"Thorn here. Has the death been reported?"

"Yes," replied the Cheyne III runcible AI, its voice faint since Cereb, the moon on which it was situated, was now only just above the horizon. Use of a satellite to bounce the signal would have been too risky.

"They'll be in touch. Apparently something more challenging for me."

"Another killing?"

"Maybe. If it is I may have to refuse it, as that gets me no closer to Brom."

"That is your decision," the AI replied — its voice clearer now. "Understand though that your mission is now of limited duration, since you may be required elsewhere."

"Why's that?"

"An Outlink station has recently been destroyed and one of the Dragon spheres may be involved."

"Cormac?"

"Is on his way."

Thorn whistled then said, "Layer upon layer. I wonder if there's some connection to the Dragoncorp augs, or to that other tech?"

"Dracocorp," the AI corrected. "The name of the corporation was changed."

"Is there a connection?" Thorn persisted.

"Almost certainly, but your primary mission here is to locate Brom's hideout and call in your team to… deal with it. Let others deal with the bigger picture."

"Oh, I won't forget," said Thorn, switching his wrist-com to another channel. He smiled to himself, thinking how euphemistic AIs became when discussing these matters. It surprised him that the Cereb AI had not used that other favourite: 'field-excision'.

"Thorn speaking. Where are you now?" he asked.

"Floor below you," replied the leader of the four-man team that was covering him in the hotel.

"Okay, stay close and wait for my signal. If I do give that signal, I want you to come in hard and fast. None of this 'You are under arrest' bollocks."

"You're the boss," came the reply.

After shutting down com, Thorn finished his shower and, again as Stiles the wealthy killer., went to find some entertainment with one of the bodies lying by the pool. It was not the same as in the old days. It would have been just he and Gant covering each other. But in the old days he had been a soldier, not an undercover agent for Earth Central. He missed Gant, he missed the way things used to be. Samarkand had changed him.

With increasing confusion, Apis listened in to the sporadic talk around him. Who were these people talking to? Did they not have the facility to run silent queries through their biotech augs? His education was broad enough for him to know of prayer, but his experience was narrow and he did not immediately recognize it. He stared at the man seated next to him, who was holding a blood-soaked wad of cloth to his stomach. In his left hand the man held a ring of beads fashioned in the shape of tiny skulls. These were caked with dried blood, and hung still on his fingers. He was muttering to himself in a language Apis did not understand, so he tried to ignore it. Madness. Speaking to gods? It was only real conversation between individuals Apis was prepared to acknowledge:

"How long?" the commander asked another officer, who seemed all efficiency as he ran through some sort of inventory — kneading at his aug as he checked lockers and displays.

"A year, nominally, though there are alternatives."

"Lang, I don't want to hear about alternatives. It is Masada or nothing. How are we for supplies?"

Lang said, "The water we can recycle indefinitely. With fifteen in the cryopods, the food should get us through — just. There will be deficiencies."

"Hardship refines the faithful," said the commander.

His way of speaking confused Apis. The man seemed to use a whole sentence to say one word, when not using a whole sentence to say nothing.

"Yes, I imagine it does, but we have more than hardship," said Lang.

"With prayer no problem is insurmountable."

Lang stared at his commander and it was evident that some silent communication passed between them. After this, the commander swung his attention to the wounded soldiers, then to Apis and his mother. The Outlinker was young and inexperienced, but he immediately knew he was in danger, just as others on that ship knew they also were. The prayers got louder and louder and some men were on their knees working themselves into a frenzy. The commander turned back to Lang and paused for a moment before nodding. Apis shoved at his mother to try to rouse her, but she would not be roused, not then — nor when the four soldiers grabbed them and dragged them to the airlock. Perhaps it was the arrogance of assumed superiority that made Apis speak out, even though he knew a casual blow from them might kill him.

"We mustn't die in bonds," Apis said to the white-faced soldier who held his frangible arms in hands like steel clamps. They were now at the airlock, where another soldier was spinning the wheel. A wheel? A manual airlock! Madness. Apis improvised in the pause his words had caused. "Would you have us come before Him in bonds?" It sounded right anyway. With his expression revealing shame, the soldier drew a knife and severed the plastic ties on Apis's wrists and ankles. The same was not done for his mother, though. Together they were shoved into the cramped space, the door wound shut behind them.

Apis hyperventilated at a rate abnormal in any normal human being, and wished his mother could do the same. He was dizzy by the time the air started to be pumped out of the lock — his cells now fully charged with oxygen. He linked one arm round the tie on his mother's wrists and linked the other round one of the bars set in the side wall of the airlock. It was good that those inside were so short of air, otherwise they might have opened the outer lock directly, and nothing would have stopped him being sucked out into void. He allowed the small amount of air in his lungs to eject, then closed his nostrils, ears, rectum. His saliva turned to resin and sealed his mouth. He inflated, and his nictitating membranes closed over his eyes. Against him his mother grew to twice her normal size as her body did those same things unconsciously. She would have forty or fifty minutes. He would have a little longer. Now, as the outer lock opened onto vacuum, he considered what he must do with that time.

Apis wanted to act immediately, but knew that this would gain him nothing. Instead, he thought his way through it. If he and his mother were found still alive inside the airlock, the soldiers would likely make sure they were not alive the next time the lock was opened. Apis studied the interior and noted a storage space set in the wall. He opened it to find inside two emergency suits with small oxygen packs, some lines, and a couple of large canisters of breach sealant. He pulled out the two suits and two lines, and was about to pull one of the suits onto his mother when he saw the outer lock closing. He quickly towed her through it and outside.

With no air to distort distance, the stars shone as bright as arc lamps, and the exterior of the landing craft was revealed in harsh clarity. Apis saw pieces of wreckage floating on a parallel course to it, but the ion engine on this side of the craft blocked his view behind, and he tried not to think about what had happened to the other Outlinkers. To be able to survive vacuum for almost an hour would be no mercy in such a situation. After attaching himself to the hull of the craft with a line, he completed the laborious procedure of pulling one of the suits onto the inflated body of his mother. With everything at full stretch, it only just fitted her. When he turned on the oxygen, the suit mimicked the body it contained and went rigid. Inside, Apis knew, his mother would be returning to normal. Hence, if she became conscious, she would find herself inside a suit much too large for her. He attached her to the hull of the ship with a line, just in time to return to the edge of the outer lock as it began to reopen.