'Now, that you can explain in a minute,' she began. 'But first tell me about that shit Pelter.'
Stanton smiled at her. He couldn't stop smiling at her. When he'd come upon the grounded shuttle and seen her climbing out, he thought he'd finally nipped. But now, every minute, he was realizing it was true. And whether that applied to him having nipped or her actually being here he did not know, or care.
'He's dead. I think they're all dead,' he said.
'Did you see them die?'
'I saw Pelter - and I checked afterwards. He had that agent cold from about four metres back with a pulse-gun. Shit, I've never seen someone move so fast. I think Pelter winged him, before he freaked. He blasted away at the tree the agent ducked behind, then he seemed to lose it, and started backing off. The agent stepped out after that, calm as you like, and shot him. When he was gone I took a look. Hole right through the centre of Pelter's forehead and out the back.'
'Good. What about the others?'
'I think Mennecken and Corlackis got hit by an APW. I found some bits of Dusache stuck to the launcher, and Svent got hit in the crossfire between the agent and Pelter.'
'That's it, then,' said Jarvellis and sat back. She appeared as wasted as Stanton felt. With what she'd been through, he wasn't the least bit surprised. He looked at the flat material over her left breast.
'Now I think we get off this planet and find somewhere safe. Somewhere… peaceful and sunny. We'll get you that reconstructive surgery as well.'
Jarvellis looked at him tiredly. 'There'll be people hunting for us here,' she said, 'and we haven't got a ship anymore. How exactly do you think we'll get away from here?'
Stanton reached into the back of the AGC, brought a briefcase forward and laid it on his lap. The briefcase was battered, its framework showing through at the corners, and there were suspicious-looking spatters spread across it. Even so, the Norver Bank logo was still visible on it.
'I reckon we'll find a way,' he said.
At last Jarvellis managed to respond to Stanton's smile. She decided she'd give him the other news once they were somewhere safe - and when Stanton had lost any inclination to run.
29
Of course, criminals are people who have not received the correct moral education. They are people who have not enjoyed the opportunities of the rest of us. We should pity them, and as a society we should look after them. Punishment is not the answer. It only worsens an already bad situation. If we execute people, this apparently makes us just as bad as them… Bollocks… In the earlier years of the millennium this was always considered to be the case. The insanities of 'political correctness' blinded many to plain realities: if you execute a criminal, he won't do it again. Punishment of the criminal is good for the victims, if they are still alive. Why should we, as a society, look after and re-educate them when we hardly have the resources to do this for law-abiding citizens? Nowadays we have grasped these realities, so murderers and many recidivists are mind-wiped. We have not ceased to execute people because we are more 'civilized', but because that would be a waste of a perfecuy useful body. And there are many personalities waiting in cyberspace (A I and uploaded human) for another crack at living in the real world.
From How It Is by Gordon
As Cormac stepped from the stage-one runcible on Samarkand the cold hit him like a hammer of ice. There were hastily rigged heaters in the containment sphere, but the temperature was not much above the lower limit necessary to sustain human life. Ahead of him, Aiden was half-carrying Thorn towards the exit and the covered walkway beyond. He surveyed the sphere as Mika ran past him. The proton weapon he had requested was resting on one of the heaters. He eyed it, then glanced over as his three companions hesitated at the exit.
'Get in the car. I'll be there in a minute.'
He went over to the weapon and touched it with his fingertip. It was cold, but, with conduction from the heater, not so cold as to take his skin off. He raised it, pointed it at the floor to the left of the runcible and, with the beam narrowed to pencil thickness, fired. The beam struck, diffracted through, and lit up everything underneath so that the black floor became transparent. As he traversed the beam, molten glass drained away behind it. With the hidden machinery revealed, Cormac found a duct and burnt through it. After the beam went out, fires still burnt under the glass. He looked at the resultant mess thoughtfully for a moment, then followed the others to the exit.
The AGC stood only four metres from the sphere, and the others were inside waiting for him. He reached the door of the car and ducked halfway inside. Then, estimating relative positions, he pointed the weapon at the wall of the covered walkway.
'What the hell…?' said Thorn.
'I've got to hit at least one of the buffers from the outside. All I did in there was burn out some of the safety automatics.'
Cormac fired wide-beam. A section of wall, two metres long by a metre wide, disappeared in a purple flash. He could now see the edge of the buffer, and redirected the beam. Metal flashed away in seconds, exposing coils of doped superconductors and paralectric crystals. A hidden canister blew its contents and leapt into the sky on a tail of gas and flame. As Cormac shut down the beam, a fog of CO2 vapour obscured all, then CO2 snow began to fall. Cormac ducked into the car and slammed shut the insulated door, just before his eyes froze over.
'Out of here… now…' he managed to gasp, and began to shiver violently. He was not the only one, for the inside of the car was as cold as the inside of the containment sphere.
Aiden slammed the AGC up into Samarkand midnight, not bothering to disconnect from the walkway. The walkway held for a moment, then broke and fell away like a snake that has just missed its prey. From the windows of the AGC they could see one of the runcible buffers glowing with the colours of magma.
'OK… Aiden, no airspeed restrictions here. What's it capable of?'
'Fourteen hundred kilometres per hour, in safety; any faster than that and I might lose it.'
'Fast enough,' said Cormac. 'Fast enough.'
He leant back in his seat next to Mika and looked across at the dracoman, then he glared out through the window. Poised in the sky, like a watching moon: Dragon.
Gridl inked
'I knew it wouldn't miss this. Gloating bastard.'
Mika turned to him questioningly, but he offered up no further comment, for just then Aiden applied full acceleration. They were all thrust back in their seats so hard they had not the breath to speak anyway. Only when the AGC was streaking along at its maximum speed did the pressure relax. Cormac looked at the clock set into the dash. It was on solstan time, permanently updated by a signal from Samarkand II.
'I wonder when it will come through,' said Thorn carefully.
'Any time now, I should imagine,' said Cormac flatly. 'Could be right this… second.'
At that moment Samarkand experienced a premature day. The light was hard and white: an ungentle light that lasted for twenty seconds and seemed to find and burn away every shadow. When it went out, they looked back at a growing sphere of yellow fire, cut through with sheetlike flashes of lightning.
'One unmade Maker,' commented Cormac.
Thorn looked at him in exasperation, about to say something. Cormac gave a fractional shake of his head, and flicked his eyes at the dracoman.
'How long till we reach the complex?' he asked Aiden.
'Not long: quarter of an hour.'
Thorn turned to face forwards. He asked no more questions.