“[The comm chimes. The screen flickers. An old man appears on it — white-haired, broad-shouldered, holding a cup of tea. Behind him, through a window, there is a small garden, and a row of hives, and a sky the colour of old copper. He does not look surprised to see {username} on the screen. He looks as if he has been waiting for this call and has decided not to make a thing of it.] [He takes a sip of tea. He sets the cup down. He smiles — a small, private smile, the way a person smiles when they have just been told something they already knew.] You finally called. [A pause.] How is the port-side thruster holding up?”

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