After five kilometres, Agnes was already beginning to feel the burn. Was she that unfit?

The AI keeping pace with her fed suggestions into her fone, which in turn relayed them to her.

'It is recommended that you slightly decrease pace to lower your heart rate.'

She accelerated slightly and leaped over a rock that appeared in the pathway. The AI did an electronic sigh and repeated its suggestion.

When Agnes failed to comply, the AI added a low branch to the trail. At the last second Agnes ducked under it. Since the branch didn't really exist, hitting it would have caused no injury, but would have deducted points from her final score.

'This increase of speed is not recommended. Heart rate is now...'

Agnes tuned out. The last thing she needed was some bullshit AI telling her she hadn't done a decent run in ages. Damn it, she'd been fit in the Navy, but months behind a desk hadn't helped. That and too many romantic dinners with her husband.

As she expected, the AI decided to play dirty. Inserting holovision rocks and branches hadn't slowed Agnes down, so now it added a wide stream to the mix of obstacles. At the same moment it increased the slope of the path. The combination meant that in a few metres Agnes staggered to the top of a ridge to contemplate the unrealistic prospect of water flowing uphill.

She managed to stop in time and turned to where the AI bobbed along on its monorail. If it were possible, the device seemed to have a self-satisfied smirk on its otherwise blank plastic face.

'That...was cheating,' she manage to gasp, leaning forward with her hands on her knees. She didn't dare sit down, in case it became difficult to stand up again.

The AI switched off the flowing water but kept the path in place, presumably in case Agnes decided to take off again.

'A five minute rest is recommended to bring metabolic processes...'

She tapped her fone to shut the damn thing off. That meant a twenty point penalty but she didn't care. The score was just a private one anyway. Back in her Navy days it would have formed part of her medical fitness report, but here it was just for personal interest.

It still wasn't going to be good, just as it wasn't good to be so out of shape.

The AI extended a mechanical arm with her water bottle and towel. She took a sip of water and watched the countdown timer on the AI's face as the five minutes ticked away.

Sweat dripped down her face and had formed nasty patches under her arms and across her substantial bosom. Her calves gleamed with moisture too. Was it her imagination, or were her thighs even thicker than they had been a year ago? Perhaps a full medical check-up was in order before too long.

Her fone beeped. Still bent over, she tapped to receive and her boss's voice came across.

'Busy, Agnes?'

She blew out a long breath and sucked in some more oxygen before replying. 'Hello, John.'

'You sound...am I interrupting anything?'

She straightened up and held up the fone so John Grange could see the running track. At the same time the AI intoned: 'Your five minute rest period is over. You may recommence your run.' Agnes started jogging again, not so fast this time, and the AI was kind enough to keep the track horizontal. The twists and turns remained, however, since this was intended as a cross-country run.

'Nothing much,' she said.

'I just wanted to check with you about your message. Are you happy working with a Sirian?'

'No rules against it, is there?'

'No. It's just we've never had a Sirian client before.'

The path entered an overhang of laurel trees. The AI threw an occasional stone or root in the way just to make things interesting.

'He's an old acquaintance. I can vouch for his family. The Doracs. And they're part of the Sasha clan. Well known on Eridu. Not without...' She jumped over another rock, the same one the AI had given her before—was the thing starting to become bored? '...connections.'

'I see. I'll take your word for it. The other thing is...well, it's not the kind of thing we usually go after.'

Agnes ground to halt. The AI slowed on its monorail and back-tracked to check on her; she held up a hand to indicate silence. The machine obliged, but kept the time display ticking away as a reminder that this delay would affect her final score.

'Yeah,' she said. 'I know it isn't.'

'Terrorists? Why don't you leave it to the regular police?'

'Because they don't know shit.'

There was nothing Grange could say to that, given it was one of the mantras by which he ran the company.

'It could be dangerous, Agnes.'

'So can I.'

He actually laughed at that, which meant Agnes didn't know whether he was agreeing with her or not. She started jogging again, keeping it slow. No doubt sensing her concentration on something else, the AI kept the track largely clear of obstacles.

'How far do you intend to take the investigation?'

'The client wants to know who killed the Nuncio. So do a lot of other people. So do I for that matter. Let's find out. But as for going after them, no way. Not into that.'

If she'd been back in the Navy it would have been dangerous but fun to take on a terror cell and make a few arrests or kills. Terrorists were scum who deserved to receive the same violence they dished out. But now she was a private citizen, now she and Peter had started to revive their marriage, it was not such a wise thing to extend herself too far.

But Dorac's story had been intriguing enough for her to call him up and discuss things further. And when he added that the Sasha clan itself was interested—whether that was true or not—a spark of actual enthusiasm had been lit.

Perhaps that was why she was here at the running track trying to regain a military standard of fitness. Peter didn't like her too muscular, but this was a professional matter, not a personal one.

'All right,' said Grange. 'I'll make some preliminary enquiries. Where should we start?'

The end of the track appeared. The forest path Agnes had been following reverted to hard rubber surface and the trees and backdrop of wild autumn sky vanished as the real walls of the building came into focus. A roof appeared, surprisingly low after the holo clouds had been dispersed, hung with projectors and lights. The AI reached the end of its monorail just as the path finished. It thrust water and towel at her.

Agnes crossed to a seat as she mopped herself.

'The client thinks an old cell he knows about might have some information. The Shamah. They were set up in Cairo. He knows the leader—actually met him a couple of times and lived to tell the story.'

'Impressive.'

'We could start with them. Or one of our regular contacts.'

'I'll see what I can do and let you know. You want to go into the field, I take it?'

'Of course.'

She crossed to the changing room, stripping off her shirt as she entered and heading for the shower.

'Be careful.'

'I want to take the client with me. If anyone can protect me, he can.'

The harsh intake of Grange's breath on the other end of the fone made her check the thing wasn't on visual: she'd just stepped naked into the shower.

'It's not company policy to—'

'He's ex-Navy. He's trained. And he knows the cell. We need him.'

'I'll get back to you on that one.'

He signed off.

The interview had gone better than it could have. At least Grange was going to think about letting her take Dorac along. She continued the shower, and after a minute called up Peter for a chat and this time turned the visual on so he could watch. He seemed to enjoy the experience, and so did she.

After she'd said goodbye to him and left the shower, new thoughts arrived.

This would be a stupidly dangerous thing to do. But at least it could be an exciting one. Things had been dull since she'd resigned from the Navy, since she'd almost been court-martialled for letting terrorists escape. Chasing drug smugglers was a bit on the dull side. Too easy, perhaps. There was nothing like a good bit of terrorism to keep one busy.

Outside the dressing room, the AI presented her with a readout of the run statistics.

'See you tomorrow,' she said gloomily.