Pelter ignored them. He stared at the falling rain and seemed to see in it a hint of a shape, something huge, an image the raindrops were trying to form, but just could not. He looked through Crane’s eyes and the image grew stronger. He had a hint now of diamonds. Perhaps some sort of echo in his two augs from looking at the skate. To collapse the echo he ran the program to close off the organic aug. It seemed to fight him for a moment, pulling out with the reluctance of a bent nail in old wood. As it went, the pattern faded. Now everything was grey, through Crane’s eyes, and his optic link felt hard against the side of his head. He closed off that view and turned to the bickering mercenaries.

‘Let’s not stand here all day. We have plans to make,’ he said.

He could see their resentment and did not understand it. With a flash of irritation he re-engaged the second aug. Slick. Straight in. They were resentful because it was them standing staring at the rain, and not in the nice warm bar of the metrotel. He turned away, flicked a gesture at Crane, and headed for the metrotel with the android tramping along behind. The two mercenaries gave each other a speculative look before following.

Stanton, Mennecken and Corlackis waited for them in the bar. All three of them were playing a dice game. Pelter envied them their ability ride so easily through the waiting time between actions. It was a trait he himself had never been able to develop. When Stanton looked up, Pelter returned the look and considered what he must do. Nothing yet, he decided. Stanton was still too useful. He moved into the room and sat on the edge of one of the low chairs. Svent and Dusache moved in as well. As if he was pressing down the timer on a chess clock, Corlackis pressed the touch-plate on top of a small flat box on the table.

‘Enough?’ asked Pelter, glancing at Svent and Dusache.

‘Enough,’ Svent replied. ‘They’ve been bouncing a laser off the windows every now and again, but that’s about it. No deep scan or underspace signatures. They’re not that sophisticated.’

‘So they weren’t here for us,’ Stanton said.

‘Doubt it. They’re not equipped,’ Svent said.

‘Give me the rest of it,’ said Pelter, each word precise and tipped with irritation. His optic link hurt and there was a crust on the seepage around it. It had also rubbed a sore on his temple that tended to bleed when he was straining over some of Crane’s more complex module programs. And there was that something else poised tantalizingly just out of reach. A forbidden knowledge, something . . .