The android with the plastic folder walked away along the deserted arcade at the top, and disappeared into the silent mist.

In the street that housed the Irregular Embassy a group of androids of various model-types were dismantling a shining metal tube that crossed the street ten metres up, between two ornately decorated stone buildings which had been recently restored. A couple of large dump trucks sat in the middle of the street, their cranes lifting sections of the transit system tube away as the pieces were freed. An android with a welding arm was cutting at the tube’s shiny surface, producing a waterfall of sparks that descended through the light, golden mist at the end of the street like pieces of splashing, fading sunlight.

The android entered the embassy. Its client was waiting in the courtyard garden.

She sat on a small stone bench by a tinkling fountain. She was artificially bald, a little over average height, and sat more erect than most humans did. She wore heavy boots, a thick, dark-green pleated skirt, a pale hide riding-jacket and a white shirt. A fur hat lay on the stone bench at her side with a pair of hide gloves on top of it.

She rose to meet it when it entered the courtyard.

“Lady Sharrow,” it said. It caught the hint of movement in her arm and duly extended its own, to shake hands with her. “My name is Feril,” it said. “I am to represent you. Pleased to meet you.”

“How do you do,” she said, nodding. They sat on the stone bench. The fountain played with a quiet, pattering noise. In the misty light the small garden seemed to glow around them; they sat surrounded by a precise profusion of tiny, brightly coloured flowers.

“I have news of your friends,” Feril told her. “Their court hearing seems to be going well.”

She smiled. Her face showed traces of having been altered recently; there were hints of inflammation in the corner of her eyes, where the skin had been stuck down, and her blonde eyebrows showed a fraction of a millimetre of dark growth at their roots. The android had seen a picture of her on the city news service when she had arrived a week earlier, and it thought her nose looked different, too.

“Is it?” she said. “Good.”

“Yes. Ms Franck is an able advocate, and Mister Kuma was allowed to use his extensive personal wealth to employ some fine legal brains. The nature of the witnesses will be their greatest asset, I believe, as courts are not often inclined to trust the evidence of hired security personnel. The trial has been fixed for Bihelion next year.”

The woman looked surprised. “Taking their time, aren’t they?”

“I believe that is because you are also indicted, but cannot be brought to trial until the Huhsz Passports have run out.”

She laughed lightly, putting her head back and looking up past the gleaming slates of the embassy roof to the gauzy bright sky above. “That’s very sporting of them.” She looked back at it. “Will the trial be in the jam, or Yada?”

“Ms Franck is attempting to have the venue moved to Yadayeypon.”

She smiled. “Judges named?”

“A number have been suggested.”

“All male and elderly?”

“I believe so.”

She made a clicking noise with the side of her mouth and winked. “Good old Zef,” she said.

“There will doubtless be wrangling over the venue, but your friends ought to be able to return within the next four or five days.”

“Good.” She sighed and put her clasped hands onto her lap. “And what of the Passports?”

“They have been impounded in the quarantine terminal at Ikueshleng, and are themselves the subject of a complex legal dispute concerning radioactive contamination, but they are still operative.” It paused to give her time to say something, then it volunteered, “I should say that it would be a fortnight or so before the city of Vembyr would have to release you to the Huhsz.”

“But in the meantime I’m free to go?” she said. She looked from one of its eyes to the other the way humans often did, as though searching for something.

It nodded. “Yes. I have left the release papers with the embassy here. The terms of your visa require that you inform me of your movements within the city boundary, but you may leave those at any time.”

“Hmm. May I pay a visit to some of the Court-impounded material stored here?” she asked. The android was silent. When it didn’t react she went on, “My grandfather, Gorko; there’s some of his stuff stored here, I think. May I see it?”

“Oh, yes,” the android said, and nodded. “We have charge of some goods that used to belong to your family; once certain legal complications have been resolved the material which the Court has established jurisdiction over will be auctioned. I believe I can arrange for you to inspect the trove, if you wish.”

“Yes, thank you,” she nodded, looking away.

“It may take a few days to gain permission. Might I ask how long you intend to stay in Vembyr?”

“A few days,” she said with a faint smile. “It might be convenient to meet my friends here. Would that be all right?”

“Well, as I trust you have been made aware, humans are advised to stay no longer than forty days in Vembyr, anyway, to avoid too great an exposure to radioactive contamination, but I have been asked to inform you that while every reasonable precaution will be taken, the city administration feels unable to guarantee your safety should you desire to stay here for any length of time. As well as the Hunting Passports themselves, there is a substantial bounty on your life, and while it is unlikely any android would wish such remuneration, it is possible some outside agency could attempt to kidnap or attack you here.”

“Well, no change there.”

“I should also point out in that regard that in four days’ time we shall have the monthly auction, which always brings an influx of people. As this month’s sale is of mainly military and grey-tech goods, the parties we may expect to play host to could well include the sort of person who might wish you harm.”

“Are you saying I ought to leave before then?” the woman asked.

Feril thought she sounded tired. “Not necessarily. There are secure apartments within the old Jeraight fortress in Chine District,” it told her. “You might wish to stay there.”

She rose and walked slowly to the fountain. She looked down at the splashing pool, then stooped and dipped her hand into the water and held some of the fluid in her palm. She shook her head.

“I know,” she said. She moved her head to indicate the embassy building behind her. “They showed me.” She stood up. “Too much like a prison,” she said, brushing water from her hand. “Is there a hotel? Apartments?”

“The City Hotel has politely declined to house you, I regret to say.”

She gave a small, snorting laugh. “Can’t say I blame them,” she said.

“But if security is not your absolute priority, there are many vacant apartments,” it told her. “There is one in my own building; as your legal representative and custodian, it might be convenient for you to live there.”

She smiled oddly, a hint of a frown on her upper face. “You don’t mind?” she asked. “As you say, I tend to attract a deal of unwelcome attention these days.”

“I do not mind. Your past life intrigues and interests me, as does the character it reveals.” It paused. She was looking even more amused. It continued. “We seem to get on well enough, from this initial impression.” It made a shrug. “It would be pleasant.”

“Pleasant,” she repeated, smiling. “Very well then, Feril.”

The Solo had charged down the valley through the darkness, over walls and roads, demolishing farm outbuildings, wrecking a barn, causing several car crashes and terrifying hundreds of animals, especially the ones it rolled right over. It had taken an hour to get to the Yallam river, where it crashed onto the waves from a bank three or four metres high, only its speed saving it from tipping over into the swirling black water. It roared away downstream. Its radar indicated several aircraft following it, but none approached nearer than ten kilometres.