Cheryl put her pruning knife back in her belt and stood upright. She nodded and walked back to the edge of the vine field. The man walked along with her, and she noted how gingerly he was moving and that there was a drug patch on his neck. She wondered if he had not replied to her attack with a killing blow simply because it would hurt him too much at present. After a moment she took her attention away from him and directed it towards the field.

‘Pickers run on chemical batteries that get warm,’ she said.

He said nothing in reply to that, but it gratified her to see his expression when three pickers scuttled out of the field and headed for the house. He seemed about to ask something then, but he assumed a tired look and just watched the pickers go in through the door. Three explosions followed in quick succession. On a billow of smoke, a couple of black plastic legs came tumbling through one of the broken windows.

‘Who are they—and who are you?’ she asked.

‘You got any more AGCs here?’

‘No, and you haven’t answered my question.’

Stanton shrugged and replied, because he could not be bothered not to reply, ‘The ugly one is a Separatist bastard called Arian Pelter. The android is the psychotic Mr. Crane. The rest are like me: mercenaries.’

‘Why they here?’

‘To die, if I have my way. Now tell me, where’s the nearest habitation?’

Cheryl pointed. ‘About ten kilometres that way.’

‘And the runcible installation?’

‘About a thousand kilometres beyond that.’

Stanton looked in that direction, then back at the house. ‘Right, I need the use of your medkit, and I need food and water. Consider these payment for your life.’

‘Inside,’ Cheryl said, and let him go ahead of her into the house. As he did so she sent the recording from her aug, and kept the channel open for real-time transmission. She thought it unlikely this man would reach his destination, once the police received her recording. She also thought it likely Viridian would be receiving a visit from ECS sometime soon.

* * *

From the mask, clean oxygen blasted into her face and she gasped at it. A light-headed euphoria flooded her, but only for a moment. Pain was secondary; oxygen was survival as it charged her cells. But as her organism became satisfied it now had attention to spare for that pain.

‘One moment,’ said a gruff voice.

There was a gentle fumbling in her neck ring, then pressure at the side of her neck as a drug patch was pressed into place. Through blurry eyes she saw a mesh ceiling and a thin bluish hand retreating from view. Outlinker, was her one thought.

‘Fused across the join. We’ll have to cut,’ said the gruff voice.

‘Then cut,’ replied a woman’s voice. ‘She’s probably still bleeding in there.’