As an insult, it was as unjust as it was complex. Mari Ado, ex of the Little Blue Bugs, was criminally competent in a number of insurgency roles that had nothing to do with wavecraft, and for that matter no less well endowed physically than a number of the other female bodies in the room, Virginia Vidaura included. But I knew she was sensitive about her shape, and unlike Virginia or myself, she’d never been offworld. In effect I’d called her a local yokel, a surf nerd, a cheap source of sexual service and sexually unappealing all in one. Doubtless Isa, had she been there to witness it, would have yipped with delight.

I’m still a little sensitive myself where Sanction IVs concerned.

Ado looked back across the table to the big oak armchair at the end.

“Throw this motherfucker out, Jack.”

“No.” It was a low drawl, almost sleepy. “Not at this stage.”

He sprawled almost horizontal in the dark wood seat, legs stretched out in front of him, face drooping forward, opened hands pressed loosely one on top of the other in his lap, almost as if he was trying to read his own palm.

“He’s being rude, Jack.”

“So were you.” Brasil curled himself upright and forward in the chair.

His eyes met mine. A faint sweat beaded his forehead. I recognised the cause. Fresh sleeve notwithstanding, he hadn’t changed that much. He hadn’t given up his bad habits.

“But she’s got a point, Kovacs. Why us? Why would we do this for you?”

“You know damn well this isn’t for me,” I lied. “If the Quellist ethic isn’t alive on Vchira, then tell me where the fuck else I go looking for it. Because time is short.”

A snort from down the table. A young male surfer I didn’t know. “Man, you don’t even know if this is Quell we’re talking about. Look at you, you don’t even believe it yourself. You want us to go up against the Harlan family for the sake of a glitch in some deCom psychobitch’s fucked up head? No way, sam.”

There were a couple of mutterings I took for assent. But the majority stayed silent and watched me.

I hooked the young surfer’s gaze. “And your name is?”

“Fuck’s it to you, sam?”

“This is Daniel,” said Brasil easily. “He’s not been here long. And yes, you’re looking at his real age there. Listening to it too, I’m afraid.”

Daniel flushed and looked betrayed.

“Fact remains, Jack. We’re talking about Rila Crags here. No one ever got inside there without an invitation.”

A smile tripped like lightning from Brasil to Virginia Vidaura and on to Sierra Tres. Even Mari Ado chortled sourly into her coffee.

“What? Fucking what?”