“Should we."

“Yes. You ought to have let me do a proper decapitation."

“No," Anaplian said.

“Just the nobles," the drone said. “The guys right at the front. The ones who came up with their spiffing war plans in the

first place."

“No," the woman said again, rising from her seat and, turning, folding it. She held it in one hand. With the other she lifted

the old pair of

binoculars from the table. “Module coming."

“Overhead," the drone told her. It moved round her and picked up the camp table, placing the glass and water bottle inside

the backpack

beneath. “Just the two nasty Dukes. And the King."

Anaplian held on to her hat as she looked straight up, squinting briefly in the sunlight until her eyes adjusted. “No."

“This is not, I trust, some kind of transferred familial sentimentality," the drone said with half-pretended distaste.

“No," the woman said, watching the shape of the module ripple in the air a few meters away.

Turminder Xuss moved toward the module as its rear door hinged open. “And are you going to stop saying no to me all the time."

Anaplian looked at it, expressionless.

“Never mind," the drone said, sighing. It bob-nodded toward the open module door. “After you."