There are one hundred and three cases from all corners of the world. Apart from active cases, Maxwell settles a thousand cases a year. Left to him, it would be a drag-out fight with each one, but his lawyers advise discretion and he’s paying them a fortune, so he does what they say. Until the Gwendolyn business, he had no public litigation persona.

His assistant reads off names of business concerns, most of which he does not even remember he has. Experimental Outpost in Colombo. Observatory in Akure. Exotic Matter Laboratory in the Tehani Mining Community. They sound nice but it’s been years since Maxwell has been a part of them, if ever.

The conversations go the same way.

“When will you be returning?”

“I’m not.”

“Who will pay any fines due?”

“My administrators.”

“Can you check in every year?”

“I’ll be asleep for ten years.”

“Yes, but can you check in?”

“While unconscious, your honour?”

“Answer the question.”

“No, I cannot check in.”

“Your assets will be liquidated if—”

“I know.”

“If this case ends in a custodial sentence, instructions will be tight beamed to the nearest Bridge Authority where you will be incarcerated for the full term.”

“I know.”

A week before take-off, the Ragtime calls Maxwell on his direct line. The voice is completely neutral, and Maxwell has difficulty understanding the gender presentation but doesn’t ask. Some of these AIs get offended and he doesn’t have time to phone the company to ask.

“Sir, I just wanted to call and say it’s a pleasure to have you on board for my maiden flight. If there are any special considerations you have, please tell them to me and I will—”

“Let me stop you there. I have a mountain of paperwork to get through. You need to get to the point swiftly. In the time we’ve been talking, the GDP of Nigeria passed through my businesses.”

“Of course. I have to ask one last time if Vitality Daniels is negotiable. We wouldn’t ordinarily—”

“Quadruple the normal price. Build a bespoke pod for him if you have to, and charge me. I don’t want to discuss this again.”

“Thank you, sir. I—”

“Goodbye, Ragtime.”

Maxwell hangs up.

He does not visit Gwendolyn.

He does not phone Gwendolyn.

He does not write to Gwendolyn.

Fuck Gwendolyn.