‘The metal’s recrystalizing with the cold,’ she said, her voice coming to them with a radio echo. She stepped to the gap she had made, inserted her fingers, and pulled. The door ground open and a chunk snapped off in her hands, but it was wide enough open for them to enter. As he went through, Cormac glanced at the broken metal and realized that at these temperatures even Golem might be vulnerable. Their synthetic skins, he knew, could handle a wide temperature range and provided superb insulation, but he wondered just how close they would get to the lower limit of that range here.

Inside the building they walked down frost-coated corridors to a drop-shaft. Luckily there was an inspection ladder down one side of it. Jane checked it with a tug or two, then descended. It was thick ceramal welded to the side of the shaft, so was unlikely to give way. As it took her weight without cracking, they all soon followed her down to the bunker where the submind was kept.

‘I’m getting something,’ said Chaline, as they swung away from the shaft and into a dark corridor. Cormac flicked his goggles to infrared, but vision was even poorer. Someone switched on a torch. He saw it was Thorn, and that the torch was an integral part of the weapon he held. Gant had also drawn his gun. Perhaps they trusted Blegg’s judgement as much as he did, Cormac thought. He turned to Chaline, who was peering at some kind of detector.

‘Is it still active?’

‘Seems to be, though its power source must be getting low. Perhaps that’s why it didn’t transmit,’ she said, then added, ‘I hope to link up the new runcible with these stations.’

Runcibles were obviously her favourite topic.

The end of the darkened corridor revealed a sliding door, which Jane opened with studied nonchalance. Beyond it lay a circular room that seemed to be lined with polished copper bricks.

‘Let’s see what we can get here,’ said Chaline, then took another instrument from her belt and moved her fingers over the touch-pads. A voice spoke to them through their communities.

‘—the brick-red song each block is dried blood frozen in perspex the windows are a thousand stitched-together eyes house is pain lord of pain lord of nightmares—’

‘Very poetic,’ said Chaline dryly.

‘Nuts,’ said Gant.

Cormac was not so sure. ‘Try it again. At least it’s retained something.’

‘—batshapes with translucent white teeth and eyes in fevered flesh swooping madness yelling hate itself sinter sinter burnt mounded bones—’

‘Try transmitting to it here.’

‘It should be able to hear us anyway. Jane?’

‘I’ve tried. Seems completely internalized.’

‘AI, respond!’ shouted Cormac.

‘—screaming shape fire green men lizards help me plague dogs war flung to our coasts night dark rats disembark with their translucent teeth—’

‘No good,’ said Chaline. ‘Best we shut it down and get out of here.’