“These Lomeri are slaves,” said what was probably the AI, not Walker, “as some androids are slaves of the Lomeri on the plane they rule. There is passage across the Matrix through the Open Lands, and there is raiding from all sides.”
Two different horns answered the first. Certainly signals.
“Is North on a plane?” Hansen demanded. “Can he be reached?”
The visible edaphosaur suddenly closed its jaws with a clop so abrupt that half-ingested ferns fell in a fan to the mud. The beast turned and ran off into the mist with an exaggerated side-to-side twisting of its heavy body.
Three lizardmen stepped into sight. Their radios were slung in belt pouches. The staffs they carried were sharpened on both ends.
There was a clicking of electronic laughter in Hansen’s ears. “Kommissar, Kommissar,” said Walker. “North and Rolls have formed an alliance and merged the planes on which they found themselves. But to visit them through the Matrix requires permission. Which will not be forthcoming if the Lomeri slay you now.”
Hansen laughed. He lifted one of the reeds from the mud with a firm pull.
“Oh, they won’t kill me, Walker,” he said with the comfortable assurance of a man with a short-range task—for a fucking change! “My masters, they sent the best.”
Hansen tried twirling the reed. The upward-pointing spikes were each about twenty centimeters long.
The balance changed as mud flew off the root ball. Hansen kept the reed moving as he walked toward the Lomeri by as direct a path as the muddy shore allowed.
“I’m your master now, Commissioner Hansen,” Walker said with asperity.
“Translate for me,” said Hansen.
“—and if we lose any more of the cattle,” said a voice with startling clarity—the helmet excerpted from Hansen’s battlesuit contained a first-rate parabolic microphone as well as the artificial intelligence— “then Strombrand’ll flay us ‘n no mistake.”
The lizardmen had halted, chittering among themselves. The skirmish line in which they’d appeared drew together when their quarry started toward them.
“If he gave us decent equipment, they wouldn’t fouling stray, would they?” snapped another Lomeri in reply. “So it’s his fault.”
“It’s our hides,” the first rejoined.
“Walker,” Hansen said. “Can I fix their hardware with the equipment I’ve got?”
“Yes,” said the AI. Its tone was subtly different from Walker’s, even though both machine intelligences spoke through the same circuitry.
The Lomeri were slightly taller than Hansen. They were thin and had the dangerous look of figures wound from barbed wire. Patterns of red and orange scales beneath their singlets made them look as though they were on fire.
“Strombrand needs us,” said the third lizardman decisively. “He’ll let us off with a beating . . . and it’s worth that to have red meat again!”
He measured the distance to Hansen—five meters and closing—with a grin on his toothy jaws.
Hansen grinned back. “Oh, but it’s not worth trying something that’ll get your all four limbs rammed down your throat, is it, boyo?” he said, listening to the speaker in his helmet hiss and clatter with lizardspeak.
He flicked the root end of the reed toward the hungry Lomeri. Water spattered the creature. Instead of blinking, nictitating membranes slid sideways across the large eyeballs.
“Or,” continued Hansen, “you could be nice to me and I’ll improve your equipment so you won’t get a beating ever again.”
He darted the reed out, spike-end first, like a Lomeri tongue. The nearest of the creatures flinched back, gripping his staff to his chest.
“Which’ll it be, boyos?” Hansen asked.
The Lomeri hunched together, hipshot so that they could all three face the intruder. The AI fed Hansen their whispered words clearly: How could he . . . Look, he can’t be that tough. . . . Did your mother hatch many such fools? He could be anything! Well let’s—
One of the Lomeri—the first one—straightened, took his radio from its holster, and (after a moment’s hesitation) tossed it to Hansen.
“Go on, then,” the lizardman directed. “Fix it.”
Hansen looked at the unit. Its black plastic shell had a dial and a miniature joystick with no other features. A short coil antenna poked from one end.
“Bring it up under your chin,” Walker’s voice directed. “But continue to watch the Lomeri.”