Gorman, when wholly visible, just looked like a thick-set and brutal thug. He carried a lot of body weight, easily, his head was stubbled with grey hair, his neck bulging, his eyes grey and his teeth slightly crooked and yellowish. He smoked cigars, liked eating mouth-strippingly hot curries and drinking vast quantities of beer, but only when off-duty and relaxing. The rest of the time his appearance and general demeanour belied the speed of his mind, his reactions and the way he assessed the data coming in through the small flesh-coloured aug affixed behind his ear like some sort of growth. Travis was neat and lean and ridiculously good-looking, with jet black hair tied in a pony tail and startlingly green eyes. He grinned a lot and his sense of humour was distinctly odd. Crean's appearance was Asiatic, big-breasted and lush, dark-haired, dark-skinned and dark-eyed. It had taken a little while for Cormac to realise that, like Travis, she was a Golem. Gorman was so obviously human, and delighted in being so.
"These gods like to have their ugly pets along as a contrast," said Gorman, stabbing a lit cigar to where the two Golem were assembling a mosquito autogun.
Mills was the missing member. A Separatist sniper had hit him right in the head with an explosive bullet. It was Crean who got to the sniper first. Tore him in half and hung the bits from a tree. Cormac hadn't understood how Gorman seemed to be so accepting of Mills' death, until he learned from Travis that Gorman had been edited. This reminded Cormac of when his brother Dax went for editing during the Prador/Human war, and of the other events of that period, and of the drone he now knew to be called Amistad. He reached up and touched the bean-shaped lump of computer hardware behind his own ear. In his new aug he had files about Amistad he wanted to review at leisure, but with the VR training and now this fast deployment, he hadn't had a chance. Also, stored in the aug was a message he had been drafting to send to his mother, Hannah, asking why he himself had been edited as a child, and what memories were missing.
"So here's the plan," said Gorman.
Cormac made that odd unnatural effort that called his inbox up in a frame that seemed to the right of his vision but actually wasn't in it, and saw that he had received one message. He opened it and studied a visual file showing a mug-shot of someone immediately recognisable: Sheen, one of the Separatists who had accompanied him during the raid on the Prador ship.
"Any problems?" Gorman asked.
"I'll let you know when you tell me the plan," Cormac replied.
Gorman grinned. "Okay," he said. "Agent Spencer wants her alive. Sheen is Samara's sister and is likely privy to much that went on at the top."
"Sister?"
"You didn't know that?"
"No, I didn't know that."
"Everyone else in the caves is dispensable." Gorman shrugged. "In fact, that's all they are. They've got no information we want nor do we want to bring them in for trial, since sentence has already been passed on them all." He studied Cormac carefully. "Can you handle this?"
Cormac nodded, but swallowed dryly. This was so different from killing those who had attacked you and intended to torture you. It seemed too cold, too harsh. Would he hesitate? Might he find it difficult to pull the trigger on someone unarmed, even if that person was a Separatist? He picked up his stubby machine pistol from where it rested on the ground beside him, then stood up. The weapon was perfect for this kind of work, being easily manoeuvrable in confined spaces and, unlike most pulse-weapons, its discharge was invisible. It also bore a fat silencer that not only absorbed the crack of the shot, but also broadcast an inverted phonic waveform that covered most impact sounds. The result was, in most cases, utterly silent and eerie killing. Its magazine contained two hundred bullets, each projectile a high-pressure explosive p-shell just a millimetre across and three long. All four of them carried weapons like this, and also wore pepperpot stun guns holstered at their belts for when they came upon Sheen.
"Okay," said Gorman, standing up. "Time to get bloody." He pulled up the hood of his fatigues, pulled across his face mask and slipped on his gloves. Via his aug Cormac instructed his goggles to respond to the recognition signal each of his fellows was broadcasting. Gorman immediately became visible again, as if clad in some orange suit—it wouldn't do for Cormac to end up shooting his own side because he couldn't see them.
The two Golem, also now apparently clad from head to foot in orange, had finished setting up the mosquito and now stepped back from it. The weapon abruptly stood up on its six silvery legs, disappeared for a moment, then reappeared as a red outline as it engaged its chameleonware and Cormac's goggles picked up its signal. It then abruptly targeted them each in turn, recognised them then moved on, finally falling into a routine of surveying the tree-covered slope leading down into the valley before them.
"I'm glad you're so confident of your programming, Travis," said Gorman sarcastically.
Cormac realised they'd onlined the gun without doing a test, an option considered risky until they were sure its recognition software was working properly. Travis glanced round at them, and Cormac imagined his usual maniacal grin under his face mask.
"I delayed the loading of its dust magazine," the Golem said. "If my programming had been wrong it would only have given you a bit of an electric shock."
"Nice," Gorman replied. "And it'll recognise Sheen when we bring her out?"
"Of course it will!"
Crean now spoke directly to Cormac. "Don't let him get to you. The chances of him programming a mosquito wrong are about the same as any of us getting hit on the head by a meteorite."
Gorman flinched, put a hand on his head, and peered up at the sky.
Nice little humorous exchange, just before the four of them went down into that valley, then entered the cave hideout to slaughter people.
"Let's go," said Gorman, and led the way down the slope. The two Golem strode along beside him for a moment, then abruptly headed off at speed. Cormac glanced back at the autogun, which was now loping along behind him and Gorman like a loyal hound. Checking the assault plan in his aug he saw that the two Golem were heading out wide on either side to come in above the cavemouth from either side of the valley. His own and Gorman's routes diverged ahead, so they would also come upon the opening of the cave from two different directions.
"Go forty per cent infrared," Gorman advised. "They're sure to have guards out here." He reached out and slapped a hand on Cormac's shoulder. "You come on any, you take them down nice and quiet before they can send a warning."
Now they parted company, the mosquito following Gorman. Cormac located himself on a map of the local area called up in his aug, then transmitted the data from that to a small screen display mounted in the upper surface of his gun, which shortly displayed a low lumen arrow pointing to his destination. The reason for them splitting up and approaching from four different points was precisely so that at least one of them would hit the expected guard outpost. They didn't want anyone positioned behind them when they finally went into the caves. Continuously checking ahead and moving swiftly and silently from tree to tree, he advanced. It was a small glow-worm luminescence that gave them away.
I've found some watchers, Cormac sent using the text function in his aug.
Can you take them? Gorman enquired.
Cormac adjusted up the infrared in his goggles. The small glow of heat was from an ancient style of lamp. Obviously it had recently been used and its filament had yet to cool down. Now, with infrared at a hundred per cent, Cormac could see the spotlight itself, the hide below it, and the glow of two bodies inside.
I believe so, he replied.