The Mistake Not … is making its dash. The Passing By …’s two Thugs are being gunned-up as we speak. It is proving harder than expected to prise the Empiricist’s Delinquent twins Headcrash and Xenocrat away from the smatter outbreak at Loliscombana; they’d turned it into a competition about who bagged the greatest amount of smatter but then there was a dispute over whether the criterion ought to be tonnage or processing power. This has been settled by a compromise but both desire more time to stock up on the criteria they had earlier discounted. The Empiricist has agreed to give them another couple of hours to enjoy themselves before shouting at them. However, talking of talking with refugees/remainders/rejects from/of/expelled from the Big S, have you been in touch with your contact/s?

∞

Doing so even as we speak. Taking the opportunity provided by the glacial pace involved to get an update from your good self. Elevate not your hopes though; nothing useful so far or on the horizon.

∞

Well, best of luck. By the by, have you passed me? The delays on these signals—

∞

Hours ago. And closer than you might imagine.

∞

Neat. Didn’t see a damn thing. Exemplary encasement management. Awfully glad we’re on the same side. Close to over-straining our design maxima envelope, are we?

∞

That’d be telling. Anyway, I must return to the land of the lichen-slow.

∞

Yeah, you have fun now.

∞

Unlikely.

∞

“I appreciate the Sublime would appear to be involved,” the Zoologist said eventually, sounding like it was making an effort to be patient.

“Indeed. All I’m asking is that you think about this, and if there is anything you can do, any help you can give, please let me know.”

The Zoologist looked pained, shook its head. “But none of it matters.”

“Not to you, perhaps. Just indulge me.”

“But to what end?”

“It will seem to matter to me, to us. The sum of fairness in our existence – however mean and shoddy compared to the Sublime – may be increased, and some suffering prevented.”

Another shrug. “It still won’t matter, doesn’t matter.”

“Pretend it does; game it that way,” the Caconym suggested. “As a favour to me, in return for my forbearance regarding whatever tying-sheets-into-a-rope and escaping-the-dorm shenaniganeering it is you get up to via the frayed edges of filament-foamed nano-reality and the divine nether-world of the blissfully Enfolded.”

“Still no difference, still not mattering.”

The Caconym looked around the lair/laboratory. “Does what you do here matter?”