Leg-clicks indicated the Swarmprince was laughing. A few other Ronte in the command space joined in quietly. “It has been gratifying to us to witness the knowledge of and respect for our ways you have displayed, ship,” the Swarmprince said. “We can only wish you well with your ‘engagement’. Fight well. Live if you can, die well if you must.”

“Thank you, Swarmprince. It’s been a pleasure.”

“You look tired, Septame,” Chekwri told him as she entered his office in the parliament building.

“I feel tired, Marshal.”

“Never mind; not long to go now. You chosen your last outfit?”

“What?”

“Your clothing; whatever you’re going to wear for the Instigation. Have you decided how you’ll be dressed when you meet your glorious translation into the Enfolded?”

“I … I think that’s all pre-decided for me. Ceremonial … Solbli. Yes, Solbli; she’ll be taking care of all that. Umm. You?”

“Oh, I shall be resplendent in all my finery, Septame, medals gleaming,” Chekwri said, folding herself into a seat across from the septame. Banstegeyn had noticed that the marshal didn’t ask whether she might disturb him these days, or wait to be invited to sit. Before, he might have made some frosty comment and insisted on protocols being followed, but no more. People were going quietly crazy in these last couple of days – in fact some people were going noisily, boisterously, even dangerously crazy. Meanwhile, all across the Gzilt domain, those who had been Stored, some for less than a year, some for a couple of decades or more, were waking up for final reunions, last goodbyes, leaving parties and fare-thee-wells-in-what-comes-next …

“I have buffed and polished my medals for decades of steady, dedicated watchfulness,” the marshal continued, clasping her hands behind her head as she leaned back and relaxed, legs crossed, “counted and re-counted my medals for outstanding work in simulations and exercises, carefully arranged my medals for heroic bravery under virtual fire, and even found room for my many, many medals for exemplary valour in the face of fellow officers coveting the same promotions as I.” She smiled at him without humour. “Shame we haven’t had time to strike any medals commemorating our latest exploits: jumping unarmed ships, wasting our own and setting naive aliens on each other. Still, one can have too much of a good thing, eh, Septame? And they do say there’s no guilt in the Sublime.”

“You seem positively energised by the whole process, Chekwri.” He looked pointedly round the room. “And very confident that my office isn’t bugged.”

“I had my own people make quite sure of that some time ago, Septame,” Chekwri said, smiling.

“While planting your own?”

The marshal’s smile broadened. “Have you always been so suspicious, Banstegeyn?”

He looked at her, unsmiling. “No, I stumbled into a position of great power quite by accident.”