"Come out, Mandel," Ronnie Kay shouted up from the ball, "or we will burn you out. Fire is always the great purifier. Your wife will die with you then. Come out."

"Don't you dare," Eleanor said.

"Royan?"

I'VE DECRYPTED IT STRANGE. NOT LIKE SOFTWARE. NO SUBROUTINES. EVERYTHING STRUNG TOGETHER, SIMILAR TO PIXEL CODES, MUCH HIGHER BIT RATE THOUGH.

"Have you found the magic photons sequence?"

WORKING ON IT

Greg went over to the window, standing beside it with his back to the wall, expanding his espersense outwards. There were three minds below. He edged the rifle out past the curtains and activated the imager. The photon amp's picture of the bedroom faded away, replaced by a view of the garden below. Three men were standing on the lawn, waiting patiently. One of them held what looked like a shotgun, the other two were carrying clubs of some kind.

"Come out, Mandel."

Eleanor fired another barrage of stunshot pulses down the landing.

"We'll burn your flesh to ashes. Your last minutes will be the torment of Hell. Repent."

THINK I'VE GOT IT

"Thank Christ for that."

THERE ARE TWO SEPARATE SEQUENCES, BOTH BECOME ACTIVE AFTER A MEASURED INTERVAL FOLLOWING IMPRINT TIMED BY HEARTBEATS. CLEVER THAT THE FIRST SEQUENCE CONTAINS THE PARADIGM ITSELF AND THE INSTRUCTION TO KILL KITCHENER, ALONG WITH ADDITIONAL ORDERS TO DESTROY HIS RETROSPECTIVE NEUROHORMONE WORK. IT ACTIVATED ITSELF AFTER APPROXIMATELY NINE HOURS. THE SECOND SEQUENCE IS THE MAGIC PHOTONS, WHICH ACTIVATES TWO HOURS LATER.

Even now, Greg couldn't quite shake off his fascination with the case. Nicholas must have been hit before the storm, before the rising waters of the Chater closed the ramshackle bridge.

"Can you trigger the magic photons sequence?"

YES. I'VE ISOLATED ITS ACTIVATION CODE FROM THE PARADIGM'S TIMER SECTION.

"OK, there are three people we can try it on."

The target circles vanished as Royan took command of the rifle's 'ware. Greg watched the imager's laser sending a fan of ruby light sweeping across the lawn. The grid emerged in its wake, splitting into three sections, folding around the waiting men.

HERE GOES.

The contoured lines around the central figure began to flash.

NOW.

Greg saw a single strobe-like flicker of pink douse the man's face. His espersense showed him the man's thought currents start to seethe furiously. A loud destitute wailing penetrated the glass.

"What's happening?" Eleanor demanded.

"I'm not sure." Even as he spoke he sensed the new tide of personality usurping Bursken's resolute thought currents. His empathy was caught by the backlash of petrified bewilderment raging inside the abused brain, feedback sending a quake of dismay shuddering along his own synapses. Then the man was dropping to his knees, curling into a foetal position, mind rushing headlong into welcome oblivion.

"OK, we got him. Zap the other two, Royan."

Their grid outlines began to flash. The targeting laser fired twice.

"Flames, Mandel," Ronnie Kay shouted. "They will consume you. There will be no redemption."

Wait," Greg shouted back. "I'm coming out."

"Greg!" Eleanor pleaded.

"Those crazies will torch the place if I don't. We have to clear them out."

"Let the crash team do it."

"That bastard MacLennan is still out there. He can load Bursken's mind into them as soon as they land. Then where will we be? They are armed and armoured, Eleanor. At least the lynch mob only have shotguns."

"Come then, Mandel. Come to us."

She drew a sharp breath through her teeth. "God, you be careful, Gregory—"

He knew exactly how much that cost her to say. "No messing."

They waited in the hall at the foot of the stairs. Five of them, a tight arrowhead, with Ronnie Kay at the front. Two shotguns followed him with mechanical precision. Their mouths were curved up in the same slight, vapid smile.

His espersense flowed round them, along the hall, through the empty rooms. They were the only ones inside. Right at the back of his head was the faint thrumming of pressure, the neurohormones stressing his synapses to their limit.

He held the rifle casually at his hip as he descended.

"Take the ones with the shotguns first," he whispered.

RIGHT

The grid appeared again, peeling into five segments like cybernetic butterfly wings. Closing fluidly around their ignorant prey.

Ronnie Kay blinked, glancing distrustfully at the rifle. "Put it down, Mandel."

READY

"Now."

The laser lashed out, spiking each of them in turn. Elapsed time seven-tenths of a second.

They wilted in unison, filling the air with a grotesque catlike puling. Arms and legs were infected with a life of their own, waving and flexing at random.

"Shitfire," Greg murmured.

DID WE GET THEM?

"Oh yeah. We got 'em."

Eleanor was running along the landing, stunshot held ready, looking as if she was about to start a war.

"The crash team will be there in five minutes," Philip said.

Eleanor barged into his side, hugging him tightly. She let out a gulping sob. "I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes.

His arm went round her, holding her roughly. He kissed the top of her forehead, damp hair rasping across his lips.

They went down the last few stairs, slowly, every step a great effort.

The front door had been forced open, the lock jimmied off. A draught of clammy air swirled in.

Greg used the rifle barrel to push the lounge door open. Shards of glass were heaped on the floor below the broken window. The curtains flapped feebly.

"It's clear," Greg said. "I'll go out here, through the window. MacLennan can see the front door." Eleanor's fingers clutched at him through the combat leathers. "I've got to finish this." And this time there would be no hesitation, no reluctance. MacLennan had come hunting him, broaching the sanctity of his own home. Well, now it would be settled on those terms. One on one, zero rules.

"I know," Eleanor said.

He crouched down, and scuttled over to the window. "Royan, kill the imager's camera feed. I don't want to be on the receiving end of that paradigm — " He stopped, intuition acting like a dose of wine, stealing warmly into his brain.

The gloomy image faded out, leaving him alone with the time display and guido co-ordinates. He shoved the rifle through the shattered window.

"Give me the laser return."

The picture which built up was similar to the virtual simulation he had used to fly into Walton, photonic topology, except it was all red. The rickety fence was ten metres in front of him, saplings standing in long rows behind it, grass resolved as a fuzzy mauve mat.

"OK, Royan, there's one last piece of reprogramming I need."

He poked the rifle round the corner of the house. The laser painted in the EMC Ranger, the barn, and the wall around the farmyard. Mark Sutton was lying where he'd fallen. Frankie Owen was crawling towards the driveway. It was like watching a time-lapse puppet in motion, the picture refreshing itself every second as the laser swept back and forth.

A grid tailored itself into a perfect fit around Frankie Owen.

"I'm here," Greg called out clearly.

Frankie twisted round. When he was looking straight at Greg, the laser fired the magic photon's activation code at him. There was a muffled gurgling, then he lay still. Greg sensed Bursken's thoughts routed by Frankie's usual dull anger and general life-resentment just before consciousness dwindled.

Not much of an improvement, really.

He pointed the rifle at the tangerine grove, where he thought MacLennan had fired the paradigm laser from.

"Focus shift, one hundred and fifty metres."

The grove filled his vision field. It lacked the sharp-edged clarity of anything close by, degraded by rain, almost like static interference. These saplings had been planted over a year ago, two and a half metres high, starting to spread out at the top. They were covered with leaves and blossom, which showed up like a layer of coarse ice crystals around the core of twigs and branches.