'What are those?' asked Mennecken, pointing at the objects underneath each wing. This was the first time he had seen the bird.
The objects were visible. If you stared at them too long, it seemed as if they were floating in midair.
'AG lifters for transporting it,' Stanton replied.
'It has no AG at all?'
'No, grav motors are heavy and it needs to be as light as possible. Also, even when they're not operating, grav motors give off a recognizable signature. Of course, when they're operating you might just as well come in ringing bells and letting off fireworks.'
'It isn't completely necessary to state the obvious. I was just thinking of safety,' said Mennecken.
'There should be no problem. This is, as Svent would say, good tech.'
'If there is a problem?'
'Then there'll be a crater,' Stanton replied, turning away.
Corlackis stopped by a long open crate and inspected its contents. The rest of them were moving on to where the fat man was waiting with his two shaven-head heavies. Stanton did not trust Grendel at all, but then there were few people he did trust. He shoved his hand into his pocket and strolled casually after. He glanced at the crate in passing. Four missiles lay there. Each was two metres long and a handbreadth wide at its widest point, which was the middle. Each end of the missiles came to a needle point.
'Hyper compressed-gas drive,' said Corlackis, joining him. 'Nice.' This too was Corlackis's first time here. Only Stanton and Pelter had come out the first time.
'Again no AG. It would be detected on the way down,' said Stanton.
Mennecken gave him an annoyed look as they approached the others.
'It's all here, then,' said Corlackis, waving a hand at the other crates.
'Oh, yes, friend Grendel certainly knows how to lay his hands on some hardware,' said Stanton. 'By the way, get ready for the shit to hit and watch Svent and Dusache.'
Corlackis gave him a puzzled glance and clamped down on a question. They were too close. He slid his finger down the seam of his jacket and let it drop open. Mennecken saw him do this and did the same. The three of them came up behind Svent and Dusache.
Grendel was speaking. 'Then you are satisfied?' the fat man asked, holding his hands out before him as if measuring a fish.
'I am satisfied with the goods, but not where they are,' said Pelter.
Grendel shrugged and pointed to the ceiling.
Pelter went on. 'We can take the crates out to the Lyric. By the time we've done that the storm should have eased enough for us to move the bird.'
'As you wish. They are all your property now,' said Grendel. He was now puzzled. 'What else is it that you require?' he asked.
'Your position with your client assures me. of your silence in this matter,' said Pelter. 'Unfortunately, though the information with which he has provided me is good, I am still prone to distrust.'
'I know you have spoken with… him,' said Grendel.
Stanton looked from the fat man to Pelter. Who the hell was this client? What was this all about? He closed his sweaty hand round the handle of his stun gun. From the corner of his eye he noted movement. Mr Crane putting down the briefcase. Pelter turned and looked at Stanton.
'Now,' he said.
Stanton drew his gun and fired twice. Svent and Dusache gasped as if they had been gut-thumped and went face-down on the plascrete. Corlackis and Mennecken had pulse-guns, but seemed not to know where to point them. They backed up, trying to cover everyone. Stanton ignored them.
'Your client has told me that, in due course, Ian Cormac will go to the planet Viridian,' said Pelter. Grendel was moving back. His two heavies had their hands poised over their stomach holsters and were looking questioningly at the back of Grendel's head.
'What is this, Pelter? You're offline,' Grendel said.
Pelter went on. 'On Viridian I will be waiting for Cormac and there I will kill him. Your client's intentions in this matter are not clear to me.'
Suddenly Mr Crane surged forwards, his shoes kicking up sparks from the plascrete. As he had before he grabbed the two shaveheads by the fronts of their shipsuits and lifted them high in the air. A gun clattered to the ground and a second one flashed. There was a thump and smoke rose from Mr Crane's coat. There was no visible effect on him. He slammed the two men together and dropped them. One of them lay with his skull distorted and an eyeball displaced. Blood poured from his nostrils. The other man had managed to get his arms up in time. He was still alive and trying to drag himself away with two broken arms. Grendel turned and looked with horror at his two protectors. He turned back to Pelter.
'You can't do this. My client… they will come for you,' he said.
Pelter shook his head. He tapped his organic aug. 'You are the control here. I said I would not be controlled. Your client- he spat the word ' - is too far away to have that much influence. Without you, there is no one here to give orders.' He looked round at Mennecken and Corlackis. 'Kill him,' he said.
The two mercenaries straightened up. Stanton saw the confusion leave their expressions. Now they knew what they were doing. Two pulse-guns thumped as Grendel gave a frightened yell. The two hits caved in his chest, but such was his bulk that he did not immediately go over. A third hit took his arm off at the elbow, and a fourth took off the top of his head. Amazingly he walked a couple of paces after this before going over and sagging on the ground like a rotten fruit.
'What was that all about?' Stanton asked Pelter.
The Separatist tapped his organic aug. 'Dragon, trying to get control of me through him.' He pointed at the sagging bulk. 'He already had Svent and Dusache and a few hundred others here.'
'Dragon. You mean that Aster Colora—'
'Yes, I mean precisely that.'
'What about the others now?'
'It's subde control. He no longer has it.'
There was the thump of a pulse-gun to Stanton's left. He looked over and saw that Mennecken had finished off the remaining shavehead. Mr Crane was standing close and gazing down at the body, his head moving birdlike. Pelter glanced at him and Crane froze.
'Now we load up these crates. You will come in the dropbird with me, John. The rest of you go over in the transporter.'
Stanton nodded.
'What about these?' Corlackis asked, pointing his pulse-gun at Svent and Dusache.
'Remove their augs,' said Pelter.
'Could be dangerous without shutdown.'
Pelter just stared at him. Corlackis shrugged, then pulled something from his pocket. There was a click, and chainglass glittered. He stooped over Svent and Dusache.
'What about yours?' Stanton asked.
Pelter closed his eyes. In that moment he looked as if he was about to throw up. He reached up and gripped his second aug. It seemed to be squirming in his grip.
'This, you mean?' he asked, his voice tight and vicious.
Stanton stepped back. No telling how Pelter might react. He gripped the handle of his stun gun and kept his face expressionless. Abruptly Pelter snarled and tore the aug from his head. He threw it hard against the floor and stared at it. After a moment he stamped on it, men again and again. Finally he ground the fleshy remnants to pulp under his heel.
'That - about mine,' he said.
The layer of cloud was breaking like a crust, to expose lemon cracks. Pelter eased forward on the controls and the dropbird slid away from the warehouse, then up into the air. All its lift came entirely from the AG transport plates, and all its forward motion from the tilting of those plates. Because there were no turbines and no thrust from any other quarter, and because of the bird's aerodynamic shape, it was eerily silent. There was also something spooky, Stanton felt, about looking through the side of the screen and not immediately being able to make out the body and wings of the craft in which he was travelling.