18

Horace Blegg: The immortal wanderer has long been a set piece of human myth, and how much more do we want him to exist in this age, when many feel that humans are no longer the arbiters of their own destiny? Blegg, so the story goes, is a man with supernatural powers that enabled him, in the twentieth century, to survive the destruction of his home city of Hiroshima by a primitive fission bomb. He is then said to have meddled with human destiny to the extent of insuring our spread across the galaxy, and the governance of us by AIs. Of course, we want this to be true! The myth assures us that we are greater, through him, than those silicon minds that do govern us. The whole story is of course absolute rubbish, and just a more modern version of Arthurian Romance.

From Quince Guide, compiled by humans

The houses, fast-build plascrete domes rather like giant igloos, were scattered wide apart amongst the conifers and native chequer trees of an old forest. No thought had been given to roads, so the town was obviously a new one, in terms of Viridian's age, built after AGC use had become well established. The houses would also have self-contained energy sources and waste disposal. The only linkage they would have would be for optic cables and water: the latter essential, the former to prevent EM pollution. Stanton, watching the edge of this forest town from the shadow of a huge basalt slab, noted the AGC quartering the area. It's paint job immediately identified it to him as local police. He had no doubt it had been Cheryl who had informed them, but any silencing he would have done would have been too late. She had an aug. She would have sent out a call immediately after Pelter's damping device got out of range. At least this is what Stanton told himself. At the back of his mind was the knowledge that not so long ago he would have killed her, just in case.

Stanton moved from the slab's shade into the green sunlight, and set out at a jog for the edge of the forest town. Every household there would no doubt possess one or more AGCs. So the first house he reached would probably provide what he needed - for the moment. He was within a hundred metres of that house when the AGC swerved in the sky and accelerated towards him on a tongue of flame. He swore and broke into a run. Twenty metres from the house, and a voice bellowed out above him:

'Stop there! You, stop there!'

Stanton cut a swerving course across the boggy ground. There were two AGCs by a house, nestling under the spread of a huge chequer tree, its leaves the shape and size of playing cards casting a dappled emerald shade.

'Stop or I shoot!'

Ten metres.

There was a crackle in the air and Stanton's left arm jerked from electric shock. He dived and rolled behind a low, self-pruning box hedge. Another crackle and leaves fell from the hedge. Big space between him and the AGCs, and the man standing holding a pot plant. Small space between him and the door. Stanton ran at the door and took it out with his shoulder. Crashed into the room beyond. As he rolled from the wreckage, the air crackled behind him. He came up into a crouch, took in the woman standing in an open kitchen area holding some kind of package.

'What the hell?' the woman said.

'Sorry about the door,' said Stanton, and moved to peer through the window.

The police AGC crashed down through the trees, slid sideways towards the house, and landed heavily only a few metres from the door. Two policemen came from it fast, and headed straight for the door. They both appeared to be boosted. The first of them rolled through and came up into a crouch, with a stun gun levelled at the woman. He had half a second to realize his mistake before Stanton was on him. The mercenary stamped the back of his leg. As the officer reeled back, he caught him in a neck-lock, his right hand closing on the man's gun hand as he turned him. The second officer came through more cautiously, only to walk straight into the blast. He was flung, jerking, back through the door, with small lightnings lacing his uniform. The first officer continued to struggle as Stanton tightened his lock. Eventually his struggles ceased as he blacked out. Stanton held the lock just a little longer to be sure, then released him. He went down on his face. A glance round showed him that a back door was open and the woman was gone. As he collected the two stun guns on his way to the police AGC, Stanton considered how much he had changed. A sleeper lock rather than just breaking the man's neck. He felt almost civilized.

A blast of frigid air came in through the door as Thorn entered the shuttle. Cormac pointed to a bench seat and returned his attention to Blegg. The ancient Japanese undipped the mask of the suit and let it hang to one side. His breath fogged the chill air. Cormac could not help but wonder if he had put on the suit - which a technician had hurriedly fetched for him - out of politeness. In the containment sphere, in his thin monofilament overalls, he had shown no sign of noticing the cold. Cormac undipped his own mask.

'You knew about the dracomen,' he said.

'I knew,' Blegg acknowledged.

'What else didn't you tell me?'

'We knew about the artefact as well. It was discovered during the initial survey, and left where it was. It was whole.' Blegg leaned forwards and spoke loudly, as if Cormac was deaf. 'No hurry… y'understand?'

Cormac nodded. 'Is that all? Anything else you want to hold back, to keep me dancing?'

'We knew the egg was adamantium. Not much else could have been learnt.'

'The tunnel was made by the energy creature - or the dracomen.'

Blegg shrugged. 'The Maker, yes… if it could hatch from an adamantium egg, making a tunnel would have been no problem…' Blegg studied him carefully. 'What do you think of Dragon's explanation?' he asked.

Cormac said, 'I don't know. Still not enough evidence to confirm or deny it. What do you think?'

'Assume it's the truth. Dragon might not have a great respect for human life, but why should it? There's plenty to spare.'

'All right, I'll assume it's the truth. How do I react to that truth?' Cormac asked.

'Your decision,' said Blegg. 'You're in command here.'

Cormac snorted and studied Thorn. The Sparkind had a tightly controlled look to him. He averted his eyes from Cormac, then stared down at his hands. Abruptly he stood up and moved off into the wing of the shuttle.

'My decision would be to get some sort of recompense for the deaths of ten thousand people. Of course, I would have to go to Viridian to get… recompense,' said Cormac.

'Viridian, yes,' said Blegg, a hint of a nasty smile on his face. 'Funny thing about that place: lot of activity there.'

Cormac felt a sinking sensation. There was more. There was always more.

Blegg went on. 'On Cheyne you killed Angelina Pelter.'

'I did. What has that to do with this?'

'Young Arian shut things down,' Blegg said.

'How do you mean?'

'You gave your testimony. None of the cell leaders was apprehended. Every one of them was killed by a metal-skin android.'

'They had one… broken Golem?'

'Very likely. We don't know. Neither Pelter nor the android were apprehended either.'

'Go on.'

'Prior to these deaths, as I believe you know, Pelter managed to withdraw Separatist funds and his entire personal fortune from the Cheyne III Norver Bank. Shortly after those deaths the local police chased an AGC to the spaceport. It had, supposedly, Pelter and John Stanton aboard. The shuttle crashed and exploded. It took the police two solstan days to discover that the bodies they recovered were not those of Pelter or Stanton. A little retrospective investigation revealed that a trispherical craft called the Lyric launched just after the explosion. Your back-up team there was beginning to take an interest in this craft. It was, ostensibly, insystem and light cargo, only it had an underspace engine.'

Blegg looked round as Thorn returned. The Sparkind brought back three coffees. One he placed where he was sitting. The other two he handed to Cormac and Blegg. Cormac pulled the tab on his coffee and wondered why Blegg was studying the soldier so intently.

'Thank you, Thorn,' said Blegg. 'You know that personal agendas cannot be allowed.'

'I know,' said Thorn.

Blegg returned his attention to Cormac. 'You know Huma?' he asked.

Blegg's face was so close Cormac could see the strange gold flecks in the irises of his eyes. His breath smelt of garlic.

'It's where the arms were being smuggled in from. The Lyric went there?'

Blegg smiled. 'Yes, Pelter and Stanton were seen recruiting four mercenaries, and they had the android with them. This was information we recovered from what remained of a Golem ECS agent called Jill. The rest of her team has not yet been found. Pelter had them killed.'

'You sure?'

'Y'need to ask that?'

'I guess not. I still don't see how this all relates.'

'It relates because a trispherical ship was blown in orbit above Viridian only one solstan day ago.'

Cormac leant back and sipped his coffee. 'Coincidence is not that elastic,' he said.

'No, it is not.' Blegg reached up and undid his cold-suit. He went on. 'There are people on Huma who have taken to using a new and very efficient augmentation.' He tossed something down on the bench between them. It was bean-shaped and reptilian. Cormac inspected it, then looked round at Thorn, who had a puzzled expression on his face. He looked back at Blegg, then down at the aug again. He prodded it with his finger. It was soft.

'Biotech?'

Blegg nodded.

Cormac said, 'I had intended only to take Aiden, Thorn, and Cento - if he's in one piece by then.'

'Have to ask: y'want to carry on?'

'Yes.'

'There's the dracomen…'

'No, I don't want to take them.'

'I think you should. You need every… source of information.'

'Opinion or order?'

'Take them. Your decisions should be fully informed.'

Cormac nodded - an order, then. 'I'll take them, but I'm damned if I'll arm them. I'll also need more than that. Are there any more Sparkind available?'

'No, but there's a small force of ES regulars there.'

'They'll have to do, then. I'll also need energy weapons and a couple of contra-terrene tacticals. Yield forty should do.' He looked at Thorn. 'Get Cento - if he's in one piece - and Aiden down here ASAP.

They bring the dracomen down with them. Tell them I want them watched at all times. Also, I want an ES uniform with rank, same for yourselves. Get going.'

Thorn crushed his empty cup and tossed it on the floor. He had an expression of grim satisfaction on his face as he headed for the door. Cormac pulled his mask across, until the frigid air had circulated a bit and mixed with the warmer air in the shuttle.

'Still a lot of holes,' he said.

'They're for you to fill.'

'OK, an energy creature moving about through our runcibles would have been noticed.'

Blegg smiled again, then leant back. He spoke at the ceiling. 'Come on, moron. I know y'listening.'

There was no reply; perhaps the listener did not like his insulting manner. Cormac decided to try.

'Samarkand AI, ask the Viridian runcible AI to search for an information lock of the type discovered by your predecessor.'

Samarkand II replied to him immediately. 'An information lock was discovered one hour ago. Viridian now acknowledges the arrival of a matter/energy trans- mission. It arrived in containment sphere B9 and then left the runcible facility by an unknown method. Viridian also informs me that this lock is secondary.'

'Secondary?' asked Cormac. He looked at Blegg, who nodded slowly.

'It means the lock was opened, then replaced. Someone knew where the Maker went before we found it out. Y'understand?'

'Dragon,' said Cormac.

Blegg shrugged. 'Planetary scan, what y'got there?' he asked.

There was a pause before Samarkand II replied. 'There was an airborne energy trace, originally dismissed as stratospheric lightning. Re-integration of the data suggests it grounded at the Chiranian ruin in the Magadar forest.'

'There's y'Maker,' said Blegg, and stood.

Cormac gave a short nod and looked at him as Blegg finished his coffee and placed the cup carefully on the bench. Without more ado he headed for the shuttle door. Without pulling his mask across, he hit the touch-plate. Cormac quickly got his mask into place as the door cracked open. He watched Blegg.

'Anything else you might have neglected to tell me?' he asked.

'Y'have facts. Y'have a mind. I'll get things set for you.' Blegg paused. 'I'll get that silicon moron on Viridian to give you the details.'

Great.

Blegg stepped out into the cold and trudged off in the direction of the containment sphere. As the door closed, Cormac pulled off his mask and lay back against the bulkhead. He kept turning over what he knew. Pelter was on Viridian, and was likely there with Dragon's help. Dragon would lie about the reasons behind this, if it gave any answer at all. Cormac dared not ask. He was still very aware that here, now, Dragon held all the cards. It could destroy the runcible, and it could destroy Hubris. Cormac realized he had to keep his mouth shut and work everything out for himself. He needed more answers and he needed a clear course of action. Despite Blegg's assertion, he did not have all the facts and his course was not yet clear. He summarized some of the more pertinent facts available to him.

Fact: the runcible buffers were sabotaged in a way easily within the capabilities of Dragon and of this Maker, if what Dragon said were true. Fact: this Maker had escaped from its containment vessel, if such it was, and escaped Samarkand by runcible. That they had not discovered this until recently bespoke the Maker's ability to interfere with AI programming, an ability Dragon probably had as well. Fact: the creature in the tunnel had not been made to withstand the cold, yet the dracomen had. Fact: Dragon probably knew about the Maker's departure long before it arrived here and threw its apparent tantrum. These particular facts made a lie of Dragon's story. But what was the truth? Conclusion: if Dragon was responsible for what had happened here, how would he find out for sure, and what the hell would he do about it?

Cormac closed his eyes and he began running through things again. He knew, in the end, that the explanation would be simple, and any solution perhaps less so. Right at this moment he just couldn't seem to get anything in order. He needed rest. The bench was padded and would have to suffice. He stretched out on it and was wondering if he would be able to get any sleep, when sleep crept up and got him instead.

The cracking of the shuttle door had Cormac sitting upright and pulling his mask across. Thorn entered with a large bag slung over one shoulder. He dropped it before Cormac as the door closed.

'That was quick,' Cormac said.

Thorn pulled off his mask and gave him a quizzical look. 'It was quick,' he said, 'for shuttling up to Hubris and back.'

Cormac dropped his mask and looked around for some sort of time readout. He realized then that he should have acquired some sort of timepiece. While grid-linked he had always known the time, so it had never occurred to him that he might not know it.

'Ten hours,' said Thorn, as if reading his mind.

Cormac shook his head, trying to dispel that last fuzziness. He stood up, pointed at the bag and looked questioningly at the Sparkind.

'Your uniform,' said Thorn.

'Right,' said Cormac, taking up the bag, 'I'll change in the sphere. Let's go.'

They masked up and cracked the door for a second time. Outside, vapour was rising off the C0₂ slush as the machine and human activity raised the temperature. They hastened for a lock into one of the covered walkways, then on to the containment sphere. Upon reaching the sphere, Cormac found the temperature almost uncomfortable: it was above zero Celsius.

Around the sphere, prefabs had been erected in some sort of analogue of embarkation lounges - and they were crowded. Technicians were setting up information consoles, laying insulated flooring, installing powerful little air heaters. Cables snaked all over the place and there was a racket of compressors, power tools, talking and shouting. When they finally got through to the sphere itself, they found it crowded as well. Thorn pointed out where Aiden, Cento and the dracomen stood. As he and Thorn headed over, Cormac saw that strangers viewed the dracomen without surprise. They probably thought they were just more adapted humans. There were plenty in the crowd already: catadapts with multicoloured fur, ophidapts with fangs, forked tongues and skin litde different from that of the dracomen, tripode adaptations to heavy-gravity worlds, and others more exotic and less easy to compare. There were some who looked askance at the dracomen. They were perhaps more observant or were members of the original mission.

'Wonder how long before we see copies,' said Cormac, when they reached the two Golem and the two dracomen.

'It would be a difficult adaptation,' said Aiden.

'Why's that?'

'It would require extensive rewiring of the nervous system.'

'You mean putting the legs on backwards and making them work.'

'Yes, that's what I mean.'

Cormac allowed himself a strained grin, then inspected Cento. The Golem had a fine network of lines on his face and on his hands. Obviously a new syntheskin covering could not be found quickly enough. He still wore his old one and the joins showed.

'Are you… all right?' he asked.

'All right?' Cento repeated.

'I mean,' said Cormac, 'are you fully functional?'

'I have eighty per cent efficiency. Replacement is better than repair. The welding of my chassis I cannot trust under the full loading of my joint motors.'

Eighty per cent. That meant the Golem could probably rip only one man in half at a time.

Cormac surveyed the crowds, then shrugged and began to pull off his coldsuit. Thorn did likewise. No one paid attention. Under his coldsuit, Thorn - like Cento and Aiden - had the uniform of a major in the ES regulars. Once he had his coldsuit removed, Cormac kept going until he was naked. He stooped and opened the bag Thorn had deposited. Inside he found underwear, chainglass body armour and a uniform. When he strapped on the armour, that drew more looks than his nakedness had.

Over the body armour Cormac donned the green and grey fatigues of a colonel in the ES regulars. It would ease the giving of orders. Once dressed, he again strapped shuriken to his wrist. He would be the only one of them armed. Hardwired proscription prevented the transmission of certain weapons through the runcibles, and it was easier to collect new weapons on the other side, rather than disconnect that wiring. Cormac could only manage to get shuriken dirough because he had managed to get it classified as an antique, but even then he needed special dispensations, and the weapon had to be deactivated. Had he tried to get it through illegally, it would have been reduced to dust by the proscription filter the runcible had inbuilt when he stepped out the other side. The body-armour helmet he dropped into the bag, along with a laptop that held all the information relevant to this mission. This was all he was taking. With a quick inspection of the inside of the sphere, he hoisted the bag to his shoulder.

'All set?' he asked, with a wary glance at the draco-men.

'Ready,' said Thorn, grimly.

Cormac stepped up onto the black glass dais and led the way to the twin horns of the runcible. In a moment they had reached the containment sphere and soon had it to themselves. They gathered before the twin horns.

'Samarkand II, is our destination set?' asked Cormac.

'Ready when you are,' replied the AI.

Cormac mounted the steps to the pedestal. 'Send the dracomen next,' he instructed Thorn, and stepped through the cusp.

STOP.

START.

One pace - and he stepped out of one of a bank of runcibles on the planet Viridian in the Mendax planetary system, in the Chirat cluster, 173 light-years from Samarkand.

The containment sphere was empty. But for the lack of crowds here, he might well have been stepping out in the Samarkand sphere again. Quince and light-cargo runcibles had been standardized for half a century; the big difference here was that this sphere was one of many, as had once been the case on Samarkand and as, hope- fully, would be the case again when Chaline finished her work. As he stepped off the pedestal the dracomen came out behind him, then Thorn, Aiden and Cento.

'Viridian?' Cormac asked, as of the air.

The voice of this new runcible AI had a maturity Samarkand lacked. Irritatingly it still had that patronizing tone, though.

'Sergeant Polonius Arn is waiting for you with a carrier. The weapons and supplies you detailed will be onboard. He will take you to a rendezvous with the ES regulars. They are waiting at a place called Motford, and from there we can head straight for your destination. It's one Viridian day's journey away, just a few hours more than solstan.'

'What about here, when that thing runs?' asked Thorn.

The AI replied before Cormac could say anything. 'In one day's time there will be an evacuation of this port, the surrounding area, and Westown, because of a fluxing antimatter-containment field. From that moment all runcibles here will only open to Samarkand. The Samarkand AI informs me that, from there, newly arrived personnel are being sent back to Minostra. The remaining technicians will return to Hubris, ostensibly to carry out a refit. The reason given is that another crisis has developed at the outlink station of Danet.'

'There,' said Cormac, 'sufficient, don't you think?'

Thorn nodded his agreement. They left the containment sphere.

The embarkation lounge was not crowded, but it seemed to be kilometres long. The four of them gathered round the dracomen and walked quickly to the far doors. Cormac thought that the strange glances they were getting were due to their uniforms rather than the bird-walking dracomen. He noted, with a quick sideways flick of his eyes, two dodgy-looking individuals loitering by a drinks dispenser, and surreptitiously reached down and keyed the start-up sequence into shu-riken. Before he had taken two more paces, shuriken's holster was humming against his wrist.

'You see them?' he asked Thorn.

'I saw them,' Thorn replied.

'Stay alert. We might be walking into it right now.'

'I'm always alert,' Thorn said, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

The doors opened out onto an AGC park surrounded by country with the bleak quality of moorland. Pools like tarnished copper coins were banked round with thick growths of something like sage, speared through with the black blades of sedges. Where there was neither of these, the ground was pebbled with something thick and green and which, without closer inspection, Cormac thought, could be either geological or biological. His momentary curiosity on this matter was assuaged when he saw one of these growths break open to fling a cloud of helicopter seeds into the air. As he walked on, he espied something like a flying rabbit with a split trunk come to suck the seeds up before they reached the ground. It got most of them. Cormac pulled his finger away from the quick release on his shuriken holster.

'Did they follow?' he asked of Thorn.

'Out of the lounge, yes - but not now,' Thorn replied.

'We've been eyeballed then. Probably something set up for later.'

In the distance could be seen a line of bluish forest, and beyond this the sky was cut by a chaos of laminated slabs that could have been alien ruins. Beyond the run-cible facility, the AGC park and a scatter of finned cooling towers that could have been mistaken for something living, there were no other buildings in sight. Viridian had been colonized for a long time. Only on the most recently colonized planets had it become acceptable to establish runcibles within cities - or cities around runcibles. The sky was pale-green, the sun showing through bluish clouds: a green glare of a copper arc light. The planet was well named. Cormac realized, as he stepped out, that this was what the submind had told them. Was there a red moon? he wondered. And what exactly were the 'glass dragons'? Was that a reference to the dracomen, or to the Maker?

The armoured personnel carrier stood out from the other vehicles, like a vulture amongst canaries. The private AGCs were of all colours, and small; some of them were open and more like flying sedan chairs, some of them were reproductions of the petrol-driven cars of old Earth, but few of mem were ugly. The carrier was battleship grey. In appearance and size it was a railway carriage minus wheels, and with all hard and uncompromising angles. At the back of it there were tail-mounted turbines, and along its length a number of stabilizing fins. There were turrets for automatic projectile guns and beam weapons. It was a formidable machine. As they approached, Cormac glanced from it to the red Cortina replica parked next to it.

'Hardly covert,' he said.

Arn was a sergeant in the ES regulars, but just as obviously a native of Viridian. He was a short stocky man with cap-cut, light blue hair, a bushy moustache of the same colour - and it seemed to be natural coloration - and dark pupil-less eyes deep-set in a craggy face. He studied them for a moment, then saluted smartly and opened the door to the carrier.

'Sergeant, you have weapons for us?' said Thorn.

'So too.' He saluted again.

'No need for all that,' said Cormac. 'Just show us the weapons and take us to Motford. I'll give a briefing there.'

Arn pointed out some crates strapped in the back of the carrier, then went to take his position at the controls. Cento joined him - looking hopeful, Cormac thought. Shortly the carrier was airborne and, when they were clear of the AGC park, the ion boosters roared. The carrier accelerated smoothly; it would have been quite possible to walk about inside while it was travelling.

'How much do you intend to tell them?' Aiden asked.

Cormac looked up in surprise from the crate he was opening. He had expected Thorn to be the one to ask that, as the Golem Thirties were decidedly taciturn.

'I see no reason to hold back on anything this side of the runcible. Only we ourselves will use the energy weapons, though. They're just extra muscle for when friend Pelter puts in an appearance.'

Aiden looked pointedly at the two innocuous boxes at the end of the case. Cormac lifted one out and pressed his thumb against the lock. It was keyed only to him. The box opened to reveal a gleaming cylinder, twenty centimetres long by five wide, with the letters CTD in a garish red pictogram, purpled by the light. On the end of each cylinder was a black cap with a miniconsole on it - remote or timer, the result was always the same. Cormac smiled.

'Perhaps we'll leave off telling them about these,' he said, and closed the box. It had 'JMCC: Enropower. I Kilowatt Hour" etched into the lid. The cylinders, though, were not powerpacks: they delivered a great deal more energy than one kilowatt, and in substantially less time than an hour. CTD stood for contra-terrene device. Thorn by then had opened another case, and was holding a weapon that had the appearance of a stubby carbine made of glass and old wood. Under the glass, salamanders writhed, waiting to be released.

When Cormac had finished his briefing, ten regulars dispersed to their sky-bikes, which were parked haphazardly on soggy lichen-covered ground. They were to fly escort, and all other vehicles were to be warned off. Arn lifted the carrier into the sky with a smooth acceleration. Cormac took one of the four seats at the control console, along with the sergeant and Aiden.

'These ruins, Sergeant, describe them to me,' he said.

'So too. They're what's left of an old ES ground installation, sir. There's just a few fragments of a shield dome surrounding a couple of underground missile silos. Surrounding that is a radial scattering of old storage buildings, nothing very large. There are supposed to be bunkers under the ground around the silos, but no one goes in there. Still hot.'

'Would it be possible to land next to the underground silos?'

'Not so. No clear ground, and the roofs of the buildings would never take the weight of this carrier.'

'What's the scale?'

'Whole site's about two kilometres across. Silos were for Hunter Tens, about fifty metres deep and ten in diameter, three of them. Don't know anything about the bunkers… sir.'

Cormac nodded.

'The description you've given is sufficient, Sergeant. Most concise. Put us down on the perimeter, wherever you deem suitable.'

The sergeant allowed himself a tight little smile.

'Sarge, we got someone on the edge of detector range. Looks like they're following.'

'You know the drill, Corporal. Warn them off.'

'They don't respond. Shall I send back Cheng and Goff?'

Cormac leant forward. 'Cormac here.'

'Colonel, sir!'

'What's your name, soldier?'

'Tarm, sir.'

'Very well, Tarm, I want you and this Cheng and Goff to go back personally. Warn them off. Turn them if you can. If they fire on you, take them out. Otherwise I want them driven back a fair way, but not so far they won't be able to pick up on us again. Do you understand?'

'I think so, sir.'

'Don't be thick, Tarm,' interjected the sergeant.

'Oh… Oh, I see. On our way, sir.'

Cormac glanced out the window of the carrier and saw three of the sky-bikes peel away and accelerate on pencils of fire. He turned to the sergeant.

'We'll be at the ruins by nightfall, I take it?'

'So too.'

'Put us down as close to the storage buildings as you can. What will the light be like?'

'Moon's up, but the light's deceptive.'

'Good. When we get there, have your men leave their bikes, set up their tents and disperse into the buildings. Do anything else you can think of to make the camp appear occupied.'

'A trap, sir?' Arn smiled his tight little smile.

'Oh yes,' said Cormac. 'But I want at least one of them alive. You have stun weapons?'

'We've got an armoury, sir.'

'Good, you'll have opportunity to use it.'

'He's ECS and he'll be running a team to shut down the local syndicates,' said Corlackis.

The woman nodded, her comunit earrings glittering in the green light. Stanton knew the type: she wore a skin-tight shiny plastic from neck to feet and her thick brown hair spread in dreadlocks, plaits and artistic tangles across her shoulders and down her back. He could just make out a small aug in the shape of a star behind her right ear. At her hip was holstered a long-barrelled pulse-gun of the kind that fired ionized gas. Real fancy, but no range. She was obviously fascinated by the silent, glaring presence of Pelter, and by Crane who was crouching behind him. Stanton lowered the police-issue intensifier, its lenses whirring as it tried to compensate for this movement, and then he upped the gain on the directional microphone. That none of them had thought to use the damper showed Pelter's arrogance had to be catching. That the local muscle chose to have this meeting on the veranda of this cafe bespoke another arrogance. They wished to demonstrate to the great Separatist leader that this was an area they controlled.

The three men and the other woman were much like their boss: the kind that Stanton had hired on many occasions. He judged them to be supporters of the Cause only in that it gave them an excuse for racketeering, like so many would-be freedom fighters, they had probably found the attraction of easy money harder to resist than a few hazy ideals. They affected dress similar to that of Mennecken and Corlackis, but Stanton knew that the two mercenaries could go through them in a second. That of course was not their intention. These people were fodder. Stanton knew exactly what Pelter intended.

It had taken Stanton a day to find out where to look. It was the area of the city of Motford that had the highest crime rate, where weapons were worn openly, and where dubious characters loitered on the streets. After then asking a few questions in bars, he had found out who was running things in the area. Following the woman had been easy. Nothing about her was covert. She swanned about in an expensive Aston Martin replica as she and her heavies went on their collection rounds. Patient watching had finally produced this meeting.

'Why did he head away from the city?' the woman asked.

Corlackis replied smoothly. 'To set up a base of oper- ations. It's his usual technique: use local forces to establish a base where least expected, then, when he starts hitting you, you just won't know where to look. We saw it on Cheyne III. We spent months searching the most likely places and paying thousands in bribes to the local police. It was nearly all over before we discovered his base on one of the atolls.'

Stanton took his eyes from the intensifier and glanced behind, across the small AGC park on top of the building. Local police. He cursed the fact that they were so humanitarian here. This surveillance equipment, two stun pistols and a stun rifle had been the extent of his haul. The charge in the rifle he had used up at close range on the AGC, to burn the paint off. Not that it would have been much use to him. He could have been fairly sure of taking down the locals. But Pelter, Mennecken and Corlackis were another matter. Crane of course would have been unaffected. A stupid option, though. He wanted Pelter dead, not stunned.

'We can take him down,' one of the men drawled.

Stanton wondered how Corlackis kept a straight face at that.

'Not so easy if he has ES regulars with him,' he said.

'They're easy. Boys playing soldier games,' said the woman.

Corlackis shook his head. 'I admire your confidence, but would not want you to take on something you couldn't handle, nor would I want you to go unrewarded.'

The hook was in. Stanton shook his head at the ease of it all. They hadn't even asked why Corlackis and the rest would not be going in themselves. Corlackis now looked round at Pelter, who gave a nod. Corlackis tossed something on the table. One etched sapphire, Stanton bet. The woman snatched it up.

'Three more when the job is done,' Corlackis said.

'No problem,' said the woman.

The other four said nothing. They were too busy looking tough and confident behind their black eye-bands. Corlackis now reached under the table and picked up a cloth-wrapped bundle, which he placed before the woman. The woman reached across and nipped the cloth aside, completely unconcerned that anyone might see an assault rifle revealed.

'We have seeker bullets as well,' said Corlackis. 'We would not see you go in unprepared.'

'How many?'

'You can have this rifle and a sufficient quantity of seeker rounds. We've got laser carbines as well. As many as you need. We also have a nice compact mortar you can use.'

Stanton saw the greedy expression on the woman's face. She must think all her birthdays had come at once. Poor sap.

'We get to keep them?'

'But of course,' said Corlackis.

Stanton lowered the intensifier and shut off the microphone. He had heard and seen enough. He gazed out beyond the city line to the slabbed land beyond. Svent and Dusache had gone that way, after the military carrier and that was where the action would take place. Right now Stanton did not have a way of getting close to Pelter and killing him. Others did have the means. It did not matter to him how Pelter died, just that he did. He crouched back from the edge, stood up, then walked over to his stolen AGC. Pelter would leave soon, but Stanton had no intention of following him. He'd follow the five below. He would have no problem trailing such amateurs.