Corlackis dropped his cards on the table and stood. He glanced past Pelter to Mr. Crane, then headed from the bar. Mennecken stood and followed him. Stanton watched the two of them go. Corlackis would do what he was told. He would complete whatever task was given to him and he would take the money. He would not try to kill Pelter; he was not that stupid. Pelter now looked at Stanton.

‘A word,’ he said and nodded over to the bar. The others watched them with curiousity as they moved beyond hearing range. By the bar Stanton waited on what Pelter had to say. Pelter reached up and touched the organic aug. Strain further distorted his features. He lowered his hand and glanced at Mr. Crane. The android had now reacquired those small movements it had been devoid of over the last few days.

‘You have a stun pistol?’

Stanton tapped his trouser pocket. ‘I liked that one Corlackis has. They’re cheap here,’ he said.

‘Very well. When we are at the warehouse and when I give you the signal, I want you to hit Dusache and Svent with it.’

‘What? . . . Why?’

‘Just do it,’ said Pelter.

‘As you say, Arian.’

Pelter closed his eyes for a moment and then glanced across at the two mercenaries. They were looking back with puzzled expressions.

Pelter went on. ‘Contact Jarvellis. Have her at her ship within the hour. If she wishes she may stay in her cabin, but just make sure she has the B hold open for us, and is fully prepared to open the A.’

Stanton moved off to one side to do as bid, while Pelter returned to the others. He was starting to get an uneasy feeling about all this. Jarvellis, of course, greeted his news with a stream of very colourful invective. He grinned, pocketed his comunit, and joined the others.

‘Is Grendel meeting us out there?’ he asked Pelter.

‘He is.’

That ended the conversation, but gave Stanton an inkling of what was going on. They waited in silence until the transporter glided in from the AGC park to the front of the metrotel.

* * *

The trip out to the warehouse was a risky venture. The old AGC transporter, effectively a long alloy box with a cab bolted on the front and turbines on the side, swayed and plummeted as the walls of water it passed through confused its ground-level detector. The noise was tremendous, but not enough to cover Corlackis’s quiet swearing at the controls.

‘We could take it up,’ Mennecken suggested, after an errant and ferocious gust of wind tried to slam the vehicle against a building.

‘Not one of your best ideas, brother.’ Corlackis said.