‘No, been through a few times.’ Freeman returned his attention to his note screen. Right at that moment he did not feel in a conversational mood. Vaguely he recalled sweaty nakedness, and wondered if he had screwed her there on the dance floor. Shit.

—for a terraforming project. It has been argued that this—

‘Makes me nervous.’

‘What? Sorry?’

‘Makes me nervous. Never understood Skaidon technology, even when I was plugged in.’

Freeman tried to dispel the laughing face of the cat-woman from his mind.

‘Well, Skaidon was a clever git even before he hooked up with the Craystein computer.’

—cold world should be—

‘We should be able to understand it, unaugmented.’

Freeman took a couple of detox tablets from the half-used strip in his top pocket. You weren’t supposed to take more than one at a time, but right then he needed them. The pills went down with a gulp of scalding coffee. He coughed, wiped tears from his eyes.

‘No human understands Skaidon tech, even with augmentation. I work on the damned things, and half the time I don’t know what I’m doing.’

On reflection it was not the best thing to say to someone nervous of using a runcible.

The man stared at him while Freeman finished his coffee and looked yearningly back at the dispensing machine. There might just be time for another one before his slot.

‘It’s my slot shortly. I’m off. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. Runcibles hardly ever go wrong.’

Shit—did it again.

As he moved off across the mosaic floor Freeman felt his head lightening as the black cloud of extreme hangover lifted. He regretted that he had not put that guy’s fears to rest, but then nothing but a number of further trips through the gate would do that. With runcible transmissions of quince, i.e. mitter travellers, amounting to somewhere in the billions for every hour solstan, and only the minutest fraction of one per cent of them coming to harm in transit, it was more dangerous crossing this floor.