'Identity confirmed, Ian Cormac,' spoke an androgynous voice.

'I want passage to Minostra as soon as possible,' he said, then he turned his head slightly as all sounds beyond him suddenly cut out. A privacy field that he had not requested had developed. Now a completely different voice, but one he recognized, spoke from the console.

'Would that be executive class or second?' the Cheyne III runcible AI asked him.

Cormac frowned, but felt a kind of joy. This perhaps was the nearest he could come to linking. This privacy, this difference.

'I think there is nothing worse than a runcible AI - an intelligence responsible for the lives of thousands every day - that likes to make jokes,' he growled.

'Then let us move on to something without humour. Arian Pelter has disappeared. Before doing this, he managed to withdraw Separatist funds as well as his personal fortune in cash. He was also seen visiting Sylac, whom I believe you know. Other events may also be connected. A turbine-powered catamaran was driven into the old lading docks and caused extreme damage. I only mention this because of the rumour that it contained a headless woman.'

'That may have some relevance,' Cormac conceded, immediately shutting down on an emotion he did not want to identify. 'Pelter was always one for melodramatic gestures. Combine something like a Viking funeral with a Separatist blow against the industry the Polity condescends to allow… Is that all?'

'I have no more information to pass on to you at present.'

'Will you pass on anymore?'

'If instructed.'

'Who instructed you this time?'

'Horace Blegg… Now, if you go to Gate C, your departure time will be in ten minutes.'

'Thank you.'

'Good luck, Ian Cormac.'

Cormac was about to ask if he needed it, when the privacy field suddenly shut off. He turned away and headed for Gate C. As he walked, he pulled up his sleeve and punched in the deactivation sequence on his shuriken holster. Within minutes of leaving the Mino-stra containment sphere, he would be able to reactivate it. The main reason for the proscription was to prevent a person carrying an active weapon within the sphere itself. All weapons on the proscribed list were of the types capable of being used to damage a runcible; an occurrence that could easily lead to another Samarkand.

First Constable Abram spoke quietly and calmly into his mike as he watched the house through his favoured pair of antique binoculars. It was a small place by the standards of the area: one of those Tundra chalet replicas that had been all the rage half a century back. The roof was red-tiled over a construction of synthetic wood painted a quaint pale blue, which appeared silver in the light of Cereb, and there was a rocking chair on the veranda. Appearances could be deceptive: this did not seem the residence of an arch-criminal. He lowered the viewer and sighed. He would have preferred to bathe the place in searchlights, but blade beetles were rattling in the trees behind him and they would be attracted to the light. Already four of his men had been sent back for cell-welding after that fiasco at the Pelter residence. The men he had with him now had intensifier augs, so didn't need much in the way of light to operate. But things could still be missed.

'Now, I will ask again, because it is of a great deal of interest to me, are you all in position?'

Abram was noted for his relentless sarcasm. Many of his constables found it more frightening to be summoned into his presence than pulled before some of the other more explosive officers. He knew this, but just could not help himself, sometimes wondering if it was a sickness. He nodded to himself as four positive replies came back to him over the radio.

'Now I strongly suggest that when I say the word "Go" - that wasn't it by the way, it will be a moment yet - that you break down a few doors and arrest Alan Tenel for his numerous crimes. Now… Go?'

Abram raised his binoculars again and increased the magnification. Those who had braved his sarcasm to ask him why he used such an old instrument always got the same reply: 'Image intensifiers are the product of characterless technology. I will use them only when necessary.' It was perhaps half the truth. He knew it was probably more to do with establishing a kind of individualism: a common pastime in the vast sprawl of humanity.

He watched two of his officers moving onto the veranda. From the back of the house came the sound of breaking glass. There was a flash that momentarily blacked the binoculars' lenses. When the blackness faded, the officers were gone from view, but he could still hear them.

'Alan Tenel, get up and move away from the bed. Hands out in front of you.'

'What?… Who the hell do you think you are?'

'I won't ask a second time.'

'This is private property. How dare you!'

'Tenel, you're a Separatist shit and you're under arrest. You can walk out of here fully dressed or I can drag you out by your ankles and focus the lights on you. Plenty of blade beetles waiting out there… That's better.'

'Excellent reading of his rights, Pearson. I must remember that approach line next time I'm lecturing new recruits,' said Abram.

Nothing more than sounds of movement came over the radio for a moment.

'Sorry, sir, but he seemed a bit reluctant to cooperate.'

Abram emerged from the orchard as his constables hauled Tenel out of his house. Pearson, who, like a lot of the older recruits, was a heavy-G adaptation, had one hand clamped on Tenel's upper arm. Abram studied carefully this man they had arrested.

Tenel was small and old, and didn't look as if he could offer any trouble. Pearson and Alex were capable of tearing the man in half between them, and Jack and Solen, walking behind, both towered a head and a half above him. Abram momentarily wondered if the information given them had been mistaken, then dismissed the thought. ECS did not make that kind of error. As Tenel drew closer, Abram began to note a certain weaselly confidence.

'You do know why you've been arrested, I take it?' he asked.

'You've made a mistake, First Constable - one for which you'll pay dearly,' said Tenel.

Abram wondered what that meant: was it the usual bluster of men with a bit more in their bank accounts than the general population, or something more sinister?

'I never pay dearly for my mistakes,' said Abram. 'I'm a policeman.'

'You won't be laughing when they…'

Tenel stared beyond Abram and over to the right.

Suddenly his eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open. He pulled against the grip the two constables held on him - then he pulled harder.

'You have to get me out of here,' he said quickly.

Abram stared at him.

'You have to get me out of here!'

As Tenel struggled harder, there was spitde on his chin. Abram glanced round and saw, standing at the edge of the orchard, a very tall and odd-looking man.

'Ground him,' Abram ordered. 'Pearson, Jack, with me.'

As Pearson released Tenel's arm, Alex tripped the prisoner and forced him face-down on the ground. Solen dropped to a crouch, aiming the stubby laser carbine he was holding. Abram began walking towards the odd man, with Pearson and Jack behind him. He heard the various sliding metallic sounds as laser carbines were brought to bear and primed. Probably OTT again. This individual was more man likely a gardener employed because he was so uncommonly tall and could prune the trees more easily man most.

'No, let me go!' Tenel shouted, then his cries became muffled, no doubt as Alex shoved his face into the dirt. Abram smiled to himself; Alex was not above a litde brutality when necessary. He hooked his binoculars on his belt and rested his hand on the butt of his pulse-gun. The tall man stepped further out from the trees, then stopped, very still. Abram felt a momentary nervousness, then told himself not to be ridiculous; he had two of the toughest cops on the force with him.