It was, admittedly, good to know that there was no prospect of Corrado raising the children, but he wished Rosita had simply told him that she’d found someone to take his place without parading the substitute in front of him. He already knew that he was superfluous. Rosita might well have waited four more years before shedding, but by the time he returned he’d be far too old to play any part in the children’s lives.

As Ramiro stood watching them, Greta approached, a plate of food in one hand.

‘Do you think you’ll have grandchildren, the next time we meet?’ he asked her.

‘I hope not. My son will only be ten years old.’

‘Really?’ Ramiro remembered her taking time off for the shedding, but it felt like a lifetime ago. ‘So are you here in some official capacity, or is it just your way of saying how much you’ll miss me?’

‘I’m sure the pain of your absence will be bearable,’ she replied. ‘And brief. As soon as the system’s up and running, it will be as if you’re already back.’

Ramiro buzzed sceptically. ‘I know the Council won’t formally postpone it, but after the election I suspect they’ll be willing to let things slide. Technical problems with various components, deadlines missed, new reports commissioned . . .’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ Greta said firmly. ‘Nothing’s been put on hold. If we delayed completion until the Surveyor returned, what would that be saying? That if Esilio turns out to be uninhabitable, the whole thing is off?’

Ramiro had never expected the Council to make the fate of the messaging system hostage to the Surveyor’s discoveries, but to rush ahead with it now seemed like a wasted opportunity to let things cool off. Then again, if the early news about Esilio was promising, that might compensate for the way it was obtained.

‘So you think you’ll know exactly what we’re going to find, before we’ve even found it?’

‘Of course,’ Greta replied. ‘I’m sure we’ll get the system built in less than two years. There’s a good chance that we’ve locked up the bombers, and in any case our security is far better now.’

‘I don’t want to come back to find that you idiots have blown each other up.’ Ramiro was still stealing glances at Rosita and Vincenzo; he hated the idea of Greta sensing his discomfort, but he couldn’t help himself. ‘Maybe I’ll just stay on Esilio, and spare myself all the needless travel. I’m sure Azelio can brief you on the planet’s suitability as well as I could.’

‘So you’ll let the agronomist return, and try to farm the new world all by yourself?’

‘There might be other inhabitants there already,’ Ramiro suggested. ‘I don’t mind if they’re living backwards; it ought to make for some interesting conversations.’