Iona was about to answer but, for the sake of harmony, decided to consult with her colleagues first. She turned to them.

They looked back at her. Saori shrugged.

Iona turned back to the decider. “Do you mean the whole time we’ve spent on the planet, or just the time since we got out of the dome?”

This question was relayed to the decider in its own language: it replied via the figure. “Both.”

“Well,” said Iona, “since we got out of the dome your people there saved our lives, fed us, and gave us somewhere to live, so no complaints there. Inside the dome . . .” She weighed this. She didn’t want to be aggressive but she wanted to make clear what had happened to them and ideally imply a sense of obligation to do something about it. “We weren’t harmed . . . but we have been kept there against our will for several centuries.”

The decider listened and thought for a while. Eventually it made a statement that the figure translated.

“I am deeply sorry for the incarceration you have suffered at the hands of our drones. Please do not blame them. They were following the protocols set down for this operation.”

Iona had expected to work a lot harder for this apology. She’d expected to have to make it understand that they were intelligent creatures worthy of consideration. Saori was nodding dumbly, looking a little stunned. Steve was blinking, close to tears. Sometimes you bore an ordeal without flinching and then crumpled at a minor act of kindness or even just an acknowledgment of what you’d been through.

“Where’ve you been all this time?” said Victor.

This was relayed to the decider, who replied via the figure: “I have only just arrived. My ship crashed. The drones found me in the wreckage and brought me here.”

“But why have you only just arrived?” Victor continued in a terse, though level voice. Having just cautioned them all against antagonism he seemed to be struggling to keep his anger in check. “They sent reports. Loads of reports. They say you never replied until now.”

“We have experienced difficulties.”

Victor laughed when he heard this. The figures flinched. (The decider, Iona noted, did not flinch.) Victor covered his mouth with his hand, a little hysterical, but he collected himself. “Difficulties?” he said, nodding. “Is that right?”

“We have been at war,” the decider replied. “Our enemies bombarded us with misinformation. We no longer knew what to trust. Anomalous messages and calls for assistance have been the basis of a large number of traps.”

“But your supply line kept coming. I mean, your guys here say they send off their trucks and they come back empty.”

“The supply line was intercepted. We believed this outpost was no longer operating.”

“How long has this war been going on?” said Iona.

The decider conferred with the figure before answering: “Six hundred and twelve years.”

“To be fair,” said Steve, “that does sound like difficulties.”