‘It’s not an opinion. I just know what I am. Anyone can work with a good skull. That’s how the combines operate. The best skulls, and mediocre readers. Mediocre because they don’t need to be any better. I heard your last Reader was fresh off a combine operation?’ I pushed on before he had a chance to confirm or deny this intelligence. ‘I’m sure you got good results, when your skull was fresh. But they get old, don’t they? The gubbins stops twinkling like it used to. Cracks open up. Signal gets fainter, if you can read it at all.’ I gave my best bored shrug. ‘Most can’t.’

‘And you think you’d be better?’

‘I’ve pulled signals out of the bones Granity keeps to feed to the cats.’

‘So you know Granity.’

‘Who doesn’t?’

‘You’ve crewed. That’s plain.’ He nodded at my hand. ‘Had some damage, too, and chowed on the glowy stuff by the looks of things. But you’re from Mazarile, or I wasn’t born on Sunderday. It’s vexing that I haven’t run into you sooner. I thought I had pegs on all the talent out of Maz.’

‘Then you need more pegs. Yes, I’m from Mazarile. Does that make things knotty for you?’

‘No reason it should, other than that tongue in your head. Someone wanting to crew with me, normally they’re all please and thank you and what a nice ship you have.’

‘I don’t have time for that.’ I leaned forward, elbows on the table, knitting alloy fingers in flesh ones, and hoping the lack of movement in my false hand wasn’t too evident, because I didn’t want him asking how long I’d had it. ‘Here’s the sharp end of it, Captain. I’ve made some scowly enemies.’

‘To do with that bit of broken glass you seem so attached to?’

I’d been cradling what was left of Paladin since leaving Neural Alley.

‘Something like that. I’m getting off Mazarile one way or the other, and that’s the truth. But I ain’t going to beg my way onto a ship. Hire me or don’t. But if you take me on, you’ll have the best Bone Reader between here and Trevenza Reach.’ I settled back into my seat. ‘Question is, do you want the gen or not?’

‘Of course I want the gen.’

‘Then give me something I can put my name on.’

Captain Trusko gave me a look of long, sceptical appraisal. He was younger than Rackamore or Jastrabarsk, and there wasn’t anything of the seasoned spacefarer about him. He wasn’t a big man, but what there was of him was soft-looking and babyish, with two chins, a pout, and a black kiss curl glued onto his forehead. He had tried to offset his overall look with a moustache, but it only made things worse.