Free Dark Intelligence by Neal Asher

haiman augmentations raising her to a mentality she hadn’t even imagined. That the visible hardware on her body wasn’t metallic but organic she just accepted.
    Taking apart Copellian’s operation was simplicity itself after this encounter, so much so that she deliberately complicated it to make it more interesting. The man’s downfall was protracted and humiliating, but he cheated her at the end by taking his own life before she could capture him. Isobel Satomi became a legend in the Graveyard—but her legend soon grew in unexpected ways. It became apparent that what she’d bought from Penny Royal was still changing her, and she joined the ranks of the damned.
    ISOBEL
    This area of town was pretty much safe for Isobel, since large parts of her organization were established in the city, but it was a good idea to take precautions. While she waited outside the Crab Chowder, once her favourite bar, Trent and Gabriel went in first. When entering public places like this, she always liked to have her men in position first. They were much less recognizable than she was and, despite their often-violent tendencies, had fewer enemies.
    “Okay, I got him located,” Trent auged her, also sending a feed from inside the bar. He’d laid a frame over a man sitting at one of the tables, along with the facial recognition confirmation.
    “Can’t see anyone we might have a problem with,” said Gabriel over his comunit. “But we’re positioned to cover you now.”
    “The people I’m concerned about wouldn’t be as easy to see,” she replied, then pushed open the door and entered.
    As she stepped inside, she opened out the petals of the sensory cowl behind her head. She located weapons both visible and concealed, plus implanted hardware and augs. She also sought out those hidden behind the surrounding walls to see if they had acquired any weapons since her last external inspection. The situation looked okay so she relaxed a little. As always when entering this place, her attention strayed to a glass crab sculpture, sitting in a niche carved into one wall. The thing was made of rose and blood-red glass and always gave her the creeps, even more so because there were intricacies within that she couldn’t quite fathom—even with her augmented senses. She would have liked to have had the thing scrapped but it was a gift from the indestructible Mr Pace, the Graveyard’s highest crime lord. Shuddering, she dragged her attention away from the thing and closed her cowl. As usual, she found herself having to fight the knotty muscles growing from the bases of its chitin petals where they had sprouted from the back of her neck.
    Whenever she entered a room, conversation died. The speed of its death depended on the attention those within were paying to their surroundings. In the Chowder, where some drank heavily, it died a slow death. She paused, running a fingertip over the row of hard spiky growths protruding along her jawbone. Then she touched one of the pits forming below her eyes, before realizing what she was doing and abruptly snatching her hand down again.
    She shrugged to herself, concealed within the padded suit she wore to hide her other bodily changes, and slowly headed over to the client, or mark, at the table. As she walked, she concentrated on trying to prevent her cybermotors from conflicting with the new ropy muscles enwrapping her dissolving bones. Finally halting to stand over him, she rested one hand on the gas-system pulse-gun at her hip.
    “Thorvald Spear?” she asked.
    He auged his ident to her, along with limited permissions, from a state-of-the-art silver snake behind his ear, then replied, “I am. Won’t you take a seat?”
    His tone was mild and his demeanour convivial, but his aug security was tighter than an airlock seal. She detected a hard wariness in him, and was that twist to his mouth a hint of disapproval? He certainly knew who she was. He probably knew there were arrest warrants out for her covering