“Was going to shout at you for failing to knock or make an appointment, but then I saw it was you. Of course. Normal rules do not apply. How are you, Isaac? Are you after money? Need some research work?” asked Vermishank in his phlegmy whisper.

“No, no, nothing like that. I’m not bad, actually, Vermishank,” said Isaac with strained bonhomie. “How’s all your work?”

“Oh, good, good. Doing a paper on bio-ignition. I’ve isolated the pyrotic flange in a fire-bes.” There was a long silence. “Very exciting,” whispered Vermishank.

“Sounds it, sounds it,” enthused Isaac. They stared at each other. Isaac could not think of any more small talk. He loathed and respected Vermishank. It was an unsettling combination.

“So, uh . . . anyway . . .” said Isaac. “I’m here, to be frank, to ask your help.”

“Oh ho.”

“Yeah . . . See, I’m working on something that’s a bit off my track . . . I’m more of a theoretician than a practical researcher, you know . . .”

“Yes . . .” Vermishank’s voice dripped an indiscriminate irony.

You ratfuck, thought Isaac. I gave you that for free . . .

“Right,” he said slowly. “Well, this is . . . I mean this could be, though I doubt it . . . a problem of bio-thaumaturgy. I wanted to ask your professional opinion.”

“Ah ha.”

“Yes. What I wanted to know was . . . can someone be Remade to fly?”

“Ooh.” Vermishank leaned back and dabbed soup from around his mouth with bread. Briefly, he wore a moustache of crumbs. He clasped his hands in front of him and waggled his fat fingers. “Fly, eh?”

Vermishank’s voice picked up an air of excitement previously lacking in his cold tones. He may have wanted to sting Isaac with his heavy contempt, but he could not help being enthused by problems of science.

“Yeah. I mean, has that been done?” said Isaac.

“Yes . . . It has been done . . .” Vermishank nodded slowly without taking his eyes from Isaac, who sat up in his chair and snatched a notebook from his pocket.

“Oh, has it?” said Isaac.

Vermishank’s eyes lost focus as he thought harder.

“Yes . . . Why, Isaac? Has someone come to you and asked to fly?”

“I really can’t . . . uh, divulge . . .”

“Of course you can’t, Isaac. Of course you can’t. Because you are a professional. And I respect you for that.” Vermishank smiled idly at his guest.

“So . . . what were the details?” ventured Isaac. He set his teeth before he spoke, to control his shaking indignation. Fuck you, you patronizing game-playing pig, he thought furiously.