crashing to the floor and lying still.

“Oh…" somebody said.

“Stay back," Horza said, then went carefully toward the long, inert body of the Idiran. He looked down at the great head,

motionless on the

tunnel floor. Blood oozed from under it, forming a pool. Yalson joined Horza, her gun trained on the fallen

creature.

“Is he dead." she asked. Horza shrugged. He knelt down and touched the Idiran’s body with his bare hand, at a point near the

neck where it

was sometimes possible to sense the steady flow of blood inside, but there was nothing. He closed then opened

one of the section leader’s

eyes.

“I don’t think so." He touched the dark blood gathering in its pool. “Looks like he’s bleeding badly, inside."

“What can we do." Yalson said.

“Not a lot." Horza rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“What about some anti-coagulant." Aviger said from the far side of the pallet, where Balveda sat and watched the scene in

front of her with

dark, calm eyes.

“Ours doesn’t work on them," Horza said.

“Skinspray," Balveda said. They all looked at her. She nodded, looking at Horza. “If you have any medical alcohol and some

skinspray,

make up an equal solution. If he’s got digestive tract injuries, that might help him. If it’s respiratory, he’s

dead." Balveda shrugged at Horza.

“Well, let’s do something, rather than stand around here all day," Yalson said.

“It’s worth a try," Horza said. “Better get him upright, if we want to pour the stuff down his throat."

“That," the drone said wearily from beneath the pallet, “no doubt means me." It floated forward, placing the pallet on the

floor near Xoxarle’s

feet. Balveda stepped off as the drone transferred the load from its back to the tunnel floor. It floated

to where Yalson and Horza stood by the

prone Idiran.

“I’ll lift with the drone," Horza told Yalson, putting his gun down; “you keep your gun on him."

Wubslin, now kneeling on the tunnel floor and fiddling with the controls of the mass sensor, whistled quietly to himself.

Balveda went round

the back of the pallet to watch.

“There it is," Wubslin smiled at her, nodding at the bright white dot on the green-lined screen. “Isn’t that a beauty."

“Station seven, you reckon, Wubslin." Balveda hunched her slim shoulders and shoved her hands deep into her jacket pockets.

She

wrinkled her nose as she watched the screen. She could smell herself.

They were all smelling, all giving off animal scents, after their time down there without washing. Wubslin was nodding.

“Must be," he said to the Culture agent. Horza and the drone struggled to get the slack-limbed Idiran into a sitting position.

Aviger went

forward to help, taking off his helmet as he went. “Must be," Wubslin breathed, more to himself than to Balveda.

His gun fell off his shoulder and

he took it off, frowning at the jammed reel which was supposed to take up the slack on the

weapon’s strap. He placed the weapon on the pallet

and went back to tinkering with the mass sensor. Balveda edged closer,

peering over the engineer’s shoulder. Wubslin looked round and up at

her as Horza and the drone Unaha-Closp slowly heaved

Xoxarle from the floor. Wubslin smiled awkwardly at the Culture agent, and moved the

laser rifle he had placed on the pallet

further away from Balveda. Balveda gave a small smile in return and took a step backward. She took her

hands out of her pockets

and folded her arms, watching Wubslin work from a little further away.

“Heavy bastard," Horza gasped, as he, Aviger and Unaha-Closp finally pulled and pushed Xoxarle’s back against the side of

the tunnel. The

massive head was angled limply forward over his chest. Liquid drooled from the side of his huge mouth. Horza

and Aviger straightened. Aviger

stretched his arms, grunting.

Xoxarle seemed dead; for a second, maybe two.

Then it was as though some immense force blasted him away from the wall. He threw himself forward and sideways, one arm whacking

into

Horza’s chest and sending the Changer cannoning into Yalson; at the same time, his partly buckled legs flicking straight,

the Idiran pounced

away from the group forward of the pallet, past Aviger—thrown against the tunnel wall—and Unaha-Closp—slapped

into the floor of the tunnel

with Xoxarle’s other hand—toward the pallet.

Xoxarle flew over the pallet, his raised arm and massive fist coming down. Wubslin’s hand hadn’t even started to move for

his gun.

The Idiran brought his fist down with all his strength, shattering the mass sensor with a single crushing blow. His other

hand flashed out to

snatch the laser. Wubslin threw himself back instinctively, knocking into Balveda.

Xoxarle’s hand snapped shut round the laser rifle like a sprung trap round an animal’s leg. He rolled through the air and

over the

disintegrating wreckage of the sensor. The gun twirled in his hand, pointing back down the tunnel to where Horza,

Yalson and Aviger were still

trying to recover their balance and Unaha-Closp was just starting to move. Xoxarle steadied briefly

and aimed straight at Horza.

Unaha-Closp slammed into the Idiran’s lower jaw like a small, badly streamlined missile, lifting the section leader bodily

from the pallet,

stretching his neck on his shoulders, jerking all three of his legs together, and throwing his arms out to

each side. Xoxarle landed with a thud

beside Wubslin and lay still.

Horza stooped and grabbed his gun. Yalson ducked and swiveled, bringing her gun to bear. Wubslin sat up. Balveda had staggered

back

after Wubslin had fallen against her; a hand at her mouth, she stood now, staring down at where Unaha-Closp hovered in

the air over Xoxarle’s

face. Aviger rubbed his head and looked resentfully at the wall.

Horza went over to the Idiran. Xoxarle’s eyes were closed. Wubslin tore his rifle from the Idiran’s slack fist.

“Not bad, drone," Horza said, nodding.

The machine turned to him. “Unaha-

Closp,

" it said, exas peratedly.

“OK," he sighed. “Well done, Unaha-Closp." Horza went to look at Xoxarle’s wrists. The wires had been snapped. The wires on

his legs

were intact, but those on his arms had been broken like threads.

“I didn’t kill him, did I." Unaha-Closp said. Horza, the barrel of his rifle hard against Xoxarle’s head, shook his head.

Xoxarle’s body started to tremble; his eyes flicked open. “No, I’m not dead, little friends," the Idiran rumbled, and the

cracking, scraping

noise of his laughter echoed through the tunnels. He levered his torso slowly from the ground.

Horza kicked him in the side. “You—"

“Little one!" Xoxarle laughed before Horza could say any more. “Is this how you treat your allies." He rubbed his jaw, moving

fractured

plates of keratin. “I am injured," the great voice announced, then broke with laughter again, the big V head rocking

forward toward the wreckage

lying on the back of the pallet, “but not yet in the same state as your precious mass sensor!"

Horza rammed his gun against the Idiran’s head. “I ought—"

“You ought to blow my head off right now; I know, Changer. I have told you already you should. Why don’t you."

Horza tightened his finger round the trigger, holding his breath, then roared—shouted without words or sense at the seated

figure in front of

him—and strode off, past the pallet. “Tie that motherfucker up!" he bellowed, and stamped by Yalson, who

pivoted briefly to watch him go; then

she turned back with a small shake of her head to watch while Aviger—helped by Wubslin,

who cast the occasional mournful look at the debris

from the mass sensor—trussed the Idiran’s arms down tightly to his sides

with several loops of wire. Xoxarle was still shaking with laughter.

“I think it sensed my mass! I think it sensed my fist! Ha!"