Proscribed weapons were the only items disallowed. Stanton considered that, with the freedoms the Polity allowed, it had shot itself in the foot as far as rebellion—and the apprehending of criminals—was concerned. The sort of ad hoc operation going on now was full of holes. After searching the length of security fence once again, he lowered his intensifier and turned to Pelter.

‘Local cops at both gates, and a couple of ECS Monitors,’ he said, and then peered at the glowing face of his watch. ‘We’ve got about an hour.’

Pelter nodded and glanced at their original AGC. Stanton followed his gaze. The two men inside were, of course, utterly still. There was something a bit spooky about seeing them sitting there in Stanton’s and Pelter’s clothing. The two ECS Monitors had drunk just a little too much in the arcology bar, so had no time to react when Mr. Crane stepped out in front of them. Of course, reacting would have done them no good. Mr. Crane just slammed their heads together and carried them away. Stanton wished he had not slammed them together quite so hard, as he pulled the collar of the appropriated uniform away from his neck. The blood inside was drying fast and the hardening material scratched against his skin.

‘You’d better try and link in,’ he added, when Pelter seemed disinclined to move.

Pelter looked at Mr. Crane, then at the AGC again.

‘There a problem?’ Stanton asked.

‘Mr. Crane will be off the command frequency for the duration, but he is pleased with his coat,’ Pelter replied. Stanton translated that as ‘off his leash’, and wondered if he wanted to take this any further. Was it a calculated risk or suicide?

‘We can try ramming the fence,’ he suggested.

Pelter stared at him, all indecision wiped from his face. ‘We stay with this plan. It gives us all the best chance.’ He turned to Mr. Crane who was sitting in the back of the Monitors’ AGC. Mr. Crane took off his hat and dropped down out of sight. Pelter raised a hand to the side of his head, and let out a slow breath as he concentrated. While he was doing this Stanton walked over to their original vehicle and opened the door. An arm flopped out and he picked it up and tucked it back into the dead man’s lap before taking a chip card from his pocket. He rested it in the slot of the onboard computer and watched Pelter. After a moment Pelter turned towards him.

‘Now,’ he said.

Stanton pushed the card home, then punched in a code that their cell had bought almost a year ago now.

‘City control . . . city control . . . city control,’ the computer burbled.

‘I have it,’ said Pelter, his voice echoed by the computer.