"I will not," said Cormac.

"Sorry about this," said the mind.

Suddenly Cormac turned and began swimming back, only it wasn't him swimming, it was the suit.

"You can't do this!" he protested.

"Assistance is coming for Dax," said the mind.

Then far ahead, Cormac saw a shape hurtling towards him, a white water trail behind it. As he watched, it swung wide, so it remained distant enough for him to be unsure, but certainly it was insectile, with many legs folded underneath.

"I hate you," said the boy, not sure whether his hate was directed at the submind controlling his suit or at that distant unknowable drone.

Cormac could not tell how many periods of sleep and rude awakening passed as the ATV travelled over rough terrain, but eventually they arrived somewhere, and the compartment was opened. Samara peered in at him for a moment, backlit by dawn sky, then reached in and slipped something over his head.

"That's braided monofilament around your neck," she said, "so climb out very carefully and be careful not to snag on anything, or your head might end up on the ground."

Cormac climbed out, unable to take his time as she kept up the tension on the glittering strand extending from her hand to his neck.

"The neurotoxin is leaving your system now, agent," she said. "Don't make any errors of judgement at this point."

"I'm not an agent," he said, though he wasn't sure why he bothered.

The ATV had been parked beside a copse of stunted and charred skarch struggling to put out leaf. Ahead, a track disappeared between a sprawl of low buildings interspersed with the occasional silo.

"Head for the door." Samara pointed to the nearest building.

He was about to nod, but thought better of that and just walked. Halting at the door he glanced back past her at Carl, but Carl was gazing thoughtfully off into the distance, his whole physical pose seeming completely wrong to Cormac.

"The door," Samara instructed.

Cormac pushed the handle down and stepped in.

It seemed some sort of control centre had been sited in this warehouse. Numerous foamstone pillars supported a smoked-glass roof. There seemed to be a lot of wiring, fibre optics and items of hardware up there. Similar wiring and optics snaked across the floor from sets of consoles gathered about two newer looking ATVs whose bodies were all sharp angles and plain faces—sure sign that they deployed chameleonware. He then realised what all that stuff up in the roof must be: a similar camouflage shield.

There were people busy at the consoles while others, mostly armed and clad in chameleoncloth, conducted typical army tasks with a worrying professionalism. Samara towed him over to one of the pillars, wrapped the monofilament about the foamstone and locked it off. Cormac had no doubt that the loop of filament wrapped around his neck was locked off too. Then, seeming to lose interest, she went over to stand with Carl, who was now talking to one of those working a console. After a moment she said something then pointed across the warehouse to where Skyril had handed over the case of antimatter flasks to two individuals at a set of work-benches. Carl nodded, and Samara returned to Cormac.

"Sit down," she said.

Cormac was grateful to do so, but it just had not occurred to him, which told him he still wasn't thinking straight. He sat with his back against the pillar and Samara squatted before him.

"You do understand that we knew right away that it was a trap—that the AIs wanted us to take those CTDs so they could trace them back here, Agent Cormac."

"I've already told you I'm no agent."

He glanced across and saw that Carl and Skyril were now heading over, and guessed it wouldn't be long now before the real questioning started.

"I do hope you are," she replied. "Because if you're not, I don't see any reason to keep you alive. Just like Carl says: You're either a raw recruit who was conveniently placed in the same unit as Carl when suspicion fell on him. A raw recruit, I might add, who was capable of taking down Pramer and Skyril. Or, more likely, you are a Polity agent."

"He's almost certainly an agent," said Carl, stepping up beside Samara. "He was always a bit too good, a bit too efficient and a bit too fucking moral. Much as I hate to admit it, I think they knew about me right from the start. I don't see ECS using a plain grunt for an operation like this—too much chance of it going wrong and they wouldn't want that with CTDs involved."

Samara glanced up at him. "So he's probably like you, Carl—a damned sight older than he looks."

"Well let's find out," said Carl nastily.

Cormac reached up to the monofilament around his neck and toyed with the join. It was a friction grip which, if he pulled hard enough, would slide down the line; unfortunately pulling hard on a piece of monofilament wrapped around your bare neck could lead to some nasty side effects.

"Supposing that I am an agent," he said. "Do you honestly think you could get anything useful out of me?"

Carl gazed steadily at him. "Possibly not, but we'll certainly have fun trying." He focused on Cormac's fingers at the monofilament join. "Best we get that off his neck, Samara." Perhaps in any other circumstances him saying that might have been reassuring, but Cormac knew precisely why Carl now wanted the filament removed—it was far too much of an easy way out. Samara stood up and moved round to the foamstone pillar. He considered going for her, but even as he considered it, Carl was abruptly standing over him pointing a thin-gun down at his legs. Samara unhitched the monofilament from the post, inserting its end into a neat little winding device that quickly took up the slack. A tap against another control on the device released the friction slide at his neck and the filament came loose.

"Remove it," she instructed him.

Maybe a tough ECS agent would have used the filament on his own throat to prevent any vital knowledge he possessed falling into enemy hands, or maybe such a one would now use the filament as a weapon to bring down at least a few of his captors before he was killed. He was no agent and neither anxious to die nor to be tortured, and so he tried to delay the inevitable.

"I don't know if it's occurred to you yet," he said, leaving the filament precisely where it was, "but maybe Carl is your ECS agent. He's here now in your base…"

"Remove the monofilament," Samara insisted.

"How did he get in contact with you, by the way?"

"Remove the monofilament or Carl will burn off your kneecaps."

Since he rather expected something like this was the intention, he considered delaying further. Carl fired his gun, the ionized pulse punching into the plasticrete by Cormac's feet and spraying him with hot fragments. Cormac reconsidered. Maybe they would soften him up first with a beating, which he could survive, or with drugs… He removed the filament from about his neck.

"Stand up."

Every move in slow motion, he obeyed. Samara wound in the monofilament then tossed the winder to Skyril, who caught it and moved in behind Cormac.

"Hands behind your back."

Ah, he was beginning to see now. They didn't want him truncating the questioning by cutting his own throat, but it didn't matter if he sliced up his wrists or even cut off his hands, because they could still keep him alive. Maybe now was the time—

Carl's foot went like a swinging beam into his stomach, driving him back against the pillar. It seemed the man could read his intentions before they turned to actions. Skyril then grabbed his T-shirt and shoved him forwards, catching hold of his arms and pulling them back. Cormac went down on his knees, unable to do otherwise. Skyril looped monofilament about his wrists. He started to slump forwards, but the filament began to tighten as Skyril attached the other end to the post, so with a huge effort of will he forced himself upright again. Skyril now pulled his ankles together, looping a plastic tie about them—Cormac recognised the clicking sound as it closed. Then the man stood and stepped past him, bringing his flack gun sharply back and smashing it into Cormac's mouth. He nearly went over again, but fought to maintain position, then shuffled back up to give himself at least a little slack. He spat out fragments of tooth, felt his lip swelling and blood running down his chin.