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himself around so that he was sitting on the table; all he was wearing was a pair of boxer shorts.
    â€˜For good – you’re officially passed fit for duty.’
    â€˜What – completely? No more physios?’
    â€˜At least try and look disappointed… No, that’s the lot.’
    â€˜I thought you said three days minimum.’
    â€˜That’s what it’s supposed to be, but you are fully rehabilitated now. In just twenty four hours – well done.’ Her expression changed from light-hearted, almost flirtatious, to a more pensive look. ‘Seriously, Inspector, you are in A1 physical condition. I didn’t believe them when they told me that it would only take twenty-four hours, but they were right.’
    â€˜I suspect that was more a tribute to your skills than anything else.’
    â€˜Maybe…’ She seemed about to say something more, then shrugged. ‘Anyway, get dressed and I’ll take you to your quarters.’

    *****

    Spartan would be a generous way to describe this
, Vinter thought as he looked around the unit that he would be calling home for the foreseeable future. There was a large bed in an alcove off to the left of the door, a small kitchen dead ahead that would, he knew, contain little more than a microwave and a sink and a bathroom next to it that would contain a toilet, sink and shower. The main living area had a two-seat sofa facing a large wall-screen to the right, that, at the moment, showed a still image of an old painting,
The Fighting Temeraire
; Vinter knew that the screen also doubled as a TV. Next to the door was a desktop computer set-up with a single swivel chair in front of it – and that, apart from the walls that were pastel blue, was about it. Even so, he knew that this level of accommodation was higher than most – this was a two-person unit, as shown by the wider bed, which meant that he had marginally more space to swing the metaphorical cat; presumably, he had been allocated this unit because of his UNSEC rank.
    â€˜Here you are, home sweet home,’ Ilona said, following him in. ‘Damn sight bigger than mine. Do you want me to show you where everything is, or can you remember the briefings?’ There was a slight emphasis on ‘remember’, accompanied by an ironic smile.
    â€˜Yes, I do remember,’ he said gravely.
    â€˜There is one thing, though – you’ll find some microwave meals in the fridge. You’ll have to stick to those for the next week or so – they’ll fit in with your dietary needs.’
    â€˜So I’m still under your supervision?’
    â€˜Officially you are, yes, at least until oh eight hundred tomorrow – that’s when I sign you off.’
    â€˜Oh eight hundred? So we’re still sticking to terrestrial times of day, then?’ He saw her quizzical look, and added, ‘I know that was what was intended – my memory isn’t playing me up there, in case you were wondering – but I thought maybe they’d have changed it by now.’
    She shook her head. ‘Apparently not – I think it’s been suggested but the decision was that they would keep shipboard life as much like on Earth as possible.’
    â€˜So today is?’
    â€˜Thursday.’
    â€˜Well, at least it isn’t a Monday – never could stand them. OK, so what happens once you’ve signed me off? Do you go back to the Zombie Pits?’
    â€˜Don’t remind me. I think that’s what pisses me off, actually – pardon my French. You’re obviously important and so I suppose it’s a compliment to me that they chose me to supervise you, but I don’t suppose I’ll ever know what this was all about. Well, not for another two hundred and fifty years, anyway, when it’ll all be ancient history.’
    â€˜Sorry about that, but I honestly don’t know what this is all about either.’
Although reviving the Head