That left the chelicerae. Brachis made up his mind and sighted his weapon. It bucked in his grip and the organ, severed near the base, dropped to the ground in front of the spider.

He moved to sight on the second chelicerae but there was no time for a shot. The spider swiveled to face its new attacker and came scuttling towards him across the pebbled ground. The maw gaped, wide enough to swallow him whole. Brachis recalled MacDougal’s dry comment, that no one would actually be eaten. Spiders did not ingest solid food. They pre-digested their victims by injecting enzymes, then sucked them dry. There was little comfort in MacDougal’s words. The maw looming up on Brachis was more than strong enough to crush him flat. He dropped behind the stand of moss and huddled motionless on the ground. There was a buzzing and a hissing overhead, and a monstrous shape blocked out the light. Brachis turned his head to look upwards. The vast abdomen was directly over him. He could see every detail: the dozen projectile wounds leaking blood and body fluids … the oozing nozzles of the spinnerets, still charged with silk … the colonies of mite and tick parasites, clinging to the coarse body bristles.

Then the spider had charged on. The air filled with a sweet scent of decay.

He rolled over, sat up, and looked around. How in the world were the Adestis manufacturers able to make simulacra that captured and transmitted smells?

But that question had to wait for another day. Brachis glanced to right and left. Two others must have dived for cover at the same moment as he had, and the spider had passed right over them, too. They were both lying motionless.

Still playing dead, even after the spider had gone. They were taking Dougal MacDougal’s advice a bit too seriously.

He hurried over and tapped one of them on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get on with it or we’ll never be out of here.”

There was no reply. The simulacrum remained totally immobile. Brachis leaned closer, looking for the small green light between the shoulders that showed that the simulacrum was still occupied and in working order. The light was on. He went to the other motionless figure. That light was on, too.

Brachis squatted back on his heels, for the moment oblivious to the frantic battle that went on behind him. This whole thing was crazy. He was sure that the spider had missed all three of them. He had actually seen a blurred image of huge legs scrambling by, a good three paces from all of them. So why were the other two still lying here, just as though the spider had managed to put them out of action? And if they were out of action, why did the simulacra show they were not?

Brachis gave a startled growl of comprehension. He set his weapon to automatic, fired a blind volley at the spider’s belly, and at the same moment bit down hard on his rear molar control.

There was a dizzying moment of disorientation. Then he felt the Monitor headset covering his face. THAT IS THE END OF ADESTIS FOR YOU, said a metallic voice in his ear. REMAIN SEATED IF YOU WISH, BUT -

Brachis ripped the Monitor set off his head with one movement and stared around him.

He was still sitting in the same place in the Adestis battle chamber. Of the two dozen people who had embarked on the Adestis safari, half were already lolling in their seats with their headsets off. Their simulacra had been killed by the spider, and they were now experiencing the vicarious agony of their own deaths.

Another dozen still wore the Monitor sets — but three of them sat slumped forward in their restraining harnesses, their clothes drenched with blood. Brachis saw that their throats had been cut so deeply that the heads were almost severed.

He slapped at his release harness. Before he could rise to his feet a tall figure came looming over him. It was familiar. At the same time as his mind rejected recognition of that tall, cadaverous figure, a skinny arm brought something swinging in towards his unprotected neck. A bright ceremonial sword whistled through the air.

Brachis jerked his right arm upwards. There was a clean, meaty crunch. His hand, severed below the base of the thumb, flew out and fell on the floor on front of him. His uniform reacted even before he had time to feel pain. The shirt sensors recorded the sudden drop in blood pressure and activated a web of fibers in his right sleeve. The knit material on his right forearm tightened to form a tourniquet.

The sword came swinging in again towards his neck and head. Brachis swayed forward, under the swing, and reached out and around with his left arm. He grasped the back of the narrow neck and pulled the body forward against his face. He closed his eyes and made a total, reflexive effort. Vertebrae snapped under his twisting fingers. The dropped sword passed over his back and slid harmlessly past his legs.

Still entwined, Brachis and his assailant tumbled together to the floor of the chamber. He landed underneath, gasping at the impact.

He opened his eyes, and gasped again. His first, incredulous impression had been correct. He was staring into the lifeless face of the Margrave of Fujitsu.

Even though Luther Brachis had done his best to persuade her, Godiva Lomberd refused to sit in the room where the Adestis attack would take place. She had listened quietly, smiled, shook her gorgeous blond head, and said: “Luther, my sweet, Nature designed some people for one thing, and some for others. Your life is Security — sabotage, weapons, skirmishes, and violence. Mine is Art. Music, dancing and poetry. I’m not saying my life is better than yours. But I am saying I won t come and watch while Dougal MacDougal satisfies his blood lust trying to kill some poor harmless animal that is only doing what its nature programmed it to do. I don’t have to be there, even if you do.” She placed her fingertips on his lips. “No argument, Luther. I’m not coming — not even into the spectators’ gallery.”

In the end she had relented far enough to accompany Brachis to the main Adestis facility. She allowed him to settle her in the neighboring lounge and order refreshments for her while she waited. She seemed delighted when Esro Mondrian arrived at the same lounge a few minutes later.

“What brings you here, Commander? I can’t believe that you like Adestis.”

“1 don’t.” Mondrian had with him a tiny, dark-haired woman. She was already staring curiously at Godiva. “We came because Luther is here, and we need to talk to him.”

“You can’t do it now. He’s involved in this safari, and they must be right in the middle of it.”

’That’s all right. We’ll wait.” Mondrian turned to the woman with him. “Lotos, this is Godiva Lomberd. Godiva, Lotos Sheldrake. If you two don’t mind I’m going to leave you here for a few minutes. If Luther comes out, don’t let him get away. He has to wait until I come back.”

Godiva nodded. “Where’s Tatty?”

“Down on Earth again.” Mondrian hesitated. Godiva was still looking at him expectantly. “She’s helping me.

I needed images and recordings of a few places. She ought to be back here in a week or two.”

Godiva nodded. She seemed faintly puzzled, but she said nothing more as Mondrian left and Lotos settled down to sit opposite her. There was an awkward silence.

“Are you involved with Adestis?” said Lotos at last.

The other woman smiled and shook her head. “Just heard about it, enough to convince me I don’t want anything to do with it. How about you?”

“Once, and never again.” Lotos related the details of her experience at the termite nest. She underplayed the danger, but emphasized her own terror and discomfort. She did her best to be humorous and self-deprecating — and she watched closely for Godiva’s every reaction.

Since hearing of the contract with Luther Brachis, Lotos had put her own information service to work. Their efforts had been pathetically unproductive. Godiva Lomberd had popped into view a few years ago on Earth, officially as an ‘artistic performer’. The peerless Godiva Bird, Model, Consort, and Exotic Dancer, said the publicity. In fact, she was a rich man’s courtesan.