He had time to say no more, because Crane took two huge paces forwards, moving so fast that his clothing snapped. He had both his fists clenched in the fronts of their shipsuits before they could do more than gawp at him. Then he lifted them clear of the ground, turned, and slammed them against the toughened-glass window.

‘Before Mr. Crane kills you, I’d be interested to discover how you know my name.’

‘The boss . . . the boss,’ the first speaker gasped.

‘How do you know my name?’ Pelter repeated, his voice and his expression flat.

The other one spoke quickly. ‘Come with us to see him,’ he croaked. He had his own hands around Mr. Crane’s one hand, and was staring down into the android’s black eyes.

‘Why should I do that?’ Pelter asked.

‘Because you and he have a mutual interest in a place called Samarkand.’

Pelter stared at the man for a long moment. Then he reached up and touched his aug, and Mr. Crane lowered the two of them to the ground. Almost reluctantly he released them and stepped back. Pelter handed him back the briefcase, then continued to watch while the men straightened out their clothing. They waited for a cue from him, but he gave them nothing but silence.

‘This way . . . then,’ said the first speaker hesitantly. He carefully moved out of Mr. Crane’s range and led off.

* * *

The man was fat, almost ball-shaped, and Pelter could not understand why. Surely there was no interruption to food supplies here, therefore no need to store it up internally? That sort of thing was only required on very primitive worlds. The fat man did not have one of those reptilian augs behind his ear—like the two cases who had brought Pelter here—but he did have a somewhat reptilian appearance. His shiny skin was broken into small diamond patterns, almost scalelike. Pelter studied the man for a long moment, then glanced back at the other two. They had moved away to stand on either side of the armoured door. Pelter was not concerned by this. Mr. Crane, standing just a few paces in from the door, would be more than adequate should things turn nasty.

‘Arian Pelter?’ said the fat man.

‘I am—and I am curious to know how you know that,’ said Pelter.

‘Please have a seat.’ The man gestured to the chair placed before his desk.

Pelter moved forward and sat down. Mr. Crane moved up to stand behind him. Pelter had the android turn round to watch the two by the door.

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he said.

‘I am here to help you.’

‘And who might you be?’ Pelter asked.

‘You may call me Grendel,’ said the fat man, giving a little smile as if at some private joke.