The muted roar had been constant over the last fifty solstan hours. Storm gullies in the old hydrocar streets could barely contain the consequent torrents, and a long night had come to Huma. Occasionally, when the wind parted the curtains of rain, you could see the layer of cloud poised above like a ceiling made of old green jade. Stanton looked down. A hydrocar was edging across the AGC park. He saw that there were few AGCs left there, and that those remaining had been secured with the car clamps that had so puzzled him. Under each of those covers, about which he had asked the drunk outside The Sharrow, was a grav coil that interacted with the car’s AG. It effectively stuck the car to the ground. A precaution he understood perfectly when he saw a driverless AGC being shunted down one of the streets by the wind. He stepped back from the window.

‘Come back to bed,’ Jarvellis said.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m getting impatient. And I would reckon Arian is probably spitting magma by now. This is bad. We don’t need this, not after wiping out a covert ECS group here.’

Jarvellis sat up and slid back so she was resting against the headboard. Almost without thinking about it she started playing with her right nipple. Stanton had been in battles that were less exhausting than twenty hours in a room with this ship captain.

‘Bad,’ she said. ‘You didn’t have to close up one of the Lyric’s holds, then clear out a few thousand litres of water and storm sludge. I’ve had more fun—’ An abrupt beeping stilled her tirade for a moment. ‘What the fuck is that?’ she said, releasing her nipple and scratching at her belly.

Stanton walked over to the bed, reached under the pillow and pulled out his small comunit.

‘You bring it to bed?’ Jarvellis said, her voice rising.

Stanton held his finger to his lips and pressed his thumb to the pad on the side of the unit.

‘In the bar, five minutes,’ said Pelter.

Stanton removed his thumb and dropped the unit on the bed.

‘Woof, woof,’ said Jarvellis.

Stanton gave her a dirty look. ‘Any more of that and I can always tell him you’re here. Even though he’s agreed to your extortionate price, I’m sure he’d still like to talk about it.’

‘He is not getting anywhere near me, nor is that lump of homicidal scrap.’

Stanton grinned and began pulling on his clothes.

* * *

The metrotel was primitive by Polity standards. The rooms had no sleepfields, the showers only squirted hot water, room service came by way of a grumpy robot trolley and, rather than drop-shafts for transport, the building merely had express elevators. Stanton hit the pad beside the sliding doors and waited impatiently. Shortly the doors hissed open to show Dusache and Svent. Stanton felt uncomfortable getting into an enclosed space with them.