For a little fat guy Geoff could move very fast. He had jumped up on the bonnet of the car and slammed his recorder down on the second attacker’s head before Salind thought to react.
Salind punched the one on his right then fervently wished he’d used his boot. That hamfist came down again and the next thing he knew he was lying dazedly on the floor watching Geoff, his face covered with blood, being held by the scruff of the neck and having his head repeatedly pounded against the car’s wing.
‘That’s enough!’ someone bellowed.
Salind tried to stand as his attacker loomed over him. He saw the shaven-headed one moving up behind. Shavehead took hold of the thug by the shoulder and just threw him. The man hit the car then the ground, bounced and lay still. The second thug released Geoff in time to walk into a backhander that lifted him clean over the car. Salind staggered groggily to his feet. He glanced back and saw the two uniformed officers standing dumbfounded. Callus was on his knees holding his wrist. He looked up as Shavehead came up beside Salind, and real fear twisted his features. Scrabbling inside his coat he produced a nasty-looking pulse-gun.
‘You gonna do it to me, Mikey?’ asked Shavehead.
Callus did. The pulse-gun flashed. There came a thud and burst of smoke from Shavehead’s chest.
‘I just love this body.’ Shavehead strode forward and drove his fist down into Callus’s face.
Salind felt that familiar churning in his stomach: one hell of a story and now he knew the punchline, so to speak. One of the uniformed officers drew his own weapon — a similar pulse-gun to Callus’s.
‘Drake, put that away will you,’ said Shavehead.
The cop looked at his weapon in bewilderment, then he holstered it.
‘Inspector Garp,’ he said.
With Argus now set to record only, Salind observed, ‘So that’s how you looked.’
The uniformed police had been in disarray, and let them leave without protest, though Salind wondered what they could have done to stop them with their ex-boss, firmly uploaded to a Golem chassis, there to facilitate matters.
‘Yeah,’ said Garp, ‘ten years ago. Geronamid managed to piece together enough information to have this made.’ Garp touched his face and chest.
They sat in Garp’s car, Geoff in the back holding a med-patch to his head and groaning sporadically.
‘When I looked like this I was the big man who was a royal pain to the Tronad. Callus was my partner until Soper bought him off. I think he slipped praist into my tea.’
‘He won’t be doing that again,’ said Salind.
Garp gave him a slightly indifferent glance. Salind wondered if he was fully aware of the capabilities of the body he now occupied. He’d checked on Callus and the two others while Garp spoke to the uniformed officers. Callus and the one behind the car were dead. The third thug was not far from it.
They dropped Geoff at the Tarjen offices.
‘I’m gonna keep my head down now. Soper is not going to sit on her hands after this.
She’ll want us all nailed to banoaks,’ Geoff said, and with that disappeared inside.
‘What now?’ Salind asked. Without thinking he took out his pill container and clicked out a pill. Garp’s hand clamped on his wrist and the pill fell to the floor. Salind fought the grip, suddenly unreasonably angry.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Garp asked.
Salind stared at him. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He was sure someone was scratching on the glass behind him.
‘I. . they’re to stop me. .’
‘I know what they are. How long have you been a user?’
‘Soper dosed me when I interviewed her. Didn’t you see that on the net?’
‘So a few days. She used pure derivative?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Nightmares during the day?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought so. You’re on fifteen strength. You’re already at the level of a seven-year addict. You’re losing it already.’
‘I’ll get a detoxicant treatment when this is over.’
‘Be sure you do or I’ll off you myself.’
Garp released his hand. Salind picked up the pill from the floor and quickly swallowed it.
The feeling, like a looming wave of black chaos ready to fall on him, slowly receded. Not taking the next needed dose was unthinkable, as briefly he had seen how thin was the veneer over reality for him. Garp started the car and pulled away.
The ceramal mesh fence stood three metres high, carried a killing current and sported beam-break alarms set along the top. Beyond it, banoaks stretched up the hill in neat rows.
Between the rows the ground seemed in constant motion, and in the distance a discshaped vacuum harvester, towing a collection tanker, worked its way down.
‘They must have to empty those tankers quite often,’ said Salind.
‘Not as often as you might think. That’s a Massey Vacpress. It sucks up the treels, presses out the juice and
