'I was there, Miller. Winter of 217, Zihicce. Hundred and twenty years ago. You probably weren't around then, but I reckon you've read about it in history books. After the bombardments, we went in as regime engineers.' As I talked, the tension began to ease out of my throat. I gestured with my cigarette. 'That's a Protectorate euphemism for crush all resistance and install a puppet government. Of course, to do that, you've got to do some interrogating, and we didn't have much in the way of fancy software to do it with. So, we had to get inventive.'