Gridlinked

'Perhaps they're different from the one I saw before.'

Cormac remembered his fight in the shadow of Dragon. He had defeated that dracoman quite easily, but perhaps that was what Dragon had wanted. 'Theatrics' are how he had described Dragon's actions to Chaline. It occurred to him that the whole performance had been a cover for other actions; to leave humankind believing Dragon had destroyed itself. Had it been scared, or just a lover of subterfuge?

'Quite likely'

'What… sorry?'

'These are probably different from the one you saw on Aster Colora. Dragon probably makes them to suit its current requirements,' said Mika.

Cormac cogitated for a moment. 'How did they survive the cold?' he asked.

'Now, that is where things get really interesting. They use protein replication, but I have yet to find any kind of template. Their physiognomy will take years to unravel. But… their brain structure is completely different from ours. My theory is that the template is a mental one and that they can alter it at will, within limits. When Thorn said they must have antifreeze for blood, he was probably not far wrong. It would also be interesting to have another look at where they were sheltering.'

'Why? Some evidence there?'

'Just to see how much they ate over the last fifteen months. I bet they ate a phenomenal amount to maintain their body temperatures, and that those corpses we saw were perhaps just a couple of days' supply.'

'Is there anything about them that might indicate their purpose?'

'Nothing really, except maybe their strength. Perhaps they were made to tolerate heavy G… But such strength could pertain to anything.'

'You said the door would not stop them. Just how strong are they?'

'Have you been to the Sparkind quarters?'

Cormac shook his head.

'Well, you remember Gant telling you they had Golem Thirties? Do you know what they are?'

'Cybercorp combat androids. The best.'

Mika pointed at the dracomen. 'These two would be a match even for them.'

'Bloody hell! We should move them to a security section.'

Mika smiled. 'I doubt the security section would hold them either. Anyway, the cell has been armoured since they were first moved in, and there's shutters to come down over this window. Half a second and they end up in a box of ten-centimetre-thick case-hardened ceramal.'

'Will that be enough to—' began Cormac, but was interrupted by Hubris's voice.

'Notification: there will be a slight adulteration of the air supply. This is not a cause for alarm. Counteragents are being spread through all systems. I repeat, there is no cause for alarm.'

Cormac felt something loosen its hold on the inside of his chest; until then he had not quite realized how worried he had been about the nanomycelium. He looked back to the dracomen and saw that Smiler was standing. For a moment he thought food was being delivered. Then he saw that the dracoman was sniffing at the air. He watched, and while he watched he became aware of a bitter metallic taste in his mouth and a pungency to the air that reminded him of the smell from a cold-forge.

The counteragents.

'Chaline works quickly,' he said to Mika, and wondered at the precise meaning of his words.

'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.

14

Many lifeforms have hitched a ride with us and been part of our successful spread into the galaxy. From the beginning it was decided that quarantine strictures were an exercise rendered pointless by the huge advances being made in bioscience. If you have a creature's DNA or whatever other template it might use, what matter if it is wiped out? You can re-create it if you want. Also, it is a fact that this is the way life works: species have been wiped out for millennia by more successful contenders. Some have bemoaned the loss of variety, but this is a specious argument at best. Genetic adaptation and straight biotechnological creation have brought newer and more interesting forms. Sorry, people, but we are improving on nature all the time. My only complaint in this matter is that some of the older and more unpleasant forms are as successful as those we adapt and create. Why is it that on worlds that are wet I so often end up tripping over ground skate? Why hasn't someone come up with a competitor less lethal to us than the blade beetle? And who the hell decided it was OK to let mosquitoes colonize just about every damned world?

From How It Is by Gordon

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.