"I hear you're looking for Samara," said the woman.

"Apparently I was misled," Cormac replied. "Very few people here with that name now."

"Well, you've found one of them."

He could play this game too. "But have I found the right one?" He did not need to study her too closely to know she was not one of those who had been sitting at the table with Carl, but in his briefing from Olkennon this Samara matched the description of one of those Carl had been in contact with. "Carl's descriptions of those he spoke to were somewhat vague, just as were his accounts of what was said."

"And you claim to be his partner?"

"I thought myself his partner, but whether he intended me to retain that position is open to doubt."

"Convenient, if you feared not getting your story straight."

"Well, I know enough to know that there's some payment due."

"To Carl."

"To Carl, who, courtesy of one of your people, is now breathing through a tube."

"We feel that Carl did not fulfil his side of the deal."

Cormac stared at her for a long moment, then casually said, "Is this goon going to remove his penis substitute from my side or am I going to have to break what's left of his arm?"

"You talk tough for a new recruit to ECS. Do you think you could break his arm before he skewered your liver?"

"It's not something I'd like to try," Cormac replied—deliberate retraction of bravado. "But I would like our discussion to be on a more civilized footing."

The woman waved her hand and the blade was retracted. She no doubt thought Cormac incapable of dealing with these two even without that blade at his gut. He felt she had just removed the one thing he could have done nothing about, though he did not want things to go that far.

"Thank you," he said. "Now, you were saying that you feel Carl did not fulfil his side of your deal. As I recollect, he gave you access to the Prador ship. He showed you where to go in under our watch." Necessary to use the "our." They would have known, or at least knew now, who had been in that foxhole with Carl.

"He gave us access—agreed," she said grudgingly.

"Therefore the deal had been fulfilled."

"The idea was for our people to go in, grab a Prador warhead, and get out again. They didn't get out again."

"Which is hardly our fault, now is it?"

"Then there's other issues." Cormac waited for her to continue. "Carl's motivation to help us wasn't all about money. He is a Jovian Separatist and believes in the Cause, in bringing about the fall of the AI autocrat and all its minions. Are you here to tell me you are the mercenary side of the partnership?"

Cormac deliberately looked uncomfortable. "No, I'm not saying that—I'm from Callisto too. But both of us follow the Cause only so far. Yes, we will help it along its way if we can, but the pay had better be worth the risk."

Her expression remained dead as she said, "I see."

Cormac could feel the thugs on either side of him sit up a little straighter and prepare themselves. Now was the time for the lure.

"But seeing how things went wrong for you, I am prepared to compromise."

"Compromise." Tone flat. She thought he was just a mercenary on the make who, seeing his danger, was trying to worm his way out of it. She would not believe what he had to say next unless that threat was removed. He let something relax inside him and adrenaline surged, screwing his stomach into a ball and seeming to pour heat down his spine. He turned slightly, to give himself more leverage. Silly thugs to sit so close. He brought his elbow back into the throat of Mr Stiletto, caught the knife hand as it came across from his choking victim, twisted and pushed down. The blade went straight through the wrist of the other thug as he brought his flack gun across. The man struggled, leaning forwards, blood spurting from the wound, but his grip was wet and slippery. Cormac took away the gun and smacked it hard against Mr Stiletto's temple, then almost as an afterthought crashed the head of the one he had just disarmed, hard, down on the table. Both of them were now unconscious, or as near enough to that state as to make no difference.

"Yes, compromise." He rested the weapon on the table, its barrel pointing towards Samara. He paused for a moment, taking steady breaths, and noted his hand wasn't shaking at all. He did, however, feel sick, but refused to throw up here, now.

He continued, "After we let your people through they screwed up and got themselves killed. We can't be held responsible for that, or at least I can't," he added. "The opportunity to get your people in that way ended when ECS put autoguns on the perimeter and moved us on. But together we could have made new opportunities hadn't one of your ill-disciplined idiots taken it upon himself to blow out Carl's lungs."

"I did not agree with that," she said. "Nor did the Central Committee."

Central Committee—interesting.

"Whatever." Cormac abruptly picked up the weapon and rested it across the crook of his arm pointing at Stiletto, who seemed to be recovering. The other one was making odd snoring sounds and Cormac hoped he hadn't hit him too hard. "The net result of that action is that Carl will face some hard questions when they put his larynx back in. I am also under suspicion. I was bugged earlier and I was being followed."

"Yes, I do know."

Of course, someone knowledgeable in the ways of subterfuge would not have let Cormac know that. This Samara wanted to appear tough and clever.

"You know?"

"I had you watched from the moment you left ECS Base Camp… Why did you use the stunner, why not kill him?"

Cormac shrugged. "I wanted it to look like a robbery and killing him would only have increased suspicion. As it is suspicion will have increased, especially when they find out I dumped the bugs."

"So why are you here?"

Stiletto revived with a grunt, so Cormac abruptly pressed the barrel of the weapon against the side of his head. "Move away slowly and go and sit over there." He nodded towards a nearby bench table. Once Stiletto had obeyed, Cormac returned his attention to Samara. "They can't run autoguns all around the perimeter. There's not enough of them here yet, and with earth-moving equipment travelling in and out the logistics get a bit untenable."

"So."

"So, after they replaced my unit with autoguns and after Carl ended up coughing up bits of his lungs, they put what remained of us—without our Golem sergeant—on a guard detail inside the ship. They actually used us as bait to draw out those Prador remaining hidden inside. We nearly died."

"So, you're pissed off about that."

"A little, not a lot—comes with the territory."

The gun wielder snorted a mixture of blood and snot onto the table surface. Cormac edged away from him a little.

"What you should be interested in is what I managed to pick up while I was in there. You see, I know precisely where there is a rack of five one-megaton warheads—all small enough to be carried by a man apiece, and I know how to get you inside to them."