'Yes,' said Mika, something in her voice. Cormac studied her suspiciously, but she was watching the dracoman.

Cormac felt uncomfortable for more than one reason. It was disconcerting to think that the air was filling with little mycelium-killing machines, and that they were on his tongue and in his nostrils. The dracoman seemed to find the whole thing amusing. It grinned, then walked to the viewing window and stared directly at Cormac, which was disconcerting as well, as the window was set for one-way viewing. He had nearly convinced himself the dracoman could not see him, when it pointed up at the intercom speaker.

'They do have vocal cords. They should be able to speak,' said Mika.

Cormac reached across and switched on the inter- com. 'Have you something to say, my friend?' he asked, trying to appear unruffled. This could be what he needed. At last he might begin to unravel this mystery.

'Dragon coming,' said the dracoman, and turned away.

'Wait!'

The dracoman returned to the middle of the floor and sat down, and from there it just grinned at him.

'I don't think you're going to get any more than it wants to tell you. Remember, its motivations are not the same as ours.'

Cormac contained his anger. 'Yes,' he said.

But Dragon was coming, and had never been shy of communication, even in its Delphic and sometimes explosive fashion.

The rain was flecked with black dirt blown up from the burn zones on the edge of the equatorial deserts and though it slid from the repelling charge on the screen of the old Ford Macrojet, a line of sludge was gathering at the join between screen and bonnet. Daven stared at the sludge for a moment, then across the expanse of streaming slabs of the AGC park to the entrance of the metrotel. It was all bright and warm beyond the glass panes and there was a party going on in the lower bar. Two hours earlier a load of aircabs had come in to land to belch the revellers. It seemed as if someone had taken out a marriage contract during the long day and was now celebrating that idiocy.

'They have contracts?' Pellen asked yet again.

'They have contracts,' Daven confirmed. 'They still have them in a lot of places, but more often out here beyond the Line. You must have seen it?'

'Never occurred to me,' Pellen said, shaking her head. Daven inspected her. She was an attractive woman and he wondered why she had felt the need to go catadapt. She was also, he felt, a bit naive for this sort of operation. People who had spent most of their formative years on an Outlink station tended to be that way. No doubt ECS had sent her out here as part of her training. Easy way in, trying to track down a few arms runners, especially with Jill, the Golem, to dig her out of any pit traps. The stakes had gone up though as soon as Jill had seen Arian Pelter coming out of Grendel's place. Now things might just get a little sticky.

'Two of them. Three o'clock,' said Pellen abrupdy.

Daven lifted his attention from the sludge below the screen and looked where directed. It was the slick mer- cenary with a rainfilm over his business suit, and the heavy who had met Pelter outside The Sharrow. They were sauntering towards the metrotel. Velet and Jill should be along behind them any time now. As he reached for the intensifier on the dash, Daven heard a low thump, then rain and warm damp air gusted into the AGC. Rear-door lock blown, shit! He had no time to get to his stomach holster. A hand closed in his hair and cold metal pressed into his throat.

'Now, that nasty little thin-gun you have down there you can carefully pull out and drop on the floor,' said Mennecken.

Daven saw that the other two mercenaries were now quickly coming in their direction. 'What do you want?' he asked, carefully moving his hand towards his gun. He glanced at Pellen, who was staring in horror at the both of them. If she did anything, he was dead. He gave a slight shake of his head and was rewarded with a touch of keen pain at his throat.

'The gun,' Mennecken repeated.

Daven slowly pulled the gun from its holster and let it drop. 'Just tell me what you want,' he said.

'I want you to be quiet,' said Mennecken. He shoved Daven's head forward and drew the razor-sharp ceramal blade back, and then he turned with a smile to Pellen. She stifled a scream as Daven fumbled at his throat trying to stem the blood gushing on the floor and all over his discarded weapon, then she reacted. Claws, which were not normally part of the cat adaptation, extruded from the ends of her fingers. She swiped Mennecken hard, opening deep slices on his face.

Mennecken reeled back and swore, and in that moment Pellen popped the door and was out of it.

'Bitch!'

Mennecken opened the door he had blown, rounded it and leapt onto the bonnet. He glanced aside at Corlackis and Stanton, who were now running towards the car, then he leapt down. His feet came down on something soft and went straight from under him. He went down flat on top of a ground skate and it bubbled at him and tried to drag itself on. He yelled with pure rage and drove his dagger into the creature. Its only reaction was to bubble some more and to keep attempting to move. Four deep stab wounds seemed to have no effect on it. It did not even bleed.

'Get after her!' yelled Corlackis as he came to the car.

Mennecken slid off the skate and stood. His clothing was covered with slime and he stank like something rotting in a tideline. 'Fucking thing!' he yelled and kicked the skate before turning and running into the alley along which Pellen had fled.

'We'll deal with the other one, then go after him,' said Stanton, slapping his hand on the bonnet. 'We've got about three minutes.'

Corlackis opened the passenger door and Daven slumped out of it. He raised an eyebrow. 'Did you have to cut so deep, brother mine?' he asked.

'He could have taken them both with a gun. What the hell's wrong with him?' Stanton asked, a bad taste in his mouth.

Corlackis hit a release inside the car and the boot popped. He got hold of the corpse and dragged it out, then round to the back. Stanton helped him tip the man inside.

'Mennecken can look after himself,' Corlackis replied.

Stanton shook his head as he slammed the boot shut. 'That wasn't what I meant and you know it.'

'Yes, I do.' ,

Stanton checked his watch, then looked behind. 'We haven't time for this,' he said.

Corlackis nodded to him, then moved back. He took off his rainfilm and fastidiously draped it over the passenger seat. Stanton moved round to the driver's side. As he got in he thought that this was the price you paid for using the most efficient killers; quite often they enjoyed it. He looked at Corlackis, who had yet to get in.