‘I say not yet because I am not entirely stupid. I open the access hatch and friend Crane there will have enough purchase to rip out the bulkhead door. I won’t open the hatch until we’re out of atmosphere. Then, if any attempt is made to break through a door, of which—I want you to be aware—there are two, I’ll just open the hold to vacuum. Is that perfectly clear?’

‘Clear,’ said Pelter through gritted teeth.

‘That is very unsociable of you, Jarv,’ said Stanton.

‘Sorry, John. I do like you, but this is business.’

Pelter looked at Stanton, his expression dead.

‘Now,’ said Jarvellis, ‘I have a ship to fly.’

The intercom crackled again.

‘You know her well?’ Pelter asked.

‘She’s probably still listening,’ Stanton warned. ‘All that crackly intercom shit has to be a blind.’

‘I asked if you know her well.’

‘Yeah, I know her. You know her. I’ve had a few drinks with her. Don’t matter. She opens that door and we’re both out of it,’ said Stanton.

Mr. Crane froze again. Stanton reminded himself that you had to be damned careful around this kind of lunatic, even if you were on his side. Pelter stood as still almost as the android, then he let out a slow whistling breath. Mr. Crane squatted and began to take out his toys. Stanton went to the supplies Jarvellis had provided for them, and found a six-pack of coffee. He pulled two off, handed one to Pelter, then went and sat on one of the rolled-up sleeping bags. He pulled the tab on his coffee and held it in his hand while it rapidly heated.

‘You know, these edge-of-Polity worlds can get a little rough,’ he said.

‘I am aware of that,’ Pelter replied, then he stared down at the cup he was holding. He had not yet moved, or pulled the tab on it. Stanton wondered when the Separatist had last eaten or drunk anything, for he had not seen him do so. Eventually Pelter moved to the wall and sat down with his back against it. He pulled the tab on his coffee.

‘Social order breaks down in the face of dictatorial takeover,’ he said, without a great deal of conviction.

‘It always seemed to me,’ said Stanton, ‘that you got whole worlds behaving like naughty children trying to cause as much mayhem in their classroom as possible before the teacher got there.’

‘An archaic image . . . The truth is that their behaviour is a result of despair.’