“We will have a Lazy Gun,” Miz said, grinning.

“And if the Gun is not there?” Feril asked.

Sharrow looked at the android. “Then we think again.” She picked up a length of branch and threw it into the smoking heart of the fire.

They kept near the edge of the trees as far as possible, ten metres or so from the shore. The interior of the forest was very quiet. The only noise they heard over those first few hours, while the early winter light faded gradually around them, was that of rushing water in the tumbling, rock-strewn streams they crossed, and the sound of branches and twigs breaking underfoot.

The floor of the forest was covered with old trees and rotting trunks; trees were tilted and canted at various angles, producing tangles they had to walk round. Clearings made by fallen trees bristled with new growth and afforded them glimpses of the grey and darkening sky.

“Kind of disorganised, isn’t it?” Miz said to Sharrow, ducking under a fallen trunk raised off the ground by the bowed trees nearby. “I thought forests were just trunks and a nice soft carpet of-shit!” The hood on his jacket snagged on a branch and almost pulled him off his feet. He released it and glared at Sharrow before continuing. “Trunks and a nice soft carpet of needles.”

She ducked under the trunk. “Those were plantations, Miz,” she told him. “This is forest; the real thing.”

“Well, it’s damn messy,” he said, brushing rotten wood out of his jacket hood. “Might as well be back in the fucking Entraxrln.” He looked around. “We’d have had a hard time getting through this lot with the ATs, anyway; might have had to stick to the shore, sats or not.” He slipped on a root hidden in the ground cover of needles and fallen twigs and staggered. He shook his head. “Fucking Solipsists.”

Sharrow smiled.

They camped when the light got too dim for them to see properly; they had two sets of nightsight glasses, but two people would still have to have gone without, and they couldn’t have travelled very quickly. They were anyway tired after only a couple of hours walking; they found a level area next to a stream, hidden from the other side of the fjord by the bank, and decided to stop there.

Sharrow changed the dressing on her cut hand. Dloan worked out how to pitch the thin emergency tent. Zefla looked for wood to make a fire. Miz sat on a stone and started unlacing his boots. His feet were sore; he’d been hobbling for the last half hour.

Feril put wood down by the circle of stones it had set in place, then attempted to help Dloan with the tent until the man shooed it away. It came and squatted near Miz.

“Damn boots,” Miz said, struggling to untie the laces. They seemed to have become tighter after they’d got wet. He’d thought the boots looked great in the store in Quay Beagh; really chunky and rugged and outdoorsy, in hide and with real laces, like something out of an ancient photograph, but now he was starting to wish he’d gone for a more modern pair with memory foam inserts, heater elements and quick release buckles. Of course, he hadn’t chosen his boots thinking he was actually going to be doing much walking in them.

“Don’t suppose you have this problem,” Miz grunted, glancing at the android as he pulled at his laces.

“Not really,” Feril said. “Though I do have pads on my feet that have to be replaced every few years.” It looked at its feet.

“What a fucking Fate-forsaken place,” Miz breathed, looking around the dark enclosure of trees.

Feril looked around. “Oh, I don’t know,” it said. “I think it’s rather beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Miz said, trying to tease one lace out from under another. “Well, maybe you see things differently.”

“Yes,” the android said. “I suppose I do.” It watched Zefla dump a load of wood onto the ground by the fire and then heap pieces into the centre of the stone circle. She used her laser pistol on low power and wide beam to dry and then ignite the twigs; they burned smokily.

“Hey,” Miz said to the android, looking embarrassed. “My fingers are getting cold. Could you give me a hand here?”

Feril said nothing as it came over to kneel before Miz and untie his bootlaces.

They sat round the fire in the black darkness of a deep forest under thick overcast, four hundred kilometres from the nearest sunlight-mirror footprint, street light or headlamp. They chewed on emergency army rations. They had enough for perhaps two more days.

“We’ll catch something tomorrow,” Miz said, chomping on a foodslab, looking round at the others, their faces seemed to move oddly in the flickering orange firelight. He nodded.

“Tomorrow we’ll shoot something big and have a proper roast, real meat.”

“Yuk,” said Zefla.

“We haven’t seen a damn thing so far,” Sharrow told him.

“Yeah,” Miz said, wagging the half-eaten foodslab at her. “But there must be all sorts of big game in these mountains. We’ll find something.”

“Excuse me,” Feril said from the top of the river bank, a couple of metres above them. Its metal and plastic face looked down at them, glinting in the firelight. It had volunteered to keep watch while they ate.

“Yes, Feril?” Sharrow said.

“What I believe is an inflatable boat has just left the far shore; it is heading this way.”

Dloan reached for the machine gun and stood up. He slipped on a pair of nightsight glasses.

“How far away is it?” Sharrow asked.

“A hundred metres or so out from the far shore,” Feril said.

“Let’s take a look,” Sharrow said.

They trooped down to the trees facing the shore, Dloan leading Zefla and Sharrow leading Miz, who tripped a couple of times on his undone laces. They lay on the ground; with the nightsights zoomed on infrared Sharrow and Dloan could just see the heat signature of the people in the inflatable.

Dloan found a boulder and rested the machine gun on it, its barrel pointing at nearly forty-five degrees.

“Should just about have the range,” he said. “Better get back,” he told the others, “just in case they have something that can home in on this.”

They fell back a little into the trees.

Dloan fired a dozen or so rounds, filling the night with sound and light; Sharrow had to turn the sights away, the fire was so bright. There were no tracers in the shells, but when she looked back she could see the tiny sparks of the bullets in the nightsights for about half their arcing journey over the fjord. As they cooled they disappeared.

“Just over them and to the left,” Feril called out.

Dloan adjusted his aim then fired again. They heard the sound of the gun echoing off mountains and cliffs far away.

A clatter and a snicking sound announced Dloan was changing magazines.

“Still a little to the left,” Feril said.

Dloan fired once more. Sharrow saw no alteration in the furry-looking image in the sight.

“Yes!” Feril said.

Dloan paused, fired again. “Right! To the right!” Feril shouted as Dloan fired. The gun fell silent.

“I believe they are in difficulties,” Feril said.

Sharrow watched the hazy image in the nightsight change; it grew smaller and eventually, after a minute or so, there was just the hint of a few tiny heat sources in the water.

“Their craft has sunk,” Feril announced. “They appear to be swimming back to shore.”

“Good shooting again,” Sharrow told Dloan.

“Hmm,” he said, sounding satisfied.

He came back up from the shore. Sharrow turned to go as Dloan passed them, then saw the android still staring at the far side of the fjord. She checked the glasses but ail they showed were the same few indistinct heat-glows against the grey clutter of the fjord’s cold waters.

She watched the android for a few moments. It didn’t seem to notice her. “Feril?” she said.

It turned to her. “Yes?”

“What is it?” she asked.

Miz made a tutting noise and took Zefla’s hand, to follow her following Dloan back to their camp.