Brass Man

‘Then where is Skellor?’ interjected Thorn.

‘Jack?’ Cormac asked.

‘I am sca

‘Tell me about it,’ Cormac instructed.

‘An old Polity attack boat, refurbished and most likely privately owned. It is located in a mountain cave system five thousand kilometres from Skellor’s landing site. All its systems are shut down, and sca

‘Any sign of the crew?’

‘Nothing that stands out, though people from the ship could be mingled with the indigenes. No aug signals or any other signs of Polity technology.’

‘What about that colony ship in orbit?’

‘Virtually inert, and has probably been so for centuries. I get a beacon response to an old-style com-laser frequency, but nothing else. Sca

‘I could check that ship out for you,’ Fethan piped up. ‘I’m getting a bit stir-crazy in this old tin can, and it would be a relief to even go and look around in another.’

Something like a snort of pique issued from Jack.

Cormac stared at the old cyborg estimatingly, then said, ‘Okay—go and take a look. You go with him, Cento. Power it up and secure it if you can. The rest of us will go down to the surface and see what we can find out from the human population. Jack—you’ve been listening in on them?’

‘Yes—their language is rooted in old standard English with a strong French influence. I can load a linguistic crib program directly to Gant, and to you through your gridlink, but Thorn will require VR teaching of some hours.’

Cormac turned to Thorn. ‘I’ll want you on the ground soonest, so get yourself into VR—you’re no use to me if you can’t understand the answers you beat out of people.’

‘That would be most a

‘When you’re ready, take the second lander over to this grounded Polity ship and check it out, then you can rendezvous with us.’

Thorn nodded.

‘Right,’ said Cormac to them all. ‘Let’s find this bastard.’

His senses now directly co

If he ran and hid he could evade detection for a very long time, but he was still in a trap. It was possible ECS might, after searching meticulously and finding no further evidence he was here, decide that the Vulture — and Crane, should they find him—had been decoys. But that possibility was reliant only on Dragon saying nothing, and he doubted that. ECS might also choose the option of taking this planet out of the equation permanently, but the likelihood was low, what with this place’s indigene population and the AI regard for sentient life. Shutting down his link to his sentinels, Skellor stared down at what had become of the man called Plaqueast — the man’s name was one of the smaller scraps of information Skellor had torn from his mind.

Plaqueast’s arms and legs had withered, their substance having been drawn into his increasingly bloated body. His clothing had parted to reveal skin deeply veined and mottled in shades of purple and yellow. His skull had now collapsed, what remained of his head only retaining enough integrity to accommodate his mouth for breathing—and as a birth cha

However, it was time for the hostage-taking to begin.

The exterior input centre looked as if someone had flensed it with autogun fire, such was its ruination. The gravplates, now working again but utterly disco

‘That’s the last of them,’ said D’nissan, tossing a memory crystal no bigger than his fingernail into the deep-sca

‘Okay, everybody,’ D’nissan continued, ‘all personal comps in here, and anything with any kind of memstorage. That means even memory cloth knickers and any items of jewellery holding personal messages. You’re all scientists, so you know exactly what I mean.’

After pulling out its power pack, Mika tossed her thin-gun into the sphere. It might not have possessed much in the way of mind, but there was enough there for it to link into any targeting system its owner might decide to wear, and for it to identify its owner, therefore enough to absorb a virus or a worm. She then watched as other items were reluctantly tossed after it: a shirt bearing the slowly shifting images of ancient media stars; jewellery probably containing holographic messages from loved ones; wristcomps, neckcomps, anklecomps, palmtops and laptops; and even a pair of boots, though Mika could not fathom what kind of memstorage they might contain.

‘That’s it, Jerusalem,’ said D’nissan, finally.

Jerusalem replied, ‘Scan shows no informational activity. You are clear to return to me, though be aware that you will be passing through a further series of scans, so if anyone has forgotten any little items…’

Nobody stepped forward. They all knew just how deadly the situation was.

That was it, in the end, thought Mika: all this destruction just to prevent any trace of infection leaving this place. It was fortunate, she supposed, that Jerusalem’s paranoia did not extend to the kind of memory storage that sat between her ears—in this situation at least. It occurred to her that the AI had probably assessed as low the probability that the virus infecting Exterior Input would be sufficiently powerful to find access to the human brain through normal human senses. Even Skellor had only managed to do that through Dracocorp augs.

Something engaged with a clonk and the centre shuddered, sending people stumbling, because the grav-plates, no longer computer controlled, did not compensate. Then the iris over the main door opened, exposing an incredibly long straight tu

‘Well, there’s our road to Jerusalem,’ Colver quipped.

Mika had expected some sort of rescue craft, but as soon as she entered the telescopic tu