Arn was a sergeant in the ES regulars, but just as obviously a native of Viridian. He was a short stocky man with cap-cut, light blue hair, a bushy moustache of the same colour—and it seemed to be natural coloration—and dark pupil-less eyes deep-set in a craggy face. He studied them for a moment, then saluted smartly and opened the door to the carrier.

‘Sergeant, you have weapons for us?’ said Thorn.

‘So too.’ He saluted again.

‘No need for all that,’ said Cormac. ‘Just show us the weapons and take us to Motford. I’ll give a briefing there.’

Arn pointed out some crates strapped in the back of the carrier, then went to take his position at the controls. Cento joined him—looking hopeful, Cormac thought. Shortly the carrier was airborne and, when they were clear of the AGC park, the ion boosters roared. The carrier accelerated smoothly; it would have been quite possible to walk about inside while it was travelling.

‘How much do you intend to tell them?’ Aiden asked.

Cormac looked up in surprise from the crate he was opening. He had expected Thorn to be the one to ask that, as the Golem Thirties were decidedly taciturn.

‘I see no reason to hold back on anything this side of the runcible. Only we ourselves will use the energy weapons, though. They’re just extra muscle for when friend Pelter puts in an appearance.’

Aiden looked pointedly at the two innocuous boxes at the end of the case. Cormac lifted one out and pressed his thumb against the lock. It was keyed only to him. The box opened to reveal a gleaming cylinder, twenty centimetres long by five wide, with the letters CTD in a garish red pictogram, purpled by the light. On the end of each cylinder was a black cap with a miniconsole on it—remote or timer, the result was always the same. Cormac smiled.

‘Perhaps we’ll leave off telling them about these,’ he said, and closed the box. It had ‘JMCC: Enropower. 1 Kilowatt Hour’ etched into the lid. The cylinders, though, were not powerpacks: they delivered a great deal more energy than one kilowatt, and in substantially less time than an hour. CTD stood for contra-terrene device. Thorn by then had opened another case, and was holding a weapon that had the appearance of a stubby carbine made of glass and old wood. Under the glass, salamanders writhed, waiting to be released.

* * *

When Cormac had finished his briefing, ten regulars dispersed to their sky-bikes, which were parked haphazardly on soggy lichen-covered ground. They were to fly escort, and all other vehicles were to be warned off. Arn lifted the carrier into the sky with a smooth acceleration. Cormac took one of the four seats at the control console, along with the sergeant and Aiden.

‘These ruins, Sergeant, describe them to me,’ he said.