He looked away and watched the clouds move in the sky for a while, then wondered what it looked like turned off.

"Sky, off," he said, keeping his voice low.

The sky disappeared and the true ceiling of the penthouse suite was revealed; a slickly black surface studded with projectors, lights and miscellaneous bumps and indentations. The few gentle animal sounds faded away. In the View Hotel, every suite was a penthouse corner suite; there were four per floor, and the only floor which didn't have four penthouse suites was the very top one, which, so that nobody in the lower floors would feel they were missing out on the real thing when it was available, was restricted to housing some of the hotel's machinery and equipment. Genar-Hofoen's was called a jungle suite, though it was entirely the most manicured, pest-free and temperately, temperature-controlled and generally civilised jungle he had ever heard of.

"Night sky, on," he said quietly. The slick black ceiling was replaced by blackness scattered with sharply bright stars. Some animal noises resumed, sounding different compared to those heard in the daylight. They were real animals, not recordings; every now and again a bird would fly across the clearing where the bed was situated, or a fish would splash in the bathing pool or a chattering simian would swing across the forest canopy or a huge, glittering insect would burr delicately through the air.

It was all terribly tasteful and immaculate, and Genar-Hofoen was already starting to look forward to the evening, when he intended to dress in his best clothes and hit the town, which in this case was Night City, located one level almost straight down, where, traditionally, anything on Tier that could breathe a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere and tolerate one standard gravity — and had any sort of taste for diversion and excitement — tended to congregate.

A night in Night City would be just the thing to complete this first mad rush of fun at the onset of his short holiday. Calling ahead and ordering up a fabulously expensive erotroupe to act out his every sexual fantasy was one thing — one extremely wonderful and deeply satisfying thing, beyond all doubt, he told himself with all due solemnity — but the idea of a chance meeting with somebody else, another free, independent soul with their own desires and demands, their own reservations and requirements; that, just because it was all up to chance and up to negotiation, just because it all might end in nothing, in rejection, in the failure to impress and connect, in being found wanting rather than being wanted, that was a more valuable thing, that was an enterprise well worthy of the risk of rebuff.

He glanded charge. That ought to do it.

Seconds later, filled to bursting with the love of action, movement and the blessed need to be doing something, he was bouncing out of bed, laughing to himself and apologising to the sleepily grumbling but still palatably comely cast of the erotroupe.

He skipped to the warm waterfall and stood under it. As he showered he told a blue-furred, wise-looking little creature dressed in a dapper waistcoat and sitting on a nearby tree what clothes he wished prepared for the evening. It nodded and swung off through the branches.

VI

"It's nothing to worry about, Gestra," the drone told him as he stepped out of the bulky suit in the vestibule beyond the airlocks. Gestra Ishmethit leant against a maniple field which the drone extended for him. He looked down the corridor to the main part of the accommodation unit, but there was no sign of anybody yet. "The ship has come with new codes and updated security procedures," the drone continued. "It's some years before these were due to be altered, but there has been some unusual activity in a nearby volume — nothing threatening as such, but it's always best to be careful — so it's been decided to move things along a bit and perform the update now rather than later." The drone hung the man's suit up near the airlock doors, its surface sparkling with frost.

Gestra rubbed his hands together and accepted the trousers and jacket the drone handed him. He kept glancing down the corridor.

"The ship has been verified and authenticated by the necessary outside referees," the drone told him, "so it's all above-board, you see?" The machine helped him button up the jacket and smoothed his thin, fair hair. "The crew have asked to come inside; just curious, really."

Gestra stared at the drone, obviously distressed, but the machine patted him on the shoulder with a rosy field and said, "It'll be all right, Gestra. I thought it only polite to grant their request, but you can stay out of their way if you like. Saying hello to them at first would probably go down well, but it isn't compulsory." The Mind had its drone study the man for a moment, checking his breathing, heart rate, pupil dilation, skin response, pheromone output and brain-waves. "I know what," it said soothingly, "we'll tell them you've taken a vow of silence, how's that? You can greet them formally, nod, or whatever, and I'll do the talking. Would that be all right?"

Gestra gulped and said, "Y-y-yes! Yes," he said, nodding vigorously. "That… that would be good… good idea. Tha-thank you!"

"Right," the machine said floating at the man's side as they headed down the corridor for the main reception area. "They'll Displace over in a few minutes. Like I say; just nod to them and let me say whatever has to be said. I'll make your excuses and you can go off to your suite if you like; I'm sure they won't mind being shown round by this drone. Meanwhile I'll be receiving the new ciphers and routines. There's a lot of multiple-checking and bureaucratic book-keeping sort of stuff to be done, but even so it should only take an hour or so. We won't offer them a meal or anything; with any luck they'll take the hint and head off again, leave us in peace, eh?"

After a moment, Gestra nodded at this, vigorously. The drone swivelled in the air at the man's side to show him it was looking at him. "Does all this sound acceptable? I mean, I could put them off completely; tell them they're just not welcome, but it would be terribly rude, don't you think?"

"Y-yes," Gestra said, frowning and looking distinctly uncertain. "Rude. Suppose so. Rude. Mustn't be rude. Probably come a long way, should think?" A smile flickered around his lips, like a small flame in a high wind.

"I think we can be pretty sure of that," the drone said with a laugh in its voice. It clapped him gently on the back with a field.

Gestra was smiling a little more confidently as he walked into the accommodation unit's main reception area.

The reception area was a large round room full of couches and chairs. Gestra usually paid it no attention; it was just a largish space he had to walk through on his way to and back from the airlocks which led to the warship hangars. Now he looked at each of the plumply comfortable-looking seats and sofas as though they represented some terrible threat. He felt his nervousness return. He wiped his brow as the drone stopped by a couch and indicated he might like to sit.

"Let's have a look, shall we?" the drone said as Gestra sat. A screen appeared in the air on the far side of the room, starting as a bright dot, quickly widening to a line eight metres long then seeming to unroll so that it filled the four-metre space between floor and ceiling.

Blackness; little lights. Space. Gestra realised suddenly how long it had been since he'd seen such a view. Then, sweeping slowly into view came a long, dark grey shape, sleek, symmetrical, double-ended, reminding Gestra of the axle and hubs of a ship's windlass.

"The Killer class Limited Offensive Unit Attitude Adjuster," the drone said in a matter-of-fact, almost bored-sounding voice. "Not a type we have here."