‘You requested a privacy seat. Unfortunately you were assigned to a public section. Your seat is D16.’

Runcible AI, there is some problem with my seat booking.

No reply. He tried elsewhere.

City AI, there is some problem with my seat booking.

Again there was no reply.

‘Yes . . .’ said Cormac to the stewardess. He took his card and was taken to his seat by a grinning steward. Was this some kind of joke?

‘Here you are, sir.’

Cormac sat down.

The city AI made a mistake?

He looked around. Sitting right next to him was a grey-haired old man in wrinkled businesswear. Some people considered it dignified to appear old; Cormac had never understood why. The man had narrow eyes and a look Cormac felt he ought to recognize. He accessed and bounced. No connection. He tried again and this time got a download before even posing his question:

<The look is Japanese for the moment.>

‘Heading for Cereb?’

Cormac stared at the old man as he tried to figure out what the hell was happening with his link. Had he damaged it? How was that possible? It was inside his skull and he would need to suffer something of an order of magnitude greater than concussion to damage it. He continued staring at the old man. What had he said? Cereb? He could think of no suitable reply. The shuttle was going to Cereb, the moon with the runcible installation. It did not go anywhere else.

The old man leant forward. ‘I said, y’heading for Cereb?’

He said it very loudly. Other passengers turned to see what the commotion was.

‘Yes,’ said Cormac acidly. ‘I am heading for Cereb.’

He felt ridiculous.

‘Don’t like the place myself. Damned AIs—a man needs to think for himself.’

Cormac turned away from him. A finger like an iron bar prodded him in the ribs.

‘What y’think?’

Cormac snapped, ‘AIs are efficient. Without them we would—’

‘Belt.’

‘I beg your pardon?’