here tonight. Makes me think I must be right to think this is very off. This whole thing. Plus, the great Lex Falk faked his way inside the perimeter the same way I did."
"No, I didn't," he replied.
"You so did. You lifted a few props from the paramedic transports."
He didn't answer her. He'd seen something.
"You know who I am," she said, following him again.
"I don't think so. I can't remember."
"Yes you can."
"You're some newbie from Affiliated Dispersal."
"You deliberately checked my name out. I heard you do it."
"Yeah, maybe I did. I was bored. I don't remember it now."
"Noma Berlin. I'm with Data-Scatter. Do you always do this? Play hard to shake off, and then hard to get? It's undertractive."
He turned and looked straight at her.
"I didn't come here to have a conversation with you," he said.
Her grin came out again.
"What's so interesting over there?" she asked. She nodded in the direction he had been heading.
Falk hesitated, then said, "Look at those guys. No, not the ones with the drills. Those two on the far side of that collapsed roof. See what they're holding?"
Through the haze, they could plainly see the two men playing small drumstick wands over the smoking rubble.
"Sniffers," she said.
"Yup."
"That'd be pretty standard, wouldn't it? Scanning everything."
"If this is a bolide strike, why are they sweeping for traces of explosives?"
"They could be sweeping for anything. All sorts of things could've been spilled or released or burned off. Toxins. Public health, you know. That's all."
"Or they could be sweeping for traces of explosives. Munitions of some kind. There's more to this than has been newsflagged. There are casualties, for starters."
"I saw," she said, losing the smile for a second. "Five, I think. I heard they were derelicts."
"Who told you that?"
"One of the firefighters. He said they were bringing out bodies of derelicts who had been living in the warehouses."
"I don't think so," Falk said.
"Why not?"
"I got a look at one."
"They were all badly burned."
"Yeah, but the one I saw, I could tell he was cleanshaven. He'd had a haircut."
"Derelicts get haircuts."
"What are you," he asked, "Little Miss The Glass Is Half Crazy?"
"I'm just saying it's hardly proof of anything."
"That's why I'd like you to shut up and go away so I can keep doing my job."
She was about to reply when someone shouted at them.
They turned. An SOMD trooper was jogging towards them. He was in body-plate, and carrying a weapon.
"You two," he called. "I want to see some credentials. Now."
"Lose the brooch," Falk hissed.
"What?"
"Lose the fucking brooch, you silly bitch. Fast!"
The SOMD guy came right up to them. He was in full rig, harness and plate. The gun strapped across his front was a PAP 20, common, standard issue, a bullpup-format carbine. Personal [weapon] All Purpose . As he came close, the PAP seemed to become alarmingly, extravagantly big.
"You know you're not supposed to be in this area," the trooper said. He sounded weary, with a little edge of stress. It was immediately clear to Falk that there was going to be no mileage in trying to front it. The trooper wasn't in the mood to play a game. He hadn't even bothered to question the vest or the armband.
"Sorry," said Falk.
"You're just making our work more difficult," the trooper said. "Where's your freeking ® self-respect? There's freeking ® people scorched over there. You're getting in the freeking ® way."
"Sorry," Falk repeated.
"Press?" asked the trooper.
"Yeah," said Falk.
"Well, better than you being freeking ® rubbernecks, I suppose. Creds."
Falk fished his out of his pocket quickly, with an exaggerated show to demonstrate he wasn't reaching for anything else.
"I've got an SO validation," he said quickly, before green
"No, I didn't," he replied.
"You so did. You lifted a few props from the paramedic transports."
He didn't answer her. He'd seen something.
"You know who I am," she said, following him again.
"I don't think so. I can't remember."
"Yes you can."
"You're some newbie from Affiliated Dispersal."
"You deliberately checked my name out. I heard you do it."
"Yeah, maybe I did. I was bored. I don't remember it now."
"Noma Berlin. I'm with Data-Scatter. Do you always do this? Play hard to shake off, and then hard to get? It's undertractive."
He turned and looked straight at her.
"I didn't come here to have a conversation with you," he said.
Her grin came out again.
"What's so interesting over there?" she asked. She nodded in the direction he had been heading.
Falk hesitated, then said, "Look at those guys. No, not the ones with the drills. Those two on the far side of that collapsed roof. See what they're holding?"
Through the haze, they could plainly see the two men playing small drumstick wands over the smoking rubble.
"Sniffers," she said.
"Yup."
"That'd be pretty standard, wouldn't it? Scanning everything."
"If this is a bolide strike, why are they sweeping for traces of explosives?"
"They could be sweeping for anything. All sorts of things could've been spilled or released or burned off. Toxins. Public health, you know. That's all."
"Or they could be sweeping for traces of explosives. Munitions of some kind. There's more to this than has been newsflagged. There are casualties, for starters."
"I saw," she said, losing the smile for a second. "Five, I think. I heard they were derelicts."
"Who told you that?"
"One of the firefighters. He said they were bringing out bodies of derelicts who had been living in the warehouses."
"I don't think so," Falk said.
"Why not?"
"I got a look at one."
"They were all badly burned."
"Yeah, but the one I saw, I could tell he was cleanshaven. He'd had a haircut."
"Derelicts get haircuts."
"What are you," he asked, "Little Miss The Glass Is Half Crazy?"
"I'm just saying it's hardly proof of anything."
"That's why I'd like you to shut up and go away so I can keep doing my job."
She was about to reply when someone shouted at them.
They turned. An SOMD trooper was jogging towards them. He was in body-plate, and carrying a weapon.
"You two," he called. "I want to see some credentials. Now."
"Lose the brooch," Falk hissed.
"What?"
"Lose the fucking brooch, you silly bitch. Fast!"
The SOMD guy came right up to them. He was in full rig, harness and plate. The gun strapped across his front was a PAP 20, common, standard issue, a bullpup-format carbine. Personal [weapon] All Purpose . As he came close, the PAP seemed to become alarmingly, extravagantly big.
"You know you're not supposed to be in this area," the trooper said. He sounded weary, with a little edge of stress. It was immediately clear to Falk that there was going to be no mileage in trying to front it. The trooper wasn't in the mood to play a game. He hadn't even bothered to question the vest or the armband.
"Sorry," said Falk.
"You're just making our work more difficult," the trooper said. "Where's your freeking ® self-respect? There's freeking ® people scorched over there. You're getting in the freeking ® way."
"Sorry," Falk repeated.
"Press?" asked the trooper.
"Yeah," said Falk.
"Well, better than you being freeking ® rubbernecks, I suppose. Creds."
Falk fished his out of his pocket quickly, with an exaggerated show to demonstrate he wasn't reaching for anything else.
"I've got an SO validation," he said quickly, before green
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