Nayl snorted.

‘It’s not funny,’ said Drusher.

‘I am absolutely certain it wasn’t,’ said Nayl, ‘for her.’

Drusher got up and tried to appear dignified.

‘Look, sir,’ he said. ‘I am a magos biologis. I study flora and fauna. Make taxonomies. I have been here on Gershom for more than thirty years. I wish I hadn’t been, but there you go. It’s not much of a life, however it’s what I do. Twice, in the past, Marshal Macks has co-opted my assistance in certain matters. The last time was twenty years ago. They were dangerous experiences, very much outside my wheelhouse. I do not wish to repeat them. Ever. So I suggest you look for somebody more qualified to help with… whatever it is you’re doing.’

‘Thing is,’ said Nayl, ‘there’s no one more qualified. Not in this system. No one else even qualified, period. You’re the only magos biologis. Marshal Macks didn’t recommend you because she thought you were particularly good. She recommended you because you were the only magos biologis she knew.’

Drusher sat down again.

Macks looked at Nayl sharply.

‘You really didn’t have to tell him that,’ she said.

Nayl shrugged.

‘I know what he’s like,’ Macks went on. ‘He’ll mope now. Sulk. We’ll never get him to cooperate.’

‘Wow,’ murmured Drusher. ‘You’re making it better all the time.’

‘I’ll make him cooperate,’ said Nayl.

Betancore raised a gloved hand.

‘First of all,’ she said, ‘we’re on a clock. He’s waiting for us. I don’t want to keep him waiting much longer, do you? And I’d rather we brought this gentleman along in a cooperative frame of mind than drag him unwillingly. So there must be something he wants, something that will make it worthwhile for him.’

‘He wants to get off this planet,’ said Macks.

Drusher looked at her. She was serious.

‘He’s wanted nothing more since the day I met him. One-way passage.’

‘Where do you want to go?’ asked Voriet.

Drusher swallowed hard.

‘Anywhere,’ he said quietly. ‘Anywhere that isn’t here.’

Voriet looked at Betancore. ‘We can do that. Get him somewhere. Gudrun. Thracian Primaris…’

‘You’d… pay for a travel bond?’ asked Drusher.

‘We’ve got a ship,’ said Betancore.

Drusher began packing some belongings in an old Munitorum kitbag. His house was full of clutter, but when it came down to it, there were very few items he felt he had to take: his journals, the manuscript of his taxonomy, his sketchbooks. He wasn’t sure any of that even mattered, but he felt obliged to take them; something to show he hadn’t entirely wasted the previous thirty-four years.

‘What is the issue?’ he asked Nayl.

‘Wildlife problem. Up north. Unkara Province.’

‘And the work involves?’

‘Insane adventures. You won’t like it.’

‘I will be resolved. I can be resolved, you know.’