They walked across the study, to the short corridor that led to the bathroom and a small private sitting room. Banstegeyn closed the door behind them, shutting them in the two-metre-long corridor, lit by a single light.

“It’s very simple,” Banstegeyn said. “The Ronte are our fall guys.”

Chekwri looked sceptical. “For the prez, too?”

“We say she had found out how they had been threatening us; that Eshri was their first shot, an example of how they would deal with us if we didn’t let them have their way. Geljemyn was about to remove preferred Scavenger status from them by presidential decree, so they killed her. We tell them to get out of our space, sling as many as we can find of them here into prison or just ship them out too, and all our problems are solved.”

The marshal looked distinctly unconvinced. “They’re still a little … underdeveloped for convincing bad guys, Septame. In terms of ships they’re barely out of rockets and you think you’re going to convince people they could do this sort of stuff to us? That’s almost as bad as not knowing at all. At least so long as we’re in the dark we can pretend it’s somebody bigger and badder than us. This … just suggests we’re weak.”

“Blame it on all the ships that have already Sublimed, and hint that the Ronte must have had some higher-tech help.”

“Like the Culture?” The marshal’s expression was something close to contempt.

“They have helped the Ronte, haven’t they?”

“They’ve given a handful or two of their ships a tiny boost. One ship and an act of charity. Patronising, almost. Hardly a mutual aid pact.”

“So, no, we don’t try to implicate them. Certainly not directly. Just hint. People will come to their own conclusions. That’s all we need. And besides, the Ronte and the Liseiden have backers, mentors; them, perhaps. They might be blamed. You can do this, can’t you?”

“Of course I can do it, Septame.” Chekwri smiled. “I have a whole regimental intelligence service that’s developed a fine line in rumour-mongering and story-placing over the last few years, and the ear of every media player you’ve courted so assiduously over the decades; they will ask the questions we’ve suggested, they will listen, and they will repeat what we tell them. The issue is whether people believe it. I might even have to seem to oppose you, a little, by speaking up for the fleets – given that I am in charge of the Combined Regimental Fleet Command, after all. They’ll expect me to support them, and I’ll have to.”

“Do whatever it takes,” he told her.