Pelter nodded thoughtfully as he pulled on his jacket. ‘Tell me about this place,’ he said.

‘Nothing much to say,’ Stanton replied. ‘The only habitation here is at the poles. At the equator the average temperature is not far below the boiling point of water. They’re eight solstan years prior to Polity subsumption, and what government they have is on the edge of collapse. It’s completely corrupt and therefore just what we need. You can do anything you want here, if you have the money.’

‘Dealers?’ Pelter asked.

‘You’ll be falling over them. You can get just about anything. Fortunes are made out here on the edge, through technologies coming out of the Polity and proscribed weapons going in. Huma’s become a trading outpost.’

‘I’ll want a dropbird, seeker bullets and missiles—proton guns as well.’

‘You’ll be able to buy all that. Not cheap, but anything you want. We should be able to get it all through the dealer Jarvellis used.’

Pelter nodded and looked closely at John Stanton. ‘I’ll find a dealer. I’ll want you to find the boys and sort out one or two other things,’ he said.

‘Whatever you say, Arian.’

As they sat out the hour until landing, sipping from self-heating soup cartons, Pelter could almost feel the image in his missing left eye. The thin-gun. It seemed to push a cold ache through the centre of his head, and he knew that place to be the hole the pulse would burn right the way through.

* * *

The door irised open and bright lemon sunlight flooded the hold, before a wave of heat and spicy perfume. Pelter led the way out into that light, with Mr. Crane walking a step behind him, holding the briefcase. Stanton paused at the lip and glanced back in, before hurrying after them.