at his envirosuit, bagged and lying in a corner, ready to be either repaired or scavenged for useable components. Standing, he tore open the package of paperwear and dressed, trying to ignore Olkennon's unwavering stare since, after all, she was a machine and not a woman.
Finally dressed he met her gaze. 'We were put in danger—used as decoys—but there's something more to all this.'
'The AI observed you both through the facsimile.'
Being closely watched by AIs often resulted in substantial changes. He knew of troops who had come under such scrutiny and been summarily dismissed from ECS, and of others who ended up in the Sparkind, while still others, it was rumoured, simply disappeared.
'I can't say I'm happy to hear about that,' he replied.
Olkennon studied him for a moment longer, then continued, 'You understand that there are Separatists on this world who would very much like to get their hands on a Prador warhead?'
'You're stating the obvious.'
'Yes… presume yourself bored, presume you feel under-utilized by ECS, under-appreciated.'
'Okay, I'm presuming.'
'Perhaps you want greater material wealth.'
Silly, really, when in the Polity every need could be catered for and the greatest ill of society was boredom.
'No,' he said. 'I'm hooked on my own adrenaline, looking for further excitement, and I feel no inclination to get intervention to wean me off my addiction.'
Olkennon bowed her head for a moment. She was smiling. Cormac did not allow himself to react to that—it was only emulation after all. Olkennon raised her head. 'Eminently plausible, considering your psyche reports.'
'I don't get to read them.'
'Of course not… now let us go and see Carl.'
They left the room to traverse the aseptic corridors of the medical centre. Cormac knew when they had come to Carl's room because few other rooms here possessed coded locks. Olkennon moved in close to the lock to deliberately block his view of it and rapidly punched in a code, before opening the door and stepping inside. Following her, Cormac gazed across at the bed on which Carl lay motionless, a life-support shellwear enclosing his chest with various tubes and optics trailing from it to an autodoc pedestal.
'Unconscious?' Cormac enquired.
'Definitely.' Olkennon gazed at the bed. 'The weapon fired at him was a dirty one: plutonium fragmentation bullet. However, it didn't detonate but passed straight through. He's as healthy as you now, but with what we now suspect about him, better he remains unconscious.'
'I see,' said Cormac. 'So what is it you now suspect about him?'
Still gazing at the bed, Olkennon continued, 'According to his record he's about a year older than you, Cormac. Medscan has revealed some anomalies—he may be older, he may not be who his record claims him to be.' She turned to Cormac. 'Tell me what you think is going on.'
The stuff about Carl's possible age and identity only complimented the suppositions Cormac had already made. 'I don't know how it happened, but I think Carl is working for the Separatists here.' He glanced at the Golem for confirmation.
'Go on.'
'I think, that learning he would be guarding part of the Prador ship's perimeter, he allowed Separatists through so they could obtain some weapon… a warhead. When that mission failed he killed those who were on their way out of the ship before they could be captured and, inevitably, reveal his involvement. Subsequently, the Separatists took vengeance upon him for that killing.' Cormac gestured towards the bed.
'Very close, though not exact in every detail.'
'Perhaps, if it is not too much to ask, you could fill in that detail.'
'Ah, you have an overdeveloped tendency towards sarcasm in one so young.'
'It's a result of my cynicism—something I believe to be useful survival traits for one working for ECS. Now, must I keep guessing?'
'Vernol's brother was one of those who died at the ship, but Vernol attempted to kill Carl because he believed Carl to be an ECS plant. As we understand it the man always put 'the Cause' before family and didn't really like his brother very much.'
Cormac felt uncomfortable with all this. Without his intervention Carl would probably have taken Vernol down, but did this matter? Carl was obviously guilty of something…
'Vernol is no longer with us,' Cormac observed, 'and Carl, I suspect, will not be leaving ECS
Olkennon shrugged—not her decision.
'The situation now?' Cormac enquired.
'Removing Separatists from play is the main purpose of ECS here. Through Carl we might have been able to take down a number of cells.'
Cormac said nothing, for he was tired of having to squeeze information out of her. He knew that Olkennon would eventually tell him all he needed to know, but no more.
'As we understand it,' she continued, 'there is divided opinion amidst the Separatists we know of in this area. Some believe Carl an ECS plant and that Vernol was right to try killing him. Others believe Vernol's motive was vengeance only and that he tried to kill a valuable asset.'
Annoyed at himself for prompting again, Cormac asked, 'And my role?'
'According to his record, which we are not entirely sure of right now, Carl came from Callisto. His family were members of the Jovian Separatists, though they never went so far as violent protest or terrorism. We can alter your records to show you came from there too, and any enquiries sent directly there can be fielded by our agents, since the Separatist organization on Callisto was penetrated long ago and is only allowed to continue functioning because of the leads it gives us to other Separatist enclaves.'
'I see; I am to be the partner Carl never mentioned.'
'Outstanding.' Olkennon grimaced. 'I do hope you understand how dangerous this might be, especially considering the doubts about Carl's antecedents?'
Cormac snorted in annoyance, waved a hand as if to brush that aside. Yeah, maybe there were anomalies about Carl's past, but didn't that rather tie in with his nefarious dealings here and now?
'They'll take some convincing,' he said. 'They'll know that just about all information is falsifiable, and there might be those who will want to take me down.'
'Certainly—can you be convincing?'
Cormac considered the situation. He was being roped into an undercover operation because he was conveniently placed. Such operations were usually the province of those with decades of training and experience in the field. He was only twenty-two.
'Yeah, I think I can be convincing.'
3
'Cormac, Dax is back,' said his mother. Again she was wearing old-style sunglasses—a habit that seemed to make her unapproachable, just like her perpetually distant tone, just like her perpetual affirmation of his name change. Cormac abandoned his p-top and school bag and broke into a run for the stair. 'Don't bother him for too long—I've packed your suitcase with clothes and you need to sort out what else you'll be taking with you.'
Cormac skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stair and turned. 'We're going away again?'
'Yes, we'll be spending a week with Dax in Tritonia.'
Cormac felt a flood of joy. Tritonia. He loved the city which stretched—with intermittent breaks—along the seabed from the south coast of Britain to France. His mother might allow him to take a haemolung out, especially if Dax went with him to keep watch. He charged up the stair yelling, 'Dax!' but halted before his elder brother's door. Dax, who had lived at home until finally shipping out with the medical arm of ECS, liked his privacy, especially so
