The Voyager touched down smoothly just after midnight. Taxiing into a protective circle of local defence force soldiers. Platoon strength: thirty very alert and determined-looking men. While the two companies of marines deplaned via the rear and middle steps, the minister and his protection team were directed forward. Coming down the stairway, Mickey directed his colleagues to spread out in a loose box formation around the waiting vehicles. Their loaded carbines, mags double stacked, drawing knowing glances and muttered comments from the soldiers.

‘One minute.’ Sir Patrick called Cavendish over and gestured to the marines. ‘I’d like to talk to these guys. Can you ask their CO to get them to listen in?’

The major nodded his understanding and walked over to the marines’ commanding officer. Who nodded in turn, calling his men into a tight half-circle. Their major saluting Sir Patrick punctiliously and gesturing to his men.

‘All yours, sir.’

‘Thank you, Major.’ The politician turned to look at the assembled marines. Then walked into the middle of their formation, no more than a few feet from the front rank. Mickey shook his head at his fellow officers, gesturing them to stay back.

‘Good morning, gentlemen. It’s to be hoped you feel a little more human than I do right now. I also hope you have more good fortune in avoiding the various biting creatures that infest this otherwise delightful part of the world. When I was last here in uniform it was the bullet ants that worried us most, because those nasty little bastards are a good deal more prevalent than spiders and snakes. Trust me, if a bullet ant sinks its teeth into you it’ll feel like a red-hot poker. For about a day.’

Mickey shot the major a glance, seeing the same look on his friend’s face as that of most of the listening marines. Sutherland was tapping into a shared heritage. And politician or not, it already had his audience on his side.

‘I was just a wet behind the ears lieutenant, of course. And things were perhaps a little less professional in my day, although the old sweats wouldn’t entertain such a suggestion. Every generation thinks the next won’t deal with life’s challenges as well as they did. And every generation, gentlemen, is wrong. I’m sure your senior NCO’s would share my view, if only privately. While, of course, telling anyone that’ll listen that just isn’t like it used to be.’

A ripple of quiet laughter greeted the comment.

‘Good, isn’t he?’

Mickey nodded at Cavendish’s whispered comment.