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ice to melt on his tongue. That was a lot of irradiated platinum for destroying a science vessel outside of Polity space. There had to be a catch. There always was.
    "Where is this vessel?"
    "Its last reported position was at the edge of the Quarrison Drift. Entering the Drift. I have that position to within a light year. There must be no survivors; total obliteration."
    "For my own sake I have to agree. I don't want the Polity taking an interest in my affairs. What complications might there be?"
    "The ship could be planetside by the time we reach it." Conard gave a bleak grin before sipping his glass of mineral water. Kellor distrusted people who made a point of staying sober. It probably meant they needed a clear head to keep track of their lies.
    "I don't have the equipment for a large-scale planetary action. All I have is delta wing landing craft adapted for orbital bombardment."
    "We will supply soldiers and landing craft for any ground action. You have the hold space." Kellor nodded then tilted his head as the crodorman came staggering into the vending area. The man looked drunk and angry. Kellor shook his head in mock sadness and dropped a hand down to his belt. He felt nothing but contempt for bad losers.
    "How soon can you be ready?" asked Conard.
    "There are a few loose ends ... "
    The crodorman approached their table, pulling something from his bulky garments.
    "Trazum speck!"
    Kellor knew enough crodorun to recognise the challenge and threat. He stood as the crodorman finally pulled free a cylinder of grey metal. The end of the cylinder shot away to a distance of a metre and hovered suspended, the vague shimmer of field-stiffened monofilament between it and the cylinder. Kellor drew a small flat gun and pointed it. The crodorman paused; that moment again. The gun made a sound like a plastic ruler slapped against a table. The crodorman's arm fell off. The weapon fell with it and sheared in a half a recently vacated chair. On his feet now Kellor aimed again. The crodorman had time only to look down at the blood pumping from his stump. Again that sound. A hole the size of a strawberry appeared in ridged forehead and spattered customers behind the crodorman with pieces of skull and brain. He fell back over the vending machine which whined under his weight and thanked him for his custom. As Kellor holstered his gun he noted Conard clipping a similar weapon back into a wrist holster. He filed the information away for future reference.
    "That's one loose end," he said.
    "It's female," said Abaron.
    "I thought you had females," said Chapra. They were sitting in a small eating area. Chapra was eating prawns and Abaron occasionally gave the plateful a strange look.
    "Female ... definitions. I had two sexes and made the fundamental error of assuming that because they were so like Earth crustaceans in every respect they would be the same in meiosis ... it's the trihelical DNA. There are three sexes, all contributing their share of the chromosomes. This is the third." He pointed at the projection. It showed a crustacean little different in outward appearance to its fellows.
    "So our friend used the device to conduct a sex-change operation," said Chapra with much amusement.
    "Yes," said Abaron grudgingly. He looked at the creature curled around its weird machine. "No doubt it is correcting my error with one of the other species."
    "Why don't you do the rest?" asked Chapra. "Help it out." Abaron stared at her for a moment as if trying to decide whether or not she was ridiculing him. He eventually nodded then took up his notescreen and headed out of the room.
    "What has it got in there now?" Chapra asked the empty air. The projection flickered and changed, showed the creature harvesting some of the water weed and feeding it into the machine. The projection then flicked back to real time showing the creature uncurling and moving back from its machine. A cloud of small objects gusted from one white mouth.
    "What is that?"
    "Seeds