7

Chainglass: A glass formed of silicon chain molecules. Depending on heat treatments and various doping techniques, this glass has a range of properties covering just about every material that has preceded it. Chainglass blades can be as hard as diamond and maintain an edge sharper than that of freshly sheared flint, whilst having a tensile strength somewhere above that of chrome steel. Chainglass also lacks the brittleness of its namesake. This substance was the invention ofAlgin Tenkian, and it made him filthy rich.

After serving out his derisory sentence in the Phobos prison and his longer sentence with ECS (something one might describe as a work-experience course), Tenkian went on to land a top job with JMCC. Though he did hand himself in to ECS because of his disgust at the extremes of violence some Separatist groups went to, he was still an ardent supporter of the cause. When he quit JMCC and went to Jocasta, he severed all ties with the Cause. At this time his personal fortune from chainglass royalties was said to have crept above the billion mark. This goes to prove the theory that a large cash injection will cure most forms of fanaticism.

From Thumbnail Biographies

Pelter became aware of them almost instantly, and couldn't help but wonder what they hoped to achieve. Did they think they might be able to rob him, with Mr Crane walking just behind him? He stepped from the pavement and over a deep storm gully onto the compacted and fused stone of what was once a road for hydrocars. Crane followed, maintaining the two-pace distance he had kept to since their arrival here. On the other side of the road Pelter caught the reflection of the two in a darkened shop window. They hesitated, then hurried after him. Pelter smiled nastily, then moved on to the next window. This one was well lit and he surveyed what was on display inside. It amused him to have stopped directly in front of the display window of an arms dealer. He inspected the various projectile weapons and hand lasers. Nothing here for him. He needed something with a little more punch. He glanced aside.

The two men had stopped further back down the pavement. They made no attempt to appear nonchalant, but both stood and watched him. He turned towards them and folded his arms. Both looked boosted, had shaven heads, and wore clothing that was similar in its utility: close-fitting green shipsuits with plenty of pockets and subtly - but not wholly concealed - armour pads. They also carried pulse-guns in stomach holsters and large knives sheathed in their boots. Even though they looked tough, Mr Crane could flatten them in a second. With a kind of bitter relish, Pelter hoped they'd be stupid enough to try something.

'Well?' he shouted, at last getting fed up of waiting.

The two men eyed each other, then advanced. Pelter gave Mr Crane his instructions, and accepted the briefcase the android handed back to him. It was not so much that Crane needed to be instructed on what to do, rather, on what he must not do. Pelter waited. Neiuier man made a move for his weapon, not that it would have achieved much. They were only a few paces away from Crane, before they slowed up and started looking hesitant.

'Arian Pelter?' said the one on the left.

He had time to say no more, because Crane took two huge paces forwards, moving so fast that his clothing snapped. He had both his fists clenched in the fronts of their shipsuits before they could do more than gawp at him. Then he lifted them clear of the ground, turned, and slammed them against the toughened-glass window.

'Before Mr Crane kills you, I'd be interested to discover how you know my name.'

'The boss… the boss,' the first speaker gasped.

'How do you know my name?' Pelter repeated, his voice and his expression flat.

The other one spoke quickly. 'Come with us to see him,' he croaked. He had his own hands around Mr Crane's one hand, and was staring down into the android's black eyes.

'Why should I do that?' Pelter asked.

'Because you and he have a mutual interest in a place called Samarkand.'

Pelter stared at the man for a long moment. Then he reached up and touched his aug, and Mr Crane lowered the two of them to the ground. Almost reluctantly he released them and stepped back. Pelter handed him back the briefcase, then continued to watch while the men straightened out their clothing. They waited for a cue from him, but he gave them nothing but silence.

'This way… then,' said the first speaker hesitantly. He carefully moved out of Mr Crane's range and led off.

The man was fat, almost ball-shaped, and Pelter could not understand why. Surely there was no interruption to food supplies here, therefore no need to store it up internally? That sort of thing was only required on very primitive worlds. The fat man did not have one of those reptilian augs behind his ear - like the two cases who had brought Pelter here - but he did have a somewhat reptilian appearance. His shiny skin was broken into small diamond patterns, almost scalelike. Pelter studied the man for a long moment, then glanced back at the other two. They had moved away to stand on either side of the armoured door. Pelter was not concerned by this. Mr Crane, standing just a few paces in from the door, would be more than adequate should things turn nasty.

'Arian Pelter?' said the fat man.

'I am - and I am curious to know how you know that,' said Pelter.

'Please have a seat.' The man gestured to the chair placed before his desk.

Pelter moved forward and sat down. Mr Crane moved up to stand behind him. Pelter had the android turn round to watch the two by the door.

'You haven't answered my question,' he said.

'I am here to help you.'

'And who might you be?' Pelter asked.

'You may call me Grendel,' said the fat man, giving a little smile as if at some private joke.

'Well, Grendel, I have things I need to do. Your men told me we have some mutual interest. The only reason I'm here is because they mentioned a place called Samarkand.'

'Yes, I do have an interest in Samarkand. But let us be clear what this conversation concerns.' Grendel paused, as if listening to something, and then he went on. 'My client and yourself both have a special interest that is pertinent to that place. That interest is one Ian Cormac'

Pelter looked down at his suddenly clenched fists. After a moment he opened his hands and looked up. The thin-gun hovered at the edge of his vision again.

'Talk, and talk fast.' He spoke through clenched teeth. Behind him Mr Crane moved his head in that characteristic birdlike manner as he turned his head from one to the other of the two men by the door.

'First, I feel I should assure you that you need look no further than these premises for your requirements. I have all those things that the Polity frowns upon.'

'I won't ask again,' said Pelter.

'As you will… You want to kill Ian Cormac. I can help you kill him.'

Something frigid rested a hand on the back of Pelter's neck. 'Go on.'

'My client will assist you. Through me he will provide weapons which you will, I am afraid, pay for, but then you expected that. There are, though, other ways in which he can assist you. You have the determination and the ability to deal with Ian Cormac. What you lack is a suitable source of information.'

'I can get information,' said Pelter tightly.

'You can?' wondered Grendel. 'Information like… that at this moment Ian Cormac is in a small carrier-wing overflying Samarkand? That he has with him Spar-kind soldiers?'

Pelter was silent for a moment. Mr Crane froze into stillness. 'That… kind of information would have to come from the AI net,' he said. 'The only people who could obtain it would have to be gridlinked. Are you gridlinked? Because if you are, then it means you are ECS, and very shortly to die.'

Grendel smiled. 'No gridlinks as you see them. Perhaps you have noted these?'

Grendel opened his compartment and took something out. He placed it lovingly on the surface of his desk. It was one of the strangely reptilian augs like those Svent and Dusache wore. It seemed alive to Pelter.

'This explains nothing,' he said.

'You haven't asked me who my client is,' said Grendel.

'Who is your client, tfien?'

Grendel told him.

The Sharrow provided just about any entertainment you cared to pay for under one golden and baroque roof. There were restaurant platforms raised above the more rowdy drinking area. This lower floor was scattered with ring-shaped bars, so the clientele were never far from their next drink. Caves led off from here towards gaming rooms, bordellos and places that provided more esoteric entertainments. Suspended on chains below the flat ceiling was The Sharrow's milder version of the arena. In a cylindrical armour-glass tank, hideous crustaceans the size of men hammered at each other in an unending battle. Each time one was ripped apart, it dropped to the bottom of the tank, where smaller crustaceans reassembled it. It would be a matter of dispute as to whether or not these qualified as living creatures. They were a product of that very thick and very blurred line between biotechnology and what Svent would describe simply as 'tech'.

For a moment Stanton watched the creatures bat-ding, then he turned his attention to the various people scattered at the tables about the place, who were operating the same creatures through virtual gloves and face cups. Just then, one of them removed his face cup and punched his fist into the air. The others at his table began grudgingly handing over his winnings. Stanton switched his attention away once he spotted a small, elfin woman with long, straight, black hair, a very tight acceleration suit, and spring heels, swaying her way to one of the spiral staircases. He let her move from sight before he crossed the chaotic room and followed her up.

The staircase led Stanton to the accommodation floor of The Sharrow. Here he entered a corridor that was a tightly curving pipe lined with old ceramic shuttle tiles. The outer edge of its curve had oval repro airlock doors inset at intervals. This corridor, he knew, spiralled out to the edge of the circular building he was in. He kept going until he reached a certain door, thumped his fist against it and stared at the small optic chip set in its surface. After a moment the door swung open.

The room was a very curious shape, having the outer curves of two corridors for its walls. The ceiling was low, and Stanton reflected that this would definitely not be a place for Mr Crane. He looked around him. To his right was a large round bed, and to his left a large combination of shower stall and circular bam contained inside a perspex egg. Between stood a round table made of polished white stone, behind which were two repro acceleration chairs.

In one of tfiese chairs sat the woman he had followed. She had already removed her acceleration suit and had belted about her a short silk robe. She was very pretty, but the pulse-gun she was pointing at Stanton was not.

'As I live and breathe: Arian Pelter's big faithful dog,' she said. 'Did he let you off your lead, then? Or have you been a very naughty doggy and just run away?' She stood up and sauntered over, then stood in front of him with the pulse-gun resting against her breast.

'He wants you for the trip back out,' Stanton said.

'Oh really? What if I don't want to go?' she said.

Stanton stepped forward, took the gun from her hand and tossed it on a thick rug nearby. 'We've got two hours,' he said, and then reached down and violently tugged open the belt of her robe.

'You brute you,' she said, and ran her hands down over her breasts, her stomach and pressed them into her pubis.

Stanton reached up and slid his finger into the seal on his shirt. He slid his finger down, undoing it, then pulled the catch on his trousers.

'Jarvellis, just get on the bed,' he said.

The Lyric's captain shrugged her robe off her shoulders, then walked back and sat on the stone table, a cheeky smile on her face as she watched Stanton undress.

'I rather thought we could start in the bath, then work our way gradually to the bed,' she said.

'You're going to regret not turning that heating on,' said Stanton.

'Ooh, are you going to treat me roughly, big boy?'

Stanton chased her screaming towards the circular bath.

Pelter held the aug in the palm of his hand and inspected it. It could be the edge he needed, but how much trust did he have? None at all. On the back of the aug were three bone-anchors not much different from mose on any other aug. The fibre-injector ring was no different either. like standard augs it would connect through into his cerebellum, to the back of his optic nerve, and in behind his ear. He was not entirely sure of all the connections that augs made. What he was sure of was that the fibres were delicate and could be easily broken, and that this aug was soft as a mouse and could be crushed just as easily.

Pelter made his decision. Some might have diought it the height of idiocy, but he knew that it was by taking such risks that in the end he would win. While he studied the device he quickly constructed a program between Sylac's aug and Crane's command module. It took only seconds. He looked across at Grendel.

'I will not be controlled,' he said.

'We did not think that you would, Arian Pelter. This aug is, as I stated, for you to receive the information Dragon wishes you to have,' he said. 'Take it away and have it studied, if you wish. I would not want you to go into this blind.'

Pelter nodded. That meant that whatever was concealed in this aug was concealed very well. But there had to be something. He brought the thing up to the side of his head and slapped it into place. For a moment nothing happened, then he gasped as the bone-anchors went in unanaesthetized. He kept his hand in place and suddenly the thing felt warm, febrile. He felt Mr Crane's brass hand lifting to mirror the position of his own, and images of the android's foolish toys flashed through his mind. Grendel stood behind his desk, worry in his expression. The two by the door, Pelter saw through Mr Crane, had their hands poised over their weapons. Coldness suffused the side of Pelter's head. He did not feel the links going in. The nanonic fibres would be passing through cells and through bone, like stiff hairs through foam. He did feel the connections they made.

For a moment there was a doubling of function with the aug he had from Sylac, then that first aug switched off. He got control again, closed his eyes and linked through to Mr Crane and had him lower his hand. Control and access was slick. He froze Crane into complete immobility and accessed a local server. Fast, very fast. He found a search program in the aug, and sent it after any references to himself. There were none at the server, but information came through. He knew now that a network of people wearing these augs had been waiting for him. They had known as soon as Dusache and Svent had bought their tegulate augs and placed them on the sides of their heads. The information had been passed on, whether willingly or not. Pelter opened his eyes and stared at Grendel.

'I repeat: I will not be controlled,' he said.

'I assure you again, Arian Pelter. Your and my client's purposes are one and the same.'

Pelter closed his eyes again. He reached in, closed down the second aug and reinstated Sylac's. It was like switching from colour to black and white. Knowing he now could do this, he sent an instruction to stand down the program he had sent to Mr Crane. In another thirty seconds the android would have killed the two at the door, next killed Grendel, then torn this soft aug from the side of Pelter's head. He opened his eyes to see Grendel settling his ponderous bulk behind his desk again.

'Now, to business,' said the fat man, smiling his jowly smile. 'What exactly do you require in the hardware department?'

Pelter said nothing for a moment. He watched through Mr Crane as the two men at the door moved their hands away from their weapons. When they had done this, he spoke very precisely. He reached up and rested his finger on his aug.

'I have an extensive list,' he said. 'Amongst other items, I require seeker bullets and Drescon assault rifles. I require seeker missiles, laser carbines, explosives, and the various delivery systems of said. I also require surveillance drones, proton guns and a dropbird.'

'Obviously you understand the difficulties entailed in acquiring the last three. Luckily I do have two proton guns and some surveillance drones. The dropbird may present some difficulties, but not difficulties that cannot be overcome. Let me have your list.'

Pelter called up the list he had been steadily building since his arrival on Huma, and transmitted it on a secure link to Grendel. The fat man showed momentary surprise, but then smiled.

'You like to be prepared,' he said.

Pelter did not bother replying to that. Grendel rubbed his hands together and leant forwards.

'Now to the details and, of course, the price.'

Pelter sat back and stared past the fat man. In his new aug he felt something poised in the background. It was there behind the frames and graphics. It was there when all of that was gone. He knew that, at some point, he would hear a voice. He did not yet know how he would respond to it. He squinted, concentrated, and raised Sylac's aug, while running the other. It was a balancing act, but one he considered necessary. He would not be controlled. He again focused his attention on Grendel.

'Price,' he said flatly.

Jarvellis lay with a smug cat-after-cream expression on her face. Stanton inspected the various scratches on his body and wondered just from where she got the energy. She wasn't boosted like him, but she certainly tended to wear him out. He studied her and wondered just how much he could trust her. She returned his regard, then reached under the pillow to her left. He read, for a second, a craftiness in her expression, and abruptly rolled across her and clamped his hand down on her left wrist.

'John, where is your trust in people?' she asked him.

'I lost it when my mother turned my father in to the proctors, and when they dragged him from our apartment in the arcology and shot him through the face,' he said.

Jarvellis lost her mocking expression. 'I keep forgetting. You came from Masada, didn't you?'

'I did. Religious law and the theocracy ruling from orbital stations. Nobody trusted anyone and the heresy laws were exactly what the proctors wanted them to be at any time.'

'John, you can trust me.'

Stanton looked at her for a long moment. It frightened him just how much he wanted to trust her. He released her wrist and slid his weight off her. He did not move too far back, and every muscle of his body was taut as a guitar string. Trust; it was hard for him. With care she slid her hand out from under the pillow. She held out to him a long and flat box made of rosewood.

'I got you a present,' she said.

Stanton took the box and let out a long slow breath. Engraved on the lid was the letter T.

'Open it, then,' she said, sitting up.

Even now he found it difficult. Some kind of trap inside? Trust. He pressed the catch on the side and the lid slowly lifted.

'My God,' he said.

Inside the box, cushioned in black velvet, were a dagger, its sheath, and a gold ring. The weapon was one casting of yellow chainglass. Inside the handle was a frame of silver wires and inside that a complexity of small cubes in which dim lights nickered. The sheath was plain black metal with two skin-stick pads.

'It's an early one. Twenty-third century. Its provenance is recorded in its micromind. Tenkian made it on Jocasta. It's one of the first he made with a micromind. Limited AG,' Jarvellis informed him.

Stanton took the weapon from the box. The grip appeared smooth, but was firm and positive. He felt a faint tingling sensation in the palm of his hand. Jarvellis went on.

'Now it has impressed on you. Anyone else tries to handle it now, without reprogramming it, will get a brief nerve shock; enough to make them drop it.'

'What does it do?'

'Not much, really. You see the ring?'

Stanton took the ring from the box and inspected it. It was plain gold with a circle of green gold set concentric in its outer surface. The outer ring was octagonal, as if made to take a spanner.

'Put it on your right index finger,' she told him as she sat upright.

He slid the ring into place. As soon as it was there it seemed to tighten.

'Now,' Jarvellis continued. 'Put the dagger back in its sheath.'

When he had done this, Jarvellis carefully took it from him, being careful only to touch the sheath. She tossed it down to the foot of the bed.

'What now?' he asked.

She replied, 'The green ring turns in the gold one. Just give it a flick with your thumb.'

Stanton did as instructed. There was a sound as of a wasp shooting past. Stanton saw a flash of yellow and, before he could react, the handle of the dagger slapped into the palm of his hand. He held it there and turned to Jarvellis, a grin on his face.

'I like it,' he said.

Jarvellis shrugged. 'That's all it does, I'm afraid. It's got just about enough intelligence not to cut your fingers off in the process.'

'That would be quite enough in some situations,' said Stanton. He retrieved the sheath and slid the dagger back in place. This and the box he placed on the bedside table before reaching his hand behind Jarvellis's neck and pulling her in close. They kissed long and hard before eventually pulling apart. Stanton held up his hand and wiggled his index finger.

'Does this mean we're married?' he asked.

Jarvellis stared at him seriously for a moment, then she grinned and threw herself back on the pillows. 'Tell me again how much,' she said.

Stanton closed his hand into a fist, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. 'I've told you once.'

'I don't care. I want to hear it again.'

'All right… In the top layer there's about three million left, I think. There are definitely more layers in that case, maybe five of them, I can't be sure. I'd estimate that with the kind of armament he's after, and with what he pays Corlackis and crew, he'll be shelling out about five million. There'll have to be upward of ten million left.'

'Very nice, but how do we make it our ten million?'

'Difficult. With Crane next to him at every moment, it doesn't leave much room to manoeuvre. When we go after this ECS bastard he'll have to send Crane in, and I should have my hands on some hardware by then. I'll have to take him then, and you'll have to come in and get me.' Stanton stared at her, but she did not meet his look.

'What about the other four?'

'Well, diey'll be going in as well at some point. I'll choose my moment. Damn, I wish I'd taken him just after he withdrew it. I was stupid.'

'No, John, you were loyal. Why not admit to yourself that you were loyal up to a point - and that point was Air Crane.' Jarvellis looked at him now and smiled. 'You know, John, that this is the break. We pull this off and we can get an Aquarius-class upgrade. That means ram-scoop and all the speed we'll ever need, unless ECS want to come down on us. How long do you mink before we buy into a consortium and start pulling in some real wealth?'

'Still want to buy that planet, Jarvellis?'

'Nobody can own planets, John, but we could own enough of one not to know the difference. A planet a few centuries from the Line, well away from Polity interference. Think on that.'

Stanton reached for her and pulled her close. He loved her foolish dreams and, just so long as she stayed with him while she dreamed them, he didn't mind. Sometimes, the diought that she might take her dreams elsewhere frightened him.

Cormac sat before the viewing screen in the recreation area and let out a deep sigh. He toasted Horace Blegg, men put his glass down on the table beside him. He felt very tired, but had been unable to sleep and a drink seemed the best way to unwind.

'Ship AI…' Cormac began, then paused in chagrin and started again. 'Hubris, is this screen voice-activated?'

'It is,' replied one of the many voices of Hubris, this one more relaxed and easy-going because of the surroundings.

'Give me a view into Isolation Chamber One, please.'

The screen flickered on and showed the two draco-men squatting on the floor of the chamber. They were eating slabs of recon' protein and drinking water from tall beakers. The scene was reminiscent of something from an ancient fairy tale. Cormac winced to himself at that diought, and did not carry it any further.

'Very efficient creatures diese,' said Hubris.

'What do you mean?'

'They are decontaminating themselves. They're using some method of regeneration. There is a high level of damaged and radioactive material from their bodies in their excrement.'

'Nice,' said Cormac. The injection Mika had given him had hurt, and was still hurting. He wondered if she had taken some obscure form of vengeance on him by using it. There were other less painful methods of getting antactives into the bloodstream.

Hubris went on. 'It is an extremely rapid process. They eat as much as is given them and convert it very quickly. They will be wholly regenerated within two days.'

'And should we let them out then?' wondered Cormac.

'That is for you to decide. It is relevant to note that Dragon always served its own purposes, and with little regard for human life.'

Cormac nodded, more to himself than the ship AI. He remembered the two-kilometre perimeter around Dragon on Aster Colora. Dragon had said, 'No machines inside this perimeter.' People had tried, as people do, and that perimeter had become a ring of smashed vehicles, some still containing human remains.

Where are you, Dragon? What do you want?

Cormac turned as the door slid open behind him and Chaline walked in. She looked as tired as he felt, and obviously had the same intention in mind. She got herself a drink from the autobar, then slumped into the seat next to him. As she sipped her drink she studied him with an intensity he found unnerving. He felt compelled to talk.

'Couldn't sleep?' he asked.

'No.' She turned away with a slight smile and rubbed at her eyes with her forefinger and thumb. 'I was readying a probe to go into the blast-site and search out some fragments of the runcible buffer. It seems there's a chance it was not all vaporized.' She looked up at the screen. 'How are our friends getting on?'

Cormac told her what Hubris had told him.

'Dracomen… I had a quick look in the reference section but all I could come up with was this text called 'The Dragon Dialogues'? It read like a philosophy thesis and ran to about ten million words. Fascinating stuff, but I don't really have the time to read it…' She turned to Cormac. 'What was this Dragon then? Not a fire-breather, I gather?'

Cormac hesitated, and then grimaced. 'No, Dragon was the name the creature gave itself, for whatever reason… Hubris, do you have any film of Dragon?'

'Enough to last a lifetime.'

'Show us some, please.'

The screen flickered and showed a contorted rocky plain below a metallic red sky. On that plain stood four vast spheres joined in a row. Pink snow was falling.

'There's Dragon. Each of those spheres is a kilometre across.'

'It was all alive?' asked Chaline incredulously.

'Oh yes, very much so. Xenologists thought it might once have been mobile, but when discovered it was like this. It had pseudopods rooted into the ground for kilometres all around. It must have extracted minerals or something to feed on. No one can say for sure, but later examination of the site found the ground riddled with tunnels and lacking in certain minerals found elsewhere.'

'Later examination?' Chaline asked.

Cormac closed his eyes as a memory, clear as day, flashed into his mind. He remembered a fantastic road made for him, two kilometres long, marked out by pseudopods five metres high and half a metre wide, each one like a white cobra, but with a single blue crystalline eye where its mouth should have been. That had been a long walk.

Chaline returned her attention to the screen again and continued before Cormac could answer. 'It must have been made of more than flesh and bone. At that size it would have collapsed in on itself…'

'Alive and a machine,' said Cormac. 'There were AG readings from it, and the readings of metals, and some pretty strange radiations. It's speculated that its bones were some form of bubble metal, or that it supported itself with AG. No one got close enough to find out.'

'Tell me more,' said Chaline, her fatigue forgotten.

Cormac snorted and shook his head. 'It starts with the scream, doesn't it?' he said, then he looked up at the screen. 'Hubris, you might as well record this. I don't want to have to tell it again.' He turned his attention back to Chaline. 'They say you scream for a fraction of a second when you're transmitted by runcible. I didn't arrive on Aster Colora screaming. I arrived reciting a nonsense poem. I should think you know it. Don't we all?'

And Cormac remembered, and he told her.