The Line of Polity by Neal Asher

strikes, then felt one of his own go immediately after. The next thing he knew, a foot cracked against his temple, then swept his feet away. He was now on his back, a straight-fingered strike poised, withheld, but ready, over his throat.
    " You are fast," he admitted, panting.
    The 'Japanese' stepped back, shrugged, and suddenly appeared a lot older. Cormac immediately recognized him.
    "You're not so slow yourself, Ian Cormac. You're the first to manage that in a long time." He pushed his hand against his ribcage and there was a click. He shrugged again and stood upright. That he had a cracked rib showed not at all. Cormac pushed himself laboriously to his feet. His own busted rib was just beginning to hurt.
    "Here, let me," said Blegg, and reached out to press his palm against Cormac's chest. A flush of warmth, the pain went away.
    "How the hell did you do that?" he asked.
    Blegg smiled and waved a hand at their surroundings. "I can do anything here — as can you, should you will it," he said.
    Cormac walked to the side of the room and picked up a towel to wipe his face.
    He gave the dracoman a calculating look. "Learnt anything interesting?"
    Scar showed his teeth.
    Cormac turned back to Blegg, who had followed him, and seemed to be sweating not at all. What did he mean, 'I can do anything'? Then Cormac suddenly realized what the comment might indicate. He held out the towel and let it drop, then, with a small exertion of will, stopped the fabric in midair.
    He glanced at Blegg. "Total immersion?"
    Blegg nodded once.
    "How much of my memory is repressed?" Cormac asked.
    "Enough for the civilities, but now you will remember where and when you are."
    And Cormac did. He remembered his mission on Samarkand — that world devastated by the alien entity calling itself 'Dragon' — then his long sojourn on Earth after having spent far too much time trying to find the source of a contract that had been put out on his life — only to discover it was Dragon who wanted him dead. But whether that contract had been put out by the sphere he had killed or another, he did not know — for Dragon was now essentially four entities, each a living sphere a kilometre across. During that sojourn he had, not for the first time, considered retirement, then quickly rejected the idea. Thereafter had come the quick resolution of a problem involving a small group of amphidapt Separatists on Europa, which had then resulted in his pursuit of a biophysicist called Skellor, whom Earth Central Security had been watching for some time. This pursuit had been long but not particularly troublesome — Skellor having a tracer layered in a memplant he had purchased while watched by ECS. Then on to the Line-patrolling dreadnought the Occam Razor — and now here ...
    "Get to the point," said Cormac, regaining his impatience.
    "As you will," said Blegg, waving a hand.
    Instantly a black line split this reality, opened and swept away the entire dojo, and the dracoman along with it. Now Cormac found himself standing on a floor of glass in open space. He gazed down to where Blegg pointed and saw the huge Outlink station Miranda, suspended there. Around it, in speeded time, gathered a fleet of ships, and before his eyes the station began to come apart.
    "This was Outlink station Miranda five solstan days ago. It was destroyed by a mycelium similar to the one used to destroy the Samarkand runcible," said Blegg.
    "Deaths?" inquired Cormac, his urgency to find Skellor now seeming childish to him.
    "Twenty-three of the Outlinkers refused to leave, but there was time enough to evacuate the rest."
    "Did Dragon plant the mycelium? Are we talking outright hostilities with it now?"
    "One of the spheres — it is well to remember that they are separate entities now — may have been involved. You will travel to this place in the Occam Razor, and you will find out what is happening, then take whatever action you deem necessary."
    Cormac stared thoughtfully at the Outlink