales heavily. “Send three ships to Bloodroot.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Where’s the old dodderer?”

“He… ah… the governor went to the mines, Ma’am.”

“Why? To do what?”

“An inspection tour, Ma’am. He gets bored. You said to keep him out of your way. The mines are out of the way.”

“Awe.”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Is he going to be talking to miners while out there?”

“I—”

“The moment after you leave this room, I’ll be speaking to the representatives of miners about their conditions. It’s delicate work. I don’t want Lawrence Biz fucking it up. Recall him immediately.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Except the Decisive is out of range of comms, which is impossible. There are deep-space relays between the space station and the mining belt. They have to have them for safety.

Awe queries the governor’s IFC location. Not found. No joy looking for the Decisive’s beacon either.