Olian ‘Olli’ Timo was another matter. They’d got her out of the Castigar engineering frame by a careful mix of reason and veiled threat, although it hadn’t done much to take the fight out of her. She turned up in a six-legged walker instead. Havaer’s crew had done their best to scan it for hidden weapons, but the thing was a mess of clashing parts and incompatible tech, and spacers were so damn ingenious with their jury-rigging . . . For all they knew, the whole thing could have been a bomb or a home-made accelerator cannon.
‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘What, then?’ Her finger stumps flexed and the feet of the walker scraped on the metal floor like fingernails on a board.
I will have some carpet put down when we hit dock, Havaer vowed, hiding the way the sound wormed into his head. ‘Mesdam Timo, you know why we’re here . . .’
‘I’m saying nothing.’
‘You’re a Colonial citizen, Mesdam. You resent your government taking an interest, when it looks like the war’s back on?’ Meeting her bluntness with bluntness was probably the best tactic.
‘Not my government. You know spacers get no say in what goes on in Berlenhof.’
‘Tell me about the Oumaru.’
‘I’m telling you nothing. Not one word. On advice of my lawyer.’
‘Mesdam Timo,’ Havaer said calmly, ‘I have just had a perfectly pleasant and informative conversation with your lawyer.’
‘Then you don’t need me, do you.’
‘Let’s change topic then. Tell me about the Broken Harvest.’
‘Those fuckers,’ she said, forgetting instantly that she wasn’t telling him anything. She proceeded to describe the cartel, their Essiel leader, their Tothiat enforcers and a great deal more without any real prompting from him. I suppose it was this ‘Mesmon’ who was taking part in the anatomy lesson, when I was there.
‘So, fine. You don’t like them,’ he concluded for her. ‘I’ve had my own run-in with them – as it happens – while on your trail. This Mesmon, who killed your captain . . .’
‘We did for him, the bastard.’
‘You didn’t.’ And he saw her face go still and then clench like a fist. He told her what he’d seen, the way that The Unspeakable Aklu punished failure in its more durable servants. She didn’t like Mesmon being alive, but he could see she didn’t mind him being alive and flayed – and she appreciated both the warning and the mental image of the Tothiat’s torture.
‘So, tell me about the Parthenon.’
‘Those eugenicist fuckers?’ she snapped. ‘Oh, that’s what’s got your panties twisted, is it? That figures.’ She hunkered forwards in her walker with a twitch of her limb stumps. ‘Let me tell you exactly what I think of those turds . . .’
*
Which led him onto what he reckoned was going to be the toughest interview.
They had not persuaded the Partheni to take off her armour. She wasn’t quite under arrest, although Havaer had broad powers when it came to foreign operatives in Colonial Space. Her ID was good on the surface too, but stank of espionage the moment he turned a spook’s practised gaze on it. He had three marines in with him, also armoured and all with accelerators. If anything kicked off, they would end up riddling the Hammer’s hull with holes, and also anyone who got in their way. Havaer’s pessimistic assessment of anything kicking off included himself being used as a human shield, and he was, as a rule, averse to death by friendly fire. It’s never that friendly, let’s face it.
At least she’d agreed to leave her own gun on the Vulture.
Sitting down, he opened with, ‘Well now, Myrmidon. You’re a long way from home.’
She nodded, watching him. Everyone told you how impossible Partheni were to read, but it wasn’t true. The warrior angels were humans too, perhaps their biggest secret. They really weren’t machines or perfectly bioengineered superwomen, although both Nativists and the Parthenon had unintentionally colluded to hide these facts. Right now this one, Solace, was tense, a little antagonistic. But he could tell she was worried, too. Worried for herself? Concerned about Partheni interests? He didn’t think so.
‘I’m anticipating that this interview is going to consist mostly of belligerent silence, Myrmidon.’ He’d half expected her to deny the rank; claim she was renegade, freelance, some other fiction. She just let it go by, though. ‘But, look . . . you’ll understand that your mere presence has put your fellows in even more trouble. My superiors see a possible Architect presence, and then they see the Parthenon in its shadow. You don’t need me to tell you that relations between Hugh and the Parthenon are in a particularly fragile state right now. Half my friends in the Colonial reserves were on stand-by for active duty – even before your friends pulled their stunt at Lung-Crow. Your government is making a lot of demands on Hugh right now, Myrmidon. And we both know there are plenty in mine who are reaching for their guns too.’