Pelter could not believe it; you stood still when someone with a gun was demanding it. You did not run for cover in the hope they would miss. He backed up, firing single shots off at the tree while his mouth seemed to turn ceramic. The ache in his head, since Mr Crane's destruction, was growing in intensity, as if striving to fill the void left by the android's absence.
No Mr Crane now. No one left at his back. Nothing now between him and that thin-gun.
'Fucking die!' he shouted and blasted at the tree again.
Three times. Three times he'd had the agent in his sights, and three times he had failed to kill him. Maybe they had been right at the start… maybe Ian Cormac was some kind of android.
Pelter stopped firing and continued to back away. He kept his weapon directed towards the side of the tree where Cormac had disappeared. When the agent stepped from its other side, he stepped straight into Pelter's nightmare - straight into that vision ever imprinted on his missing eye.
The barrel of the thin-gun seemed attached to Pelter's forehead by some invisible rod, and he seemed to feel the searing extension of that rod through his forehead and out the back of his skull. He pressed down on the trigger of his weapon and tracked fire sideways. But the time it took him to redirect his aim was not time enough. Silver light flickered in the barrel of the weapon the agent held.
Pelter saw only blackness.
With a puzzled frown, Cormac walked over and looked down to examine Pelter. Apart from the hole burnt cleanly through the Separatist's forehead, the man was already a mess: not only was the link suppurating in his head, but his clothing was ragged and filthy, and he stank. This was not the Pelter Cormac had known; this was a man ravaged by some daemon. What else could account for such lack of self-regard? Cormac wondered just what had driven Pelter to become this thing that lay before him.
He was also puzzled by the terror he had heard in the man's voice. Death was always a distinct possibility for one of Pelter's tendencies, and always something to fear. But terror? Cormac glanced down at his thin-gun, pocketed it and walked away. He guessed he would never know the answer.
28
Contra-terrene device (abbr. CTD) is one of those euphemistic labels Earth Security comes up with every now and again, normally to stick on something associated with terms like 'megadeath', 'gigadeath' and 'Oh, shit!' A forty-megaton CTD could easily be mistaken for a simple thermos flask, and there are parallels. Only, if you open one, you will not find hot coffee inside; you will find antimatter, briefly.
The antimatter is held in an's-con magnetic coil, which is also powered by a bleed-off from it. Theoretically a CTD will not explode without a complex code being keyed into its detonator. The canisters have reputedly been shock tested to a 10,000-kilometres-per-hour flat collision with case-hardened ceramal, and heat-tested to the melting point of the same. One has to wonder what the meaning of 'test' is here, because no one seems to know if the canisters survived said 'tests'. Other questions that occur are: was there anything in the canisters when they were tested - and where are the people who tested them?
From How It Is by Gordon
In the morning Cormac counted the cost of his single-mindedness: three men dead, one man minus his feet and one man blinded, though new feet and new eyes were no problem, Cento scrapped for the second time, and Thorn now lying on the ground beside Mika's AGC with the woman removing a lump of shrapnel from his guts. Should he let some other agent take over? He thought not.
Pelter was dead, and Cormac did not know how to feel about that. The man had obviously slipped off the far side of weird some time ago, so perhaps death was an easier place for him. Just as the Separatist had once tried to share his sister's looks, he now shared her executioner; an apposite ending, but one Cormac found uncomfortable to speculate on. He turned his thoughts away and towards the future. Now he had a mission to complete: a mission to which he was ideally suited. He must not let the death of one madman distract him. It was like being a runner in a marathon: he had just passed the pain barrier and now he must continue. With core of cold hardness, he banished what had already been done from his thoughts, and considered what must be done now.
There were things he had learnt that another agent might have missed. Another agent might not have possessed his basic distrust of Dragon, might have been more credulous, taken the easier options. Pressing his hand to the dressing on his left biceps, he walked over to Aiden.
The Golem, though not quite so damaged as Cento, had still taken a pounding. He had lost skin from the side of his face and all down one side of his body. His eye on that side was missing, his exposed metal arm-bones were bent, and his metal ribs staved in, one of them broken. Aiden moved slowly as he turned the handle on a mechanical winch. He glanced over at Cormac, and perhaps noted how he was being assessed. Small plates shifted on the exposed side of his face, while the other side grinned.
'You should see the other fella,' said the Golem with an unexpected flash of humour.
Cormac could not find it in himself to react. He looked along the winch cables to where they were attached to the carrier. 'Will it work?' he asked.
Aiden's grin switched off. 'It will have about fifty per cent AG, and one turbine is still functional,' he said, and then continued winding the winch. After a moment the carrier crashed down on its side. As Aiden went off to reattach the cables, the sergeant approached. Cormac registered his stiff expression; he was well aware that the sergeant blamed him for the deaths of his men, and was in complete agreement with that assessment. Had the men been policemen, he might have had some sympathy, but they were soldiers, and death was just part of their job.
'Any sign of Stanton?' Cormac asked.
'No sign, sir. We found the shuttle, though. Whoever brought it in must have been a lunatic. It looks like it only just made it to the surface in one piece.'
'Can't be coincidence that it landed here,' said Cormac.
'Probably zeroed in on the proton gunfire, sir. I would think that most of the planet knows something happened out here by now.'
'Yes, quite probably.'
There was a short, tense silence.
'What now?' the sergeant finally asked.
Cormac saw that Aiden had finished reattaching the cables and was coming back. He nodded towards the carrier. 'Now… now you take your own men, and Thorn, Cento and Mika, back to civilization in the carrier. Aiden and I continue on.'
The sergeant could not hide his relief.
'Not a chance,' came a voice from behind.
Cormac turned to see Thorn walking unsteadily towards him. Mika came out behind him.
'Should he be walking?' Cormac asked her.
'I wouldn't recommend vigorous movement, but he's all right to walk. The other two won't be walking, though. One for obvious reasons, the other because his optic nerves are burnt out. That said, they're easily enough replaced.'
Thorn was staring hard at Cormac. 'You promised me,' he said.
Cormac shook his head. 'You asked - but I promised nothing. I remember it precisely. Carn found that hole in the artefact before I could give you a reply'
'Please,' said Thorn levelly, too proud to beg.
'You can come if you wish. But if we have to run, I won't wait for you.' Cormac turned away. Mika watched this exchange, then suddenly spoke up.
'I'm coming as well,' she said.
'If you like,' said Cormac, then turned at the sound of Aiden winding the cable in at high speed. The cable drew taut and Aiden's winding slowed. The winch, Cormac knew, had been attached to an electric motor on the front of the carrier. Strapped to the tree there was no motor to run it, and there was not a man here capable of turning the hastily fabricated handle. They all watched in silence as Aiden got the carrier up and teetering on its corner. When it crashed down level, Cormac immediately headed over to it. Shortly he returned, carrying a bulky rucksack.