“It is. What would be the journey time from the present location of the Blue-class LSV You Call This Clean? to Dibaldipen Orbital by the fastest Very Fast Picket?”

“Approximately one hundred and thirty-two days.”

“Well, there you are then.”

“But once you’ve seen the person, you could come straight back with the information you require, or simply transmit it to be passed on to any subsequent re-embodiment. In any event, there would be no need to return slowly.”

“In theory. In practice the person concerned might check up on the manner of my return, become upset and refuse to see me on any subsequent occasion.”

“Would any subsequent occasion on which you might wish to visit this person plausibly carry the same moral weight or general significance as the present one, in which it has been judged worth effectively putting the entire Fast Picket fleet at your disposal, other commitments allowing?”

“Probably not. Though who can say?”

“Please consider carefully the wisdom of transmitting to me any novel/germane information immediately upon receipt, and returning as rapidly as possible.”

“I will. I take the point that my future relations with the person concerned are of relatively little consequence.”

“The person concerned sounds – to be polite – eccentric.”

“That would be polite to the point of over-generosity,” Tefwe said. “Awkward, tetchy and unreasonable might be closer to the truth.”

“Would the person concerned be an exceptionally old human?”

“No,” Tefwe said, “the person concerned is an exceptionally old drone.”

The ship drone’s aura flashed amused red then disappeared. “I’ll see how that breakfast’s coming along.”

“Followed?”

“Maybe.”

“How maybe?”

“About fourteen per cent maybe, averaged.”

“Averaged from what? What does that even mean?”

“Averaged from different scenarios. In ambient peacetime the likelihood would be less than five per cent. In all-out wartime, closer to forty per cent.”

“How does that average out at fourteen?”

“There are other scenarios to be taken into account,” the avatar told her. “Then there’s weighting.”

Cossont opened her mouth to query that as well, then decided it wasn’t worth it.

“You generally start to react to anything over fifteen per cent,” Berdle said, apparently trying to be helpful.

Pyan made a throat-clearing noise. “Are we in any danger?” it asked.

“A little,” the avatar admitted.

“Then, do you carry lifeboats?”

Berdle looked at Cossont. “Is it being serious?”

“About as serious as it knows how to seem.”

“I was being serious!”

“Be quiet.”

“This is my life too!”

“Shut up!” Cossont looked at Berdle. “Does this change anything?” They were still in the module, sitting on comfortable but ordinary-looking couches. The avatar lounged elegantly.

“It may be best to lose them before we visit Ospin,” Berdle said, “or employ some method to obscure your exact destination, which, of course, I have yet to learn.”