trapped and unmoving; then she opened her visor. “You all right." she asked Horza.

“Yes. Bit groggy. Sore head," he said. Yalson nodded; they went over to where Neisin lay.

Neisin was still just alive. His gun had exploded, riddling his chest, arms and face with shrapnel. Moans bubbled from the

crimson ruin of his

face. “Fucking hell," Yalson said. She took a small medipack from her suit and reached through what was

left of Neisin’s visor to inject the semi-

conscious man’s neck with painkiller.

“What’s happened." Aviger’s tiny voice came from Yalson’s helmet. “Is it safe yet." Yalson looked at Horza, who shrugged,

then nodded.

“Yeah, it’s safe, Aviger," Yalson said. “You can come in."

“I let Balveda use my suit mike; she said she—"

“We heard," Yalson said.

“Something about a… ‘barrelcrash’. That right…." Horza heard Balveda’s muffled voice affirming this. “… She thought Neisin’s

gun might

blow up, or something."

“Well, it did," Yalson said. “He looks pretty bad." She glanced over at Wubslin, who was putting Dorolow’s hand back down.

Wubslin shook

his head when he saw Yalson looking at him. “… Dorolow got blown away, Aviger," Yalson said. The old man was

silent for a moment, then

said:

“And Horza."

“Took a plasma round on the head-box. Suit damage; no communication. He’ll live," Yalson paused, sighed. “Looks like we lost

the Mind,

though; it disappeared."

Aviger waited another few moments before saying, his voice shaking, “Well, a fine little mess. Easy in, easy out. Another

triumph. Our

Changer friend taking over where Kraiklyn left off!" His voice finished on a high pitch of anger; he switched

his transceiver off.

Yalson looked at Horza, shook her head and said, “Old asshole."

Wubslin still knelt over Dorolow’s body. They heard him sob a couple of times, before he, too, cut out of the open channel.

Neisin’s slowing

breath spluttered through a mask of blood and flesh.

Yalson made the Circle of Flame sign over the red haze masking Dorolow’s face, then covered the body with a sheet from the

pallet. Horza’s

ears stopped ringing, the grogginess cleared. Balveda, freed from the restrainer harness, watched the Changer

tend to Neisin. Aviger stood

nearby with Wubslin, whose arm wound had already been treated. “I heard the noise," Balveda explained.

“… It has a distinctive noise."

Wubslin had asked why Neisin’s gun had exploded, and how Balveda had known it was going to happen.

“I’d have recognized it, too, if I hadn’t been smacked on the head," Horza said. He was teasing fragments of visor out of

the unconscious

man’s face, spraying skin-gel onto the places where blood oozed. Neisin was in shock, probably dying, but

they couldn’t even take him out of

his suit; too much blood had clotted between the man’s body and the materials of the device

he wore. It would plug the many small punctures

effectively enough until the suit was removed, but then Neisin would start

to bleed in too many places for them to cope with. So they had to leave

him in the thing, as though in that mutual wreckage

the human and machine had become one fragile organism.

“But what

happened.

" Wubslin said.

“His gun barrelcrashed," Horza said. “The projectiles must have been set to explode on too soft an impact, so the shells started

to detonate

when they hit the blast wave from the bullets in front, not the target. He didn’t stop firing, so the blast front

retarded right back into the muzzle of

the gun."

“The guns have sensors to stop it happening," Balveda added, wincing with vicarious pain as Horza drew a long sliver of visor

from an eye

socket. “I guess his wasn’t working."

“Told him that gun was too damn cheap when he bought it," Yalson said, coming over to stand by Horza.

“Poor little bugger," Wubslin said.

“Two more dead," Aviger announced. “I hope you’re happy, Mr. Horza. I hope you’re so pleased about what your ‘allies’ have—"

“Aviger," Yalson said calmly, “shut up." The old man glared at her for a second, then stamped off. He stood looking down at

Dorolow.

Unaha-Closp floated down from the rear access ramp. “That Idiran up there," it said, its voice pitched to betray mild surprise;

“he’s alive.

Couple of tons of junk on top of him, but he’s still breathing."

“What about the other one." Horza said.

“No idea. I didn’t like to go too close; it’s terribly

messy

up there."

Horza left Yalson to look after Neisin. He walked over the debrisstrewn platform to the wreckage of the rear access gantry.

He was bare-headed. The suit’s helmet was ruined, and the suit itself had lost its AG and motor power, as well as most of

its senses. On

back-up energy, the lights still worked, as did the small repeater screen set into one wrist. The suit’s mass

sensor was damaged; the wrist

screen filled with clutter when linked to the sensor, barely registering the train’s reactor

at all.

His rifle was still working, for whatever that was worth now.

He stood at the bottom of the ramps and felt the dregs of heat seeping from the metal support legs, where laser-fire had struck.

He took a

deep breath and climbed up the ramp to where the Idiran lay, his massive head sticking out of the wreckage, sandwiched

between the two

levels of ramp. The Idiran turned slowly to look at him, and one arm tensed against the wreckage, which creaked

and moved. Then the warrior

brought his arm out from beneath the press of metal and unfastened the scarred battle-helm; he

let it fall to the floor. The great saddle-face

looked up at the Changer.

“The greetings of the battle-day," Horza said in careful Idiran.

“Ho," boomed the Idiran, “the little one speaks our tongue."

“I’m even on your side, though I don’t expect you to believe it. I belong to the intelligence section of the First Marine

Dominate under the

Querl Xoralundra." Horza sat down on the ramp, almost level with the Idiran’s face. “I was sent in here

to try to get the Mind," he continued.

“Really." the Idiran said. “Pity; I believe my comrade just destroyed it."

“So I hear," Horza said, leveling the laser rifle at the big face vised between the twisted metal planking. “You also ‘destroyed’

the Changers

back up at the base.

I

am a Changer; that’s why our mutual masters sent me in here. Why did you have to kill my people."

“What else could we do, human." the Idiran said impatiently. “They were an obstacle. We needed their weaponry. They would

have tried to

stop us. We were too few to guard them." The creature’s voice was labored as it fought the weight of ramp crushing

its torso and rib cylinder.

Horza aimed the rifle straight at the Idiran’s face.

“You vicious bastard, I ought to blow your fucking head off right now."

“By all means, midget," the Idiran smiled, the double set of hard lips spreading. “My comrade has already fallen bravely;

Quayanorl has

started his long journey through the Upper World. I am captured and victorious at once, and you offer me the

solace of the gun. I shall not close

my eyes, human."

“You don’t have to," Horza said, letting the gun down. He looked over, through the darkness of the station, at Dorolow’s body,

then into the

dim, smoke-hazed light in the distance, where the nose and control deck of the train glowed faintly, illuminating

an empty patch of floor where

the Mind had been. He turned back to the Idiran. “I’m taking you back. I believe there are still

units of the Ninety-Third Fleet out beyond the Quiet