“Just going to be asked what he knows. Nothing untoward.”

“What if he is uncooperative?”

“Ha! When was he otherwise?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Then I leave empty-handed. But at least we can say we tried.”

“Nothing further?”

“Nobody’s going to drug him or read his mind or anything. These are perfectly normal Minds involved here, with honour, self-respect and all that usual uptight shit.”

“I will need your word on this.”

“You have it. If he won’t tell me, he won’t tell me. End.”

“My information is five years old.”

“Barely yesterday, by QiRia’s geriatric standards.”

“He told me he was going to … lose, or donate, or abandon, or get rid of something – he used all four terms when we talked – then go to contemplate The Mountains of the Sound, on Cethyd, in the Heluduz system.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Few have.”

“Just … these mountains?”

“He wasn’t sure where exactly he’d be going but there’s an Outworlders’ Quarter, so probably there. Claimed he’d already been for a look and talked to … ah.”

“Deleted at random?”

“Nearly. Still have it. Docent Luzuge. Somebody called Docent Luzuge. If he, she or it is still alive and active, this person would know where to find him.”

Tefwe’s pen terminal picked up the words. It was a lot smarter than the old pen terminals Tefwe had been used to, and the kind of smart that found it relatively easy to hide from the level of investigatory tech the drone had. The terminal had been effectively awake and evaluating everything it had been sensing since shortly before Tefwe and the aphore had arrived at the outcrop. It was getting jostled about in the bottom of a pocket in her thin shirt and so not seeing very much, but it could hear perfectly well. It made a transmission.

A satellite the size of a pebble, held stationary just above the atmosphere directly over where Tefwe was, which had been keeping station directly over her since she’d been Displaced to the surface at Chyan’tya, relayed the transmission to its home ship, the VFP Outstanding Contribution To The Historical Process, which, on hearing the relevant words, itself handed the information on to various other craft, including the Contents May Differ and the element of the fast picket fleet known to be nearest to the planet Cethyd, as well as making a general call through the usual network of trusted craft, just in case they knew of a still closer ship that hadn’t been letting everybody else know its position.

“I wonder what he was leaving behind, and why?” Tefwe said.

“I wondered that too. I did ask. He wasn’t forthcoming.”

“Cethyd?” she said.

“Some civ-forsaken ball on the outskirts of nowhere, jealously guarded by well-teched barbarians. Known for The Mountains of the Sound. Aren’t your implants working?”

“I’m leaving them off. Just got my terminal.”