"Cold bastards, those Polity agents," said Adsel.
Cormac glanced across at her, then scanned round for his pulse-gun. He found it lying under a table by the foot of one of Tarren's men, who was unconscious—snoring in fact.
"What are you going to do with them?" he asked.
"Those identified as murderers become fertilizer, just like him." Adsel gestured towards the hooper. "The rest get to leave if there's a ship left, if not they work for their keep."
Cormac stared for a moment more at the hooper, who now seemed to be sagging closer to the floor. He felt a stab of sadness. Here was a crime he could do nothing about, a crime that might well have been committed before he was born. Returning his attention to Adsel, he reckoned the people here would probably do all right. Presumably they now possessed weapons, if Spencer's comment about a weapons cache was anything to go by, and the will to use them. It struck him as unlikely there would be any more Tarrens coming here, since people like that, though quite prepared to kill, did not like risking their lives unless there was profit to be made and no other options available. It did occur to him, however, that in this Adsel, they might end up with a completely home-grown despot.
"I'll be able to get to the shuttle myself," he said as, with difficulty, he holstered his pulse-gun.
"I imagine so," said Adsel, "but I wouldn't want any of my people mistaking you for one of Tarren's men—it's been getting quite nasty out there."
The moment he and Adsel reached the courtyard, Cormac saw what she meant. The water in the interlinked ponds was now red, and a shoal of the troutlike fish had gathered underneath a floating corpse clad in a grey envirosuit, whether to feed or just out of curiosity was difficult to tell. Out in the garden were two more corpses—both also Tarren's men. One of them had obviously been shot numerous times through the back with a pulse-rifle, the other was hanging from a palm tree, optic cable wound around his neck and secured over one of the sawn-back scales on the trunk. His hands were tied behind his back and his face black, tongue protruding. He had died there. Trying to be coldly analytical, Cormac realised that someone must have held onto his feet while he strangled, to stop him from supporting his own weight on the lower tree scales.
"Lot of bitterness here," he observed.
Adsel just glanced at him blankly, then dismissively looked away again.
In the airlock she put on a breather mask pulled from within her bright clothing, and they headed out towards the spaceport. Three ships were rising from the ground and another, still on the ground, was smoking, muted fires visible inside through blast holes in its hull, sustained by internal air supply and doubtless soon to be extinguished by the oxygen-free outer atmosphere. Numerous locals were scattered here and there, and numerous corpses lay sprawled on the ground, many wearing the same kind of bright clothing as Adsel. When they finally reached the shuttle, all under the watchful gaze of a crowd of locals gathered about the nissen huts, Adsel stepped back.
"It's easy to be judgmental when you come from the civilized Polity," she said, her voice distorted through her mask. "There's no ECS to protect us here, no wise AIs to govern us."
Cormac did not know what to say, and so nodded in agreement before climbing inside the shuttle. Only later, as he applied to his biceps a nano-activated wound-dressing from the shuttle's first aid kit, did he remember that all survivors within the Graveyard had been offered relocation to other worlds within the Polity. That Adsel and her fellows had stayed here meant they must have refused that offer and were living with the consequences.
The shuttle subscreen briefly showed a view of a grounded gravcar, then swung back to the ruin. The terraforming plant was not much to look at, comprised mainly of big silos like the ones just a few hundred yards from Cormac beside the spaceport. There were also numerous low buildings and networks of big pipes, many of which speared away across the ground beyond view, piles of twisted wreckage, and spills of green and rusty brown across the white ground. He assumed this was one of those places that manufactured masses of GM algae tailored to survive in this environment and spread through the ground, slowly multiplying and chewing up oxides to add oxygen to the atmosphere, hence those white and brown spills. Perhaps, if no other plants were built, the stuff already here would spread out and eventually finish the job in a few tens of thousands of years, though more likely the growth spread would not possess enough momentum and eventually die.
Now the view swung from side to side as Crean glanced first at Travis to her left, then at Gorman and Spencer to her right and just ahead of her.
"Spencer wants you to bring the shuttle here and land it beside the gravcar," said Crean, her voice issuing from the screen.
Maybe Crean was the only one prepared to talk to him, or maybe he was just being paranoid. Spencer and Gorman would certainly be a bit disappointed with him but not overly censorious, surely. He had risked their lives by allowing himself to go into combat when he was not functioning at a hundred per cent, but being new to the Sparkind, only recently promoted from the status of grunt, surely some leeway would be allowed? Cormac would have given anything to have heard their conversations since they departed for the terraforming plant. Or perhaps he was being both paranoid and egotistical to even think they had been talking about him.
"Okay," he replied. "I'm on my way."
"How are you now?" she enquired solicitously.
For a moment he did not want to have this conversation, since he did not want any of the others to overhear, then he damned himself for his stupidity, because Crean was quite capable of talking to him without using her audible-voice generator.
"I am well enough," he said cautiously.
"Don't sweat it," she replied. "Nobody expects perfection from you at once, and certainly not Spencer. She walked us into a situation which, because she had not completely assessed it, could have gone a lot worse than it did."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning she didn't know about the hooper, and she should have."
"I see."
Knowing that did make him feel a little better, but not much. Perhaps he was just being too hard on himself? His arm now properly dressed and the drugs in the dressing numbing both that and his nagging headache, he reached out and quickly initiated the shuttle's start-up routine, then gripped the joystick and pulled it up.
"Sadist, how are you doing?" he asked, as the craft's AG motors lifted it shakily from the ground. He boosted it higher with a couple of spurts from the steering thrusters, and watched the ground rapidly drop away.
"I will be above you in thirty minutes," the ship AI replied.
Cormac was about to ask if Sadist could send a program to realign the grids in the shuttle's ion drive, since there was no longer any need for the craft to appear to be a Graveyard relic owned by dodgy inhabitants of the area, when he started to pick up military com in his aug.
"Over there," said Gorman.
Crean's view swung across to focus on a gravcar grounded by one of the low buildings. A chameleoncloth tarpaulin had been slung across it, but obviously the wind had picked up one corner and dislodged it. Crean now began scoping out the surrounding area with magnification, focus and in spectrums not available to unaugmented humans. There seemed to be no weapons emplacements within view, but in infrared she detected a heat source within the nearest silo adjacent to where the car was parked.
"Two-by-two cover," said Spencer, breaking into a trot towards the gravcar. "Pulse-rifles down to electro-stun. We want Thrace alive if he's in there."