Pelter twisted his face into what might be described as a smile. ‘So you understand, John?’

‘Let’s say, I know what you’re doing . . . Right, where do you want me to bring us down?’

Pelter pointed out beyond the orchards. ‘Bring us down in Tenel’s orchard. We’ll walk in for Crane, then maybe go and visit Tenel afterwards, if he’s in.’

‘They’ll have him by now,’ Stanton said.

‘Not for long,’ Pelter replied. ‘Not for very long at all.’

With an almost vicious twist of the joystick Stanton brought their latest stolen AGC down low, and without lights. He landed it between the rows of plum and cherry trees that Tenel favoured on his property. Stanton waited a moment for his vision enhancement to kick in before he climbed from the vehicle. It surprised him how well Pelter coped in the dark, despite having only one eye. Then again, perhaps Sylac had made some other alterations he did not know about. As he followed the Separatist leader down between the rows of trees, he wondered if even Pelter knew what those alterations were.

In minutes they came to a broken-down chainlink fence. In the pig-apple trees beyond this, blade beetles were rattling their razor wing-cases. The sound made Stanton’s arm itch even more than it already did. At least the wasps were somnolent at night.

‘If one of them hits you, be very certain you do not yell out,’ Pelter said.

Stanton remembered the last time such a beetle had hit him in the face. He had required the services of a cell-welder then, too. He folded up his collar as high as he could and ducked his head into it. These insects could kill people, not deliberately, but with the accidental brush of a wing across a vein when medical help was far away. In some areas a kind of armour had to be worn for fruit picking.

‘How far is it?’ he asked. It seemed to him that they must be getting a bit too close to the residence and the flashing lights. Knowing the beetles liked light, he hoped the cops were having a bad time of it.

‘No further,’ muttered Pelter, and pointed ahead.

A few metres ahead of them stood the statue of a bearded gentleman clad in impact armour and holding some weapon horizontally across his stomach.

‘My grandfather. He served in the Prador war,’ he explained.

‘Here?’ asked Stanton.

‘Earth, I think. He left here a century ago.’

So saying, Pelter turned back towards the statue and pressed one hand to the side of his head. It was obvious that he was new to using augs and internal control mechanisms. Stanton shook his head and thought he might tell him about it—sometime.