'Oh, I was right,' said Dent.
Cormac glanced across. The man was standing, his clothing ripped about the waist but no sign of blood, only syntheflesh and something hard and white that probably wasn't bone. Dent was an android, but he didn't possess the ceramal skeleton of a Golem, probably because that could be too easily detected. Some other sort of facsimile, perhaps remotely controlled?
Dent continued, 'Just like I was right about them watching the Sanctum. In here they would have had a chance, though remote, of gaining access to the ship's systems, and maybe getting away.'
'What?' said Yallow, ducking back for a moment.
'Move away from the door,' said Dent.
'We can't let them get in here!'
'Move away from the door—that's an order!'
Yallow reluctantly backed up while Cormac looked on with distanced bemusement. He knew his disconnection was due to the drugs and considered administering a stimulant, then reconsidered, reckoning this would all soon be over and that he and Yallow had already done their part. Now gazing about he spied a huge carapace, nearly fifteen feet across, that was all that remained of the Prador adult—the captain. He noted there were neither legs attached to the carapace nor any lying nearby. Adult Prador tended to lose their limbs and doubtless there were grav-units shell-welded to its underside. He could not see them, though he could see, fixed in a row below the creature's mandibles, the hexagonal control units it had used to control everything aboard this ship. It was those the second- children had been after.
This time there came no sounds of hydraulics or rough mechanical movement as the doors slid rapidly closed. Cormac glimpsed yellow and purple carapace and the glint of an eye through the remaining gap. One of those gas- propellant weapons hissed and stuttered, projectiles slamming against the heavy metal then becoming muffled as the doors finally closed. A hissing bubbling ensued, and white foam issued around the door and along its diagonal slit and rapidly solidified. Cormac recognised the astringency of breach sealant.
'The engineering of these ships was high-tolerance when they were built,' said Dent matter-of-factly. 'But that was some time ago and much in here is very worn, though rugged enough to continue functioning.'
'What are you saying?' said Yallow.
Dent continued, 'Prador are not too concerned about secure atmosphere seals in their doors. Like their engineering they are rugged and can survive large pressure changes. They can even survive in vacuum for an appreciable length of time.'
'What?' said Yallow, in what was rapidly becoming an annoying habit.
'I think,' Cormac said muzzily, 'that the Prador have been lured into a trap, and we were here to bait the hook: one apparently old man and two raw recruits to open up this Sanctum.'
'We're being used as decoys?' said Yallow disbelievingly.
'Outstanding,' said Dent.
Cormac gazed with suspicion at the facsimile human—that was one of Olkennon's favourite comments, so perhaps their Golem unit leader was controlling Dent?
Yallow now turned and gazed at the hardened breach sealant.
'A trap,' she repeated.
'Hazon nerve gas, I would guess,' said Cormac.
Yallow's expression became grim. 'We could have died out there,' she said flatly.
'Sort of comes with the territory,' Cormac replied.
From out in the corridor, despite the thickness of the door, could be heard the sound of heavy objects crashing about violently. Prador were certainly rugged—it took a long time for even that highly toxic gas to kill them.
The pedestal-mounted autodoc crouched over his injured leg like a chromed horseshoe crab feeding on the wound. With a nerve blocker engaged at the base of his spine, Cormac could feel nothing, but his hearing was fine, unfortunately. He kept his eyes averted from the mechanical surgeon's messy work, but could not block out the liquid crunching or the two-tone notes of bone and cell welders.
Olkennon, gazing at a screen mounted on the rear of the 'doc, also insisted upon giving him a description of what was going on—neglecting not one single gory detail.
'It's finished removing the fragments of metal and is now welding up the shattered kneecap. Dissolving clamps will go in next, since welded bone is always a bit weak. We wouldn't want all this coming apart on you again.'
Cormac guessed Olkennon so relished describing this stuff because she didn't want her recruits becoming too blase about such injuries. Yes, the medical technology was available to put together a broken human with the ease of repairing a broken toy, but some breakages could not be fixed and autodocs were not always available.
'There, the clamps are in—calcium fibre staples. Cell welding now and neutral cellular material and collagen to replace all that dead icky stuff it's sucking out.'
Yeah, Cormac could now hear a sound like that made by someone sucking up the dregs of a drink through a straw.
As he understood it, ECS had once experienced problems with recruits becoming careless of injury and, at that time, the idea had been mooted that such repairs as this should be made without killing the pain—just to drive the point home. Too crude, however. The AIs had thereafter used subtle psychological manipulation, part of which involved making the autodocs look just plain scary, another part being the design of training regimens that included real pain. Cormac winced at the memory of hand-to-hand combat resulting in broken bones, ruptures, torn ligaments and gouged eyes. Pain was certainly a good learning tool, however, too much pain could make a soldier averse to doing a job which was, after all, one requiring those who were less than realistic about mortality.
'Weaving muscle fibres now and joining up the broken blood vessels. All the small capillary clamps coming off now. Oops, some clotting there—it'll have to cut that bit out.'
He said, 'So you used us as decoys?'
'They would have seen through any emulation I could have made,' she replied. 'They're good at detecting metals.'
'Who was running the facsimile?'
She focused on his face for a moment. 'The AI in charge of the excavation.' Returning her attention to the autodoc screen she went on, 'It's closing up the skin now—layer by layer. It'll feel weird while the nerves heal, but there should be no pain.' She looked up and gave him a smile. Certainly the Prador would have recognised her as Golem and known to keep away. Her emulation wasn't very good at all.
With a hissing sound and smell of burnt hair, the autodoc raised itself from his knee and began folding its sharp legs and other surgical cutlery into its body for sterilization. It looked rather like an insect grooming itself after eating something rather messy.
Cormac gazed down at his knee and saw it was bright red as if sunburned, and hairless. No sign now of torn flesh or broken bones. Of course, ECS medical technology had to be good. It was all about efficiency, for the time a soldier spent in hospital was wasted time.
Abruptly feeling returned. He felt odd. In his mind lay knowledge of a serious injury juxtaposed with evidence of none. The leg itself felt hot and cold—a local flulike phenomenon—and it also felt full of unfamiliar lumps as if a bag of marbles had been sewn in underneath his skin.
From beneath his lower back the autodoc retracted one more limb: a long, flat, hinged affair terminating in a platen for extruding nanofibres which until then had been engaged with his spinal nerves to cut all feeling below his waist. The autodoc pedestal now moved back from the surgical table, turned and folded down into itself, finally presenting nothing but smooth mirrored surfaces. Stepping round it, Olkennon dropped a sealed pack of paperwear clothing on Cormac's stomach. 'Get dressed.'
Warily, even though he knew there should be no problem, Cormac sat upright. The area of the wound pulled slightly like a strained muscle and the lumpiness felt something like a cramp. Muscle tension had yet to readjust and toxins saturating the area needed to be cleared. He swung his legs off the side of the surgical table and peered over
