Tarn gazed down at the city, amazed at how organic it appeared from this altitude: an emergent product of centuries of careful, myopic planning. It sprawled for miles, in vegetative clumps, like something thrown up by termites.

“Poor devils,” he muttered, as the craft passed over the ruins. Shattered buildings and rubble, roads filled with debris – and the occasional tiny, isolated figure, picking its way through.

“Can’t you tell your pilot to go lower?” Tarn said. “I need to see.”

Daker looked up from his tablet. “Pilot?” he said, surprised. “We’re autonomous; standard reconnaisance pattern.”

“Then what about…” he indicated the other occupant.

“Oh him? Entech.” Daker, seeing Tarn’s quizzical expression, continued patiently. “Entomology technician. Here to keep an eye on our hairy little friends, after the Ape-net…well, you know well enough, Commissioner.”

Tarn nodded, suddenly aware of the harmonic, distinct from the sound of the engine: a low drone.

Banking smoothly, they began to descend.