‘There would have been no problem, Warden, if Vrost had not arrived here intent on causing an incident with the Polity, and an ecological disaster down here.’

‘This is true,’ the Warden replied. ‘You too could have avoided an incident had you declared yourself to me. Under Polity law you are not culpable for anything you did whilst under the control of Ebulan’s pheromones. Now, unfortunately, you have kidnapped some of the people of this planet, and killed one of them, and also endangered the lives of Polity citizens.’

Vrell felt a moment’s chagrin at that. It had not even occurred to him that the Polity would not automatically want to hunt him down and kill one of Ebulan’s kin.

‘I admit to endangering Polity citizens, but only so I could survive. Those citizens would have been in no danger were it not for Vrost’s intemperate actions. I also admit to kidnapping citizens of this planet. The unfortunate death of one of them was due to a radiological accident aboard this ship. I will, however, release the others unharmed, should I be given the opportunity.’

Vrell knew that the blanks could recover from the changes they had undergone, but that to call them ‘unharmed’ was rather stretching the terminology. The lie about a radiological accident could be proven neither one way nor the other, but none of that really mattered. All that was needed was Vrost’s belief in what was to follow.

‘What then will be your actions?’ asked Vrost.

‘Obviously this situation cannot continue. Should you destroy me down here, that will result in diplomatic repercussions with the Polity, but I cannot remain down here forever.’

‘This is so.’

‘As I see it, I must prove my loyalty to the King. Allow me to leave this world and I will surrender myself to you. I will place this ship in a parking orbit, and come over to you in a suit only.’

More long minutes passed, then Vrost replied, ‘That is acceptable.’

Vrell accessed the ship’s systems and began to follow instructions.

Prador never showed mercy and never backed down. This Vrell knew that Vrost would allow him no closer than a hundred kilometres. He was going to die, and he was seriously annoyed about that.

Water, carried through the shimmer-shield in the folds of Forlam’s suit, splashed onto the floor. He pulled off his mask, walked over to the submersible and shed his other load at the foot of it. Over many years he had incidentally met most of the Vignette’s permanent crew, and in latter years, before he went offworld with Ron, engineered encounters with them because he felt they well knew something he was only just beginning to learn. He did not recognize this crewman’s features, but then they were no longer quite human. This one was a man and, judging by his clothing and the facial jewellery that seemed to be getting gradually sucked into his face, he was one of two Forlam had met earlier. The other might be one of the other two lying here. He turned round as a splashing sound alerted him to Wade stepping in through the shimmer-shield.

Wade trudged over and dumped the fourth crewman on the floor. He paused then tilted his head as if listening to something.

‘Two more and we’re out of there,’ said the Golem, now focusing on his companion.

They could easily have carried more than two each—Wade being a Golem and Forlam being a middling old Hooper—but the difficulty lay in getting them through the ventilation ducts.

‘There’s still Orbus and the other three,’ Forlam reminded him.

‘I know, but Thirteen is having enough trouble with the security systems we have encountered. He says our chances of getting them out of the engine room are remote.’

Forlam contemplated that as they headed back towards die shield. He owed Orbus nothing, just as he owed these here nothing, and to endanger himself attempting to rescue the remaining four was near insane in its foolishness. If Wade was not up to it, he wondered if he could rely on Thirteen’s continued help.

Again donning his mask, Forlam followed Wade back out into the ocean. Wade was just ahead of him, but rather than move on to the entrance beside the weapons turret, he turned to press a hand against Forlam’s chest.

‘Be still,’ he instructed over com.

Forlam froze and watched a turbul shoal pass overhead. The urge to pull away from Wade and start jumping up and down was almost unbearable, but he managed to repress it. Abruptly he realized that the changes wrought in him over the years—which had been exacerbated by his problems on the Skinner’s Island, when he had ended up looking something like those back inside—were going to kill him. But that was just an intellectual assessment: the prospect of danger and of death aroused in him a weird excitement.

‘Come on,’ said Wade, once the turbul were out of sight.

This time Forlam easily remembered the route through the ship. They dropped into the holding area where Thirteen, his AG shut off, clung to a wall ledge, then they stepped over to the last two of these crewmen.

‘We have to hurry,’ Wade said. ‘I need to get back.’

‘Why?’ asked Forlam, dragging one of the two Hoopers over to the winch hook.

‘It’s complicated,’ said Wade.

‘What isn’t?’

‘Okay, I am presently in constant communication with someone above, trying to persuade that individual not to leave the Sable Keech. He’s chewing on a spar at the moment, and I don’t think the threat of the weapons on this ship’—Wade waved a hand about himself—‘will restrain him much longer.’

‘You’re talking about Zephyr.’

Wade looked at him oddly, then started the winch running with the remote control he held. Forlam grabbed the hook, over which he had slipped the cables binding the Vignette crewman’s wrists, and rode the winch up with him. Up above he unhooked the man and dragged him to one side, then rode the winch down

‘What makes you say that?’ the Golem asked.

‘Oh come on, we’ve all seen you climbing up that mast for your daily chat. I don’t see why you do that though, if you can communicate with Zephyr from anywhere.’

They hooked up the second man, and this time Wade rode up with him, and stayed up there to lower the hook back down for Forlam.

‘Talking to him face to face, he cannot shut down communication, except by shoving me off a spar,’ Wade explained.

‘What’s it all about?’ Forlam asked, reluctant to reach up and grip the hook.

‘Come on, we have to—’

Suddenly the Prador ship was vibrating. Thirteen shot away from the ledge to hover in the middle of the room, turning slowly, his tail lashing like an angry cat’s.

‘What is that?’ Forlam asked.

‘Turbines,’ said the drone briefly.

‘Come on!’ shouted Wade.

Forlam addressed the drone. ‘Can you open that door into here?’

‘I can, but the ship’s sensors would pick up anyone who moved beyond it.’

‘Forlam, don’t do this,’ said the Golem.

From an earlier exchange, Forlam had learnt the location of the engine room: a hundred metres back down the main corridor then off to the left. If he was quick, he might be able to get it done before Vrell had time to react.

‘Can you get those two out by yourself?’ he asked Wade.

‘I can’t help you,’ the Golem warned. ‘What I have to do is too important.’

‘Thirteen, open the door, would you.’ As the drone drifted across the holding area, Forlam picked up his laser carbine and drew his ceramal knife from his boot.

The juvenile rhinoworms who had been sporting in the shallows, and occasionally venturing ashore until Ambel kicked them back, disappeared like fog in a gale. The giant whelk arose out of deeper water, and Ambel realized that seeing it out at sea, or attached to a leaping heirodont, gave no true impression of its scale. The creature was truly gigantic, and he began to feel some reservations about his plan. But there was nothing he could do about that now. He pulled back the twin hammers of his blunderbuss, brought the weapon up to his shoulder, and aimed at its eyes.