you require repair or systems check, hmm?'
Kao Chih rushed over, full of anxiety, but the mech
was retreating from the Voth, then gliding towards the
exit.
'I am undamaged,' it said. 'But I intend to wait in the
shuttle. Please continue with your work.'
Kao Chih watched the mech leave then turned
sharply to Yolog, who was trundling back over to the
console.
'What happened?' he said.
'I do apologise. Most unfortunate - a discharge from
a faulty charging stall,' the Voth said as his long dex-
trous fingers played the bead keys. 'Much of my
equipment is obsolete and in serious need of upgrades
yet my orderbook is so full that I cannot afford to have
machines standing idle. Certain older devices, however,
retain their usefulness, like this manual interface which,
despite its anachronistic nature, permits a more relaxed
approach to neural tasking.' Suddenly Yolog ceased
keying and lifted his hands from the silvery keys. Then a
short melody of soft, descending notes sounded and he
plucked out the memory crystal and returned it.
'Your course data, fully restored and updated.'
'Thank you, honourable Yolog. You have been most
helpful.'
The Voth grinned, showing off a spectacular set of
ochre-hued teeth.
'Yes, hmm, well, our transaction has certainly light-
ened my mood and provided a new store of musical
mysteries to explore. And now you must return to my
shuttle, which will take you back to my parts hold from
whence you can continue your journey.'
'Are you accompanying us?'
'Work detains me, Human Kaachi - the repair of that
junkheap of a charger, amongst others.'
'Then goodbye, Yolog, and good fortune.'
The Voth smiled, nodded and went over to examine
the cabinet.
Back in the shuttle's small cockpit, Kao Chih found
the mech floating lengthwise against the low ceiling.
'Our business is concluded, I trust,' it said.
Kao Chih held up the memory crystal, which was
quickly probed with a brief needle of icy blue light.
'It seems to be in order. What delays our host?'
'Yolog says that he has to work on that faulty charger
and ...'
'Passengers aboard,' interrupted an autovoice from
somewhere in the cockpit. 'Are passengers ready to
depart? - answer yes or no.'
'Yes!' Drazuma-Ha* said loudly. 'Before I am forced
to deal with more trickery.'
'What do you mean?' said Kao Chih.
'That piece of theatre with the charging cabinet was
meant as a cover for the burst-scan which was simulta-
neously directed at me from a ceiling-mounted device.
But I had already reconfigured my sheathing shields
before arriving here - his scandata will show something
besides what he expects.'
'Which will be what?'
'Detailed schemata for a household valetbot, not
unlike those on display back there.'
Laughing, Kao Chih wedged himself into the pilot
couch and pulled the straps tight just as the shuttle
declamped from its mooring. There was a lurch, a faint
thrum of motors, and the Voth's craft flew sedately out
of the garbage scow access. Drazuma-Ha* declared that
he was suspending activity functions in order to run a
systems check. Kao Chih nodded and leaned back, feast-
ing his eyes on the vast intricacy of Tagreli Openport, its
glittering clusters and spokes and hangars, the vessels of
all sizes and shapes that came and went, and the innu-
merable hopcraft, taxis and pleasure-boats, all set
against the muddy grey-green world around which it
orbited. And wished his family and friends were there to
see it too.
Back in his workshop, with the showroom lighting
muted, Yolog sat at his console, looking at the female
Human whose face filled half the screen.
'Got your message - what do you have for me?'
The Voth smiled hesitantly. 'Well, friend Corazon, I
have a lead on a Human and a mech who needed their
course data recovered ...'
'Are you saying that they were in your grasp and you
let them walk out? Were they part of a larger group?'
'Ah, no, they ...'
'That wasn't part of our deal, friend Yolog.' The
woman smiled, cold and dangerous. 'You are supposed
to securely detain solitary Humans ...'
'It was the man's mech,' the Voth said hurriedly. 'It's
an old, very powerful and cunning sentient machine,
which foiled my attempt to scan it. If I had tried to
imprison the Human it might have attacked me, even
killed me!'
The woman, whose full name was Corazon Talavera,
shook her red- and black-furred head. 'If they've left,
they are no use to me.'
'I have a copy of their course data,' Yolog said.
'They're going to Bryag Station and I had one of my
remotes put a tracker on their ship while they were over
here.'
'Better, if not ideal,' said Talavera. 'What are their
names?'
'The man is called Kaar-Chee and the mech is
Drazuma-Ha*.' With a shaky hand he fingered the sil-
very bead-keys. 'I'm sending you all the data I could
obtain on them, image files and statistics as well as the
parameters of the tracking signal.'
'Bryag Station, eh? Not easy to get there before
them.' Corazon Talavera glanced down, no doubt seeing
the data packet arrive, then gave Yolog a hard, apprais-
ing look. 'But when I return we are going to have a little
talk, just to remind you how our agreement is supposed
to work.'
Then the screen was blank, leaving Yolog trembling
and sweating. For a second he sat there, utterly relieved
that she was gone, then anger welled up and he raised
his exo-clad arms, clenching his fists.
Gods of infinite space, how he hated Humans, and
the Talavera woman especially. Were all their females so
cruel and pitiless? Many years past, he had made a
small, very small mistake which had led to the tragic
death of one of the aged and venerable Henkayan
Abstainers, all purely through a chain of chance and
accident. He thought that only he knew the truth until
that cursed Human had turned up and showed him the
damning evidence which she had locked safely away, so
long as he did what he was told.
Yolog thought about packing his essentials and valu-
ables and fleeing Tagreli, off into the depths of known
space, but that was a well-worn fantasy, just like the one
where he fled instead to the Aranja Tesh, to some world
near the Yamanon border, and helped build combat
droids for the struggle against the Hegemony and their
despicable Human lackeys.
He uttered a bleak laugh, knowing that only immi-
nent, life-threatening catastrophe could make him leave.
On the other hand, it was not impossible that the impos-
ing mech Drazuma-Ha* might deal fatally
with Talavera
should a confrontation take place.
With that happy thought, he put his earpieces back in
and began checking shipment manifests while the
sweeping rhythms of a song called 'Kashmir' filled his
head.
29
CATRIONA
From her viewport she could see glimpses of Nivyesta's
single massive landmass through breaks in the cloud
cover as the shuttle made its banking, spiral descent.
The green of Segrana was rich, dark and mysterious
from this height, yet the clouds looked soft, inviting.
Whenever she saw them during a shuttle journey she
imagined them to be a strange, floating terrain of pure
whiteness with its own flora and fauna . . . until the
shuttle scythed through them. Then there were only
moisture droplets crawling across the outside of the
viewport while steely-grey fog rushed past.
As they swept on through cloud, her thoughts drifted
back to her encounter with that apparition which
looked so like a Pathmaster, or how she imagined one
would look. Seek out a vodrun and undertake a vigil -
all will become clear to you, it had said in a sighing, sibi-
lant voice, but why would it say such a thing? And had
it been real or had she just imagined it? If the latter, it
called into question her mental stability and fitness for
her position and responsibilities ... and if it was real?
She knew from research with male and female Uvovo
that those who underwent the vodrun vigil said that
they experienced the feelings of Segrana and heard her
thoughts, so perhaps she should attempt it, although
how she would obtain permission from a Listener was
as yet unfathomable. She would ponder this - later,
when she got back to the enclave.
Soon, the cabin staff announced the final approach
and everyone strapped in to their couches. Catriona's
fellow passengers numbered eleven, mostly ecologists
and biologists with a pair of Uvovo scholars well into
their maturity going by the grey tufts behind their ears.
In addition there was one mystery man, seated a row in
front and on the other side of the aisle - during the nine-
hour flight he had eaten nothing and drunk only a few
cups of water, spoken to no one, read nothing, listened
to nothing on his couch phones and watched nothing on
the overhead display. All of which convinced Cat that he
was one of the Enhanced. She didn't recognise him, but
then the project directors had rigorously segregated all
the coactiles of students with the aim of enforcing a
tight group loyalty. The faces of her own coactile were
vividly and accurately recollectable, yet others who were
there at the same time were scarcely more than vague
blurs.
The dear brothers and sisters of my coactile, she
thought sourly. A smothering straitjacket of peer pres-
sure, all individuality subsumed to the group, an identity
controlled by those directors, who were interested only
in creating living processors capable of high-level com-
putation. Walking calculators ...
Sighing, she relaxed back into the comfort of the
couch and wondered how to find out his name, maybe
even discover what an Enhanced was doing on Nivyesta.
From that early, cloistered part of her life she knew that
many Enhanced ended up working for the government
in their Special Designs Division. But what would the
SDD be doing here on Nivyesta?
The approach and landing took another twenty
minutes. Vibration came in successive waves, as did
the loud moan of the engines applying staged braking.
The impact of landing on water made the craft shud-
der and the pitch of the engines altered. Soon they
had taxied up to Pilipoint Station's floating dock, a
large, curve-roofed structure capable of accommodat-
ing two shuttles. As the passengers gathered their
belongings and donned outdoor garments, Cat found
herself wondering, not for the first time, what Greg
was up to back at Giant's Shoulder, knowing full well
that for him the temptation to go back into that
puzzle-trap corridor would be irresistible. As it would
be for her.
Please stay out of trouble, she thought. Or at least go
looking for it with someone you can rely on.
She grasped her holdall and was quick to get behind
the mystery man as the cabin lock cycled open. Slowly
trooping to the exit, she overheard the steward call him
Mr Yurevich and saw him take two substantial pieces
of luggage from the stowing booth before stepping
through the airlock. One was an ordinary barkleather
suitcase but the other was a tall, grey case on small
wheels; its sides had stickers saying HANDLE WITH
CARE - PHOTOGRAPHIC DEVICES but she recog-
nised it as a standard transport case for lab equipment
as used in the Enhanced project.
A moment or two later she emerged from the shuttle's
smelly recycled air, setting foot on the combiplas deck-
ing of the dockside and taking a deep breath of
Nivyesta's atmosphere. Yurevich was hurrying away but
that was okay - his name and description and the 99 per
cent certainty of an Enhanced status was more then
enough to trace him through the whisperway. Now,
however, she faced the onerous duty of reporting to
Professor Forbes, who had no doubt seen coverage of
the shooting at Giant's Shoulder and probably read the
preliminary reports.
What she had to do was put herself in a resilient,
unflappable frame of mind. It was not a question of
whether or not Forbes would be objectionable and
mean-spirited, merely a matter of how it would show
itself.
But all this was forgotten as she entered the low-
ceilinged, slightly shabby transit lounge. The lounge had
two vees, usually tuned to sports and light entertain-
ment, but right now both were showing news and were
surrounded by dozens of anxious-looking people. On
the screen was one of the better presenters, grey-haired
Jan Kronagen, addressing viewers from the studio, so
she paused to see what it was all about.
'.. . but members of the Sendrukan Hegemony dele-
gation have still declined to make any comment, and
since there is as yet no Brolturan Compact representa-
tive on Darien we must gather viewpoints from where
we can. Let us return to the Heracles, where our spot
reporter, Serj Tanilov, has obtained more views of the
Brolturan vessel, as well as some hard data. Serj?'
'Yes, Jan, thank you. More information on the
Brolturan ship, which is called Purifier, by the way - its
official designation is a Tactical Dominance Enabler ...
Ah, we have it now? . .. Right, we can show more vid as
supplied by a Gomedran freelancer who was on board
one of the Heracles's atmosphere boats when this
leviathan took up stationary orbit above Darien.'
The screen abruptly switched to a view of the stars
from orbit, the nearest of them blurred by the dust-
clouds of the deepzone. But the foreground was filled
with an immense, gleaming, fabulously ornate ship, its
forward sections bearing a passing resemblance to a
sweeping, stepped pyramid while the stern tapered
slightly towards the blocky main drive manifold. The
view swayed a little and suddenly zoomed in on the
prow, where a huge statue of a Brolturan in archaic
battle armour emerged from the hull. In one hand it
cradled a mirrored polyhedral while the other held out a
long, straight sword, pointing forward.
The Gomedran freelancer then panned slowly up the
length of the warship, showing decks, launch bays,
weapons arrays, missile batteries, all amid the most
incredible embellishment Cat had ever seen outside
some of the Rus chapels. During all this, the reporter
was reeling off statistics - the Purifier was nearly 700
metres long, had a crew complement of 12,000, a sup-
port and interceptor complement of 2,800, a troop
transport capability of 10,000 alert or 20,000 cryo, and
the commander probably held the rank of father-admi-
ral... Tanilov added that these were not official figures,
having been gleaned from various tiernet sources, and a
few enthusiasts from amongst the Heracles's crew. Back
in the studio, Kronagen reminded the viewing audience
that an ambassador had been expected from the
Brolturan Compact, though not in such an imposing
ship.
Shaking her head, Cat shouldered her holdall and
headed for the shuttle-dock's small lobby.
They might have sent an ambassador, she thought,
but that ship constitutes undiplomatic language. Maybe
we're supposed to be intimidated by its scary ornaments
or something; if so I think they're in for a surprise ...
The way to the exit led past a small bar, and as she
drew near she noticed Yurevich, seated in one of the
easy chairs, talking to someone. Walking further on she
saw that it was a woman with short dark hair whose
face slowly came into view past the foliage of a plantpot.
She was just a few paces away when recognition hit her
so forcefully she almost stopped in her tracks. At that
moment the woman looked round, saw her, straight-
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