‘Because of the artefact. I’ve been checking through the Dragon / human dialogues and other papers. Remember, when you went to Aster Colora—that two-kilometre perimeter? Dragon has no use of machines. Everything it makes is more complex—living. That artefact is not a product of Dragon’s technology.’

‘Yes . . . may be . . . but the guardian? We run in circles. Every clue leads to more questions . . . Hubris, what is Dragon doing now?’

‘Dragon is still destroying things on the planet. We have no picture now, since one burst destroyed the probe.’

To Mika, Cormac said, ‘That’s where I hope to get some answers, no matter how cryptic they may be.’

‘Dragon tells lies,’ Mika observed.

‘You can learn something even from lies,’ said Cormac, then left her to her work.

* * *

Cormac looked down into the huge main bay, at the rows of bubble-metal crates, superconductor cable and sheet, in reels and rolls, the massive shapes of the Skaidon horns in their shock packaging, one of which had killed the technician working on it, and at the two hemispheres of the containment vessel. He watched the technicians moving about the bay, checking this, taking readings here. They were not checking the runcible itself—as that would not be necessary until it was assembled—rather, they were checking the huge amount of equipment that would be used to install it. Most of these technicians carried notescreens. Others carried esoteric equipment, or were followed by robots doing so. The belly of the giant heavy-lifter, its loading hatches open, walled the back of the bay.

‘Bloody Dragon,’ said Chaline. By her expression when he asked her how things were proceeding, Cormac had already surmised she was not happy.

‘Was there damage?’

‘No damage to the runcible,’ she said, glaring at him.

Cormac cursed himself. Was he so inured to death? ‘I was sorry to hear about . . . the—’

‘Her name was Jentia. She was a bloody good technician.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What are you going to do? Do you actually care about anything? It killed her—as good as murdered her. It could have killed us all, and it may well have killed the inhabitants of Samarkand. That Darson was probably right.’

‘How would you suggest I go about arresting a half-million-ton alien psychopath?’

Chaline turned away for a moment. When she turned back again, it was with a deprecatory smile twisting her lips. ‘That was irrational of me,’ she said.

‘Understandable, but you see the problems I am faced with? I . . . it’s part of the reason I—’

‘Yes,’ Chaline interrupted. ‘You and me both. Let’s leave it . . . Do you know what we saw Dragon doing before the probe was destroyed?’

‘Throwing a tantrum, blowing mountains apart,’ he replied with some relief.

‘Yes, and everything else down there. It is geostationary over the blast-site. I had hoped to use some of the remaining installations there. Last we saw, it was destroying them.’

‘By accident?’