"Casualties?" Dreyfus asked, holding his horror at bay.

"Last census put the population at nine hundred and sixty. We think they all died, but we need to get a team in and make an immediate physical inspection. Survivors can't be ruled out. At the very least, there may be beta-level recoverables.".

"Why isn't this all over the Band?".

"Because we're keeping a lid on it. This doesn't look like an accident."

"Someone will have noticed Ruskin-Sartorious dropping off the networks.".

"They only participated in abstraction at a shallow level, enough that we can continue to simulate the existence of the fully functional habitat for the time being, using our network privileges.".

"And the time being … would be how long?".

"Best guess? Less than twenty-six hours. Thirteen might be nearer the mark.".

"And when the story breaks?".

"We'll have a major crisis on our hands. I think I know who did this, but I'll need to be absolutely certain before I move on it. That's why I want you to get out to Ruskin-Sartorious immediately. Take whoever you need. Secure evidence and recoverables and get back to Panoply. Then we'll hold our breath.". Dreyfus looked again at the image of the wounded habitat.

"There's only one thing that could have done that, isn't there? And it isn't even a weapon.".

"We see things similarly," Aumonier said. The walls of the tactical room were finely grained teak, varnished to a forbidding gleam. There were no windows or pictures, no humanising touches. The heavy, dark furniture was all inert matter: grown, cut and constructed by nature and carpentry. The double doors were cased in hammered bronze, studded with huge brass bolts, each door inlaid with a stylised version of the raised gauntlet that was Panoply's symbol. The gauntlet was supposed to signify protection, but it could just as easily be interpreted as a threatening fist, clenched to smash down on its enemies or those who failed it.