‘Don’t ask me,’ Ramiro replied bitterly. ‘I only live here.’ Tarquinia reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

Agata said, ‘I can’t predict anything with certainty either, but surely it’s worth doing the experiment.’

Azelio turned to Tarquinia. ‘You think you can extract the explosive safely?’

Tarquinia phrased her reply carefully. ‘I’m as sure as I can be that Verano wouldn’t have allowed anything on the Surveyor that could kill us from a bump or a broken connection. Whether I manage to set it off anyway is another question.’

They spent three more chimes talking over the details, then Tarquinia called for a vote.

Ramiro’s gloom had given Agata pause. Even if the plan succeeded, he might well end up back on the Peerless warning his fellow anti-messagers that the crops counted for nothing when Esilio itself would rot their minds. Why should she risk her life if it would make no difference to the fate of the mountain?

Azelio said, ‘I’m for it.’

Tarquinia followed him quickly. ‘I am too.’

Ramiro was silent. Agata willed him to mutter a surly veto, sparing her the need to make a decision, but having advertised his confusion already he kept his resolve much longer than she could.

‘I’m for it,’ she said, unsure now if she had any better reason than her wish to see Azelio hopeful again.

Ramiro stared at the floor. Agata felt a twinge of sympathy for him: he’d come here with nothing but good intentions, hoping to grant both of the warring parties a chance to live exactly as they wished. It was not his fault that Esilio wasn’t so accommodating.

‘I’m for it,’ he said finally. ‘If we baulk at the risk we could still get killed by a Hurtler on the way back – but we can’t go back without trying everything. If people can survive here, they need to know.’

Tarquinia said, ‘Right.’

As she rose from her couch Ramiro added, ‘To be honest, though, there’s a better reason to do this than anything it can tell us about the crops.’

Agata was confused. ‘What’s that?’

Ramiro said, ‘The look on Greta’s face when we tell her exactly what we did with her beautiful bomb.’

Agata sat in the tent, wearing her helmet so she could hear the audio link clearly over the noise of the wind. Every chime or so the footfalls and gentle clanking echoing in the empty engine cavity gave way to the bone-shaking whine of hardstone being drilled. Tarquinia was making holes in the beam, hunting for the bomb.