Then, through the hailstorm, Tergal heard the knight shouting at Bonehead, and saw the old hog slowly and methodically start backing up, both its own heads now safely stowed. The sleer was fighting to pull away as well, then abruptly something gave. The lance tore out a ragged mess of the creature’s guts and vital organs, and dragged them through the sand. The sleer froze where it was, its pincers opening and closing as yellow ichor dribbled from its mouth. It began quivering, and its head abruptly bowed until its pincers jammed against the ground. Then it became utterly still.
‘I didn’t get it all out.’ Anderson’s voice broke through Tergal’s horrified fascination. ‘But don’t worry, it should be dead.’
Tergal jerked, coming out of a fugue. ‘Are you sure?’ He stared at the knight as hailstones played a tattoo on the older man’s armour.
‘I think so.’ Anderson held up the lance with its tatters of offal hanging from the barbs and peered at it dubiously. ‘See that grey stringy stuff? Well that’s most of its brain.’
‘Ah, an anatomy lesson now,’ muttered Tergal.
‘Certainly,’ the knight told him. ‘And the pink knobbly bits are from its lateral lungs, and that long dangly bit is part of what served the function of kidneys for it.’
Tergal gestured to their surroundings, rapidly being buried under a layer of hailstones. ‘Perhaps we should save this discussion until after we’ve erected one of our shelters?’
Anderson looked around. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘I see what you mean.’
Through one of the wide viewing windows, Fethan watched the Theta-class attack ship negotiating its way in through the gathering crowd, then turn to present its side to the docking tower. He knew the name of this ship, not because it was the mythical name for a hangman, but because of rumours of vicious conflicts, not involving humans, in areas of the Line of Polity where a threat had become evident that could only be dealt with by heavy AI intervention. This long flat ship, with its torpedo-shaped weapons nacelles, was bloody red and seemed as menacing in appearance as he knew it to be in fact. But even this ship was negligible in comparison to some of the other things he had seen out there.
Turning from the window Fethan moved back to his table and once again took up his glass of brandy. It tasted as good to him as always, though the liquor, rather than being digested as it had been when he was fully human, was directly utilized by a hydrocarbon-based power supply that complemented the micropiles powering his body. Initiating an internal program, he allowed himself a certain degree of intoxication while observing his surroundings.
The only sign, here inside, of the ECS police action that had taken place was a line of pulse-gun burns across the opposite wall, above a bar where many people were locked in excited and animated conversation. Ruby Eye had informed him that those members of the Dracocorp network not in a security area were in a hospital wing, and none of the latter would be going anywhere for a while. Apparently all their augs had died on them and, as well as the withdrawal from that, they were suffering the psychological trauma of having been subjected to a level of agony few humans could have survived had its cause been physical, and now most of them were in fugue. The ones in the security area were only those few who had been hit by riot guns or some other form of stunner, and who had been unconscious when Skellor transmitted his horrible sensory recording. Now ECS was responding in a big way to the threat that bastard represented.
Like the people at the bar, other residents of the station were mingling with rubbernecking gregariousness, as people often do during dramatic events. Fethan noted various ‘dapts conversing with standard-format humans, and was unsurprised that some new versions had appeared during the time he had been away from the Polity. He observed one woman drawing on a long cigar and then blowing smoke out of her gill slits, and though he had seen seadapts before, he had never actually seen a mermaid. This woman rested coiled on a plate which was supported on an ornate pedestal, like some exotic dish brought out from the nearby restaurant—an establishment he had already seen serving ‘authentic trilobite thermidor’. Standing by a vending machine, to the left of the bar, were three exceptionally tall people, each of whom possessed metallic skin, wore thick goggles, and owned a third, smaller arm on the right-hand side—its supporting musculature making them look decidedly lopsided. Fethan couldn’t work out what their adaptation might be for. He smiled when he saw an outlinker, clad in an exoskeleton, walking warily across this crowded area, and he wondered what relation that woman might be to Apis Coolant. Cormac and Gant, when they too stepped into the open area and scanned around, seemed utterly unremarkable in comparison to these exotic types, which went to show that appearance wasn’t everything.
Fethan raised a hand, and sent a signal via his internal comlink to Gant. The Golem touched Cormac’s shoulder and pointed Fethan out, then the two walked over to him. As they approached, Fethan studied them both.
Brezhoy Gant wore the same outward appearance he had possessed as a human being: utterly bald, skin carrying a slightly purplish tint, a thickset bruiser who looked capable of tearing off people’s arms long before he had actually gained that ability. At a distance, Ian Cormac wore the same appearance as the bulk of humanity, with his olive skin, average height and averagely muscled body. His silverish hair was also favoured by many who wanted to retain some sign that they were ageing, so there was nothing odd about that, either. Close to, however, you started to see something else: his sharp, striking features displayed a depth of character that seemed in utter contrast to the dead flatness of his grey eyes. This, Fethan understood, was a man who could kill without compunction or guilt, in the service of his own conception of right and wrong. He also contained a capacity for great love, and it was full, and his mistress was the Polity.
‘Hello Fethan,’ said Gant.
Fethan clasped the Golem’s hand, remembering the both of them running away from hooders and gabble-ducks on Masada, and how much fun that had been.
Releasing his grip, Fethan turned to Cormac. ‘What did Ruby Eye tell you?’
‘To come here—where it would come to meet me. Nothing was said about you being here, and not a lot about what’s going on outside. Do you represent the Al?’
‘No, I’m here with the counteragent that bugger Jerusalem developed. It apparently worked on Asselis Mika.’ Fethan paused. ‘You know she’s aboard the Jerusalem?’ He waved a hand vaguely towards the ceiling.
‘Yes, I am aware of that,’ Cormac replied succinctly.
Wondering at the man’s abrupt tone, Fethan went on, ‘It was also working on Apis Coolant when I left, and I’ve since heard he’s up and grumping about. It’ll next be used on Eldene after her mycelium has been removed—which is happening right now.’
‘A further reason for me to be surprised at your presence here. I know you feel some responsibility for the girl. I thought you’d want to be at her side,’ said Cormac, following Gant’s lead by pulling out a chair and sitting down.
‘Comes a time they grow up and go their own way. She has Apis now, and might resent me hanging around. Anyway, what other chances would I have to get aboard the Jack Ketch?’ Fethan folded his arms over his chest, and wondered if he might have done so defensively, to further conceal the big lump of intelligent crystal sitting inside his torso.
‘Why would you want that?’ Gant grinned.
‘Like you, I want to be where the action is, and it’s getting real boring on Masada at the moment.’ Turning to Cormac, Fethan continued, ‘Any objections?’