She reached into the satchel slung across her shoulders and pulled out a band, using it to tie back her shoulder-length dark hair, flecked here and there with silver. Then she started to walk.

Megan hadnt been walking for much more than an hour before some instinct caused her to glance up. She glimpsed a black outline occluding the stars and growing larger by the second as it descended towards her. It appeared that her arrival had not, after all, gone unnoticed.

She stumbled backwards as a machine came thudding down onto the cracked dirt before her. Starlight glittered from its glassy black skin and armour-plated struts. Judging by the markings on its carapace, it was one of Avilons security mechs, set to guard against unauthorized intrusions.

Megan stared at it in shock. Even though shed been prepared for something like this, actually coming face to face with such a deadly machine was another matter. Her body instinctively wanted to turn and run, but she was all too aware of just how much firepower the mech was carrying. Shed be dead before she could take a single step.

Moving with exaggerated care, she reached inside her satchel and removed a stubby tube made of copper-coloured metal and dark plastic. She held it out towards the mech, at the same time pressing a small switch on the side of the device.

She waited for something to happen but nothing did. She stared at the mech, dry-mouthed and unsure of what to do next.

The mech began to probe the machine part of her consciousness with informational feelers, looking for possible points of entry. It had already detected the cerebral implants she used to interface with starships. A brilliant white light flared out from the mechs torso, dazzling her. Then a sudden gust of air from its turbo jets sent her coat flailing around her legs.

She kept the override unit held out before her in one trembling hand. But suddenly the idea that this little box this cheap, prefabbed gizmo of hacked-together circuitry and stolen override codes could possibly protect her seemed utterly futile. She was outclassed, and she knew it.

Kazim had assured her endlessly of the devices efficacy, but at that moment she found herself wondering whether she might have made a terrible mistake by relying on him. It had since occurred to her that if anything were to happen to her, all those contacts she had so carefully built up over the years would have no choice but to deal with him directly and then Kazims profits from the illegal exportation of sans de sezi, out of Corkscrew, would surely increase by a not inconsequential margin.

The machines servos whined faintly, its carapace splitting apart to reveal intricate glittering machinery underneath. It was, she realized to her further dismay, focusing its attack systems directly on her.

At the same time, a low rumble built up somewhere deep within the machines core, building towards a crescendo.