Otherwise, the sacs melt and you’re back where I
found you. So you see, Case, you need us. You need us as badly as you did when we
scraped you up from the gutter.”
Case looked at Molly. She shrugged.
“Now go down to the freight elevator and bring up the cases you find there.” Armitage
handed him the magnetic key. “Go on. You’ll enjoy this, Case. Like Christmas morning.”
S UMMER IN THE Sprawl, the mall crowds swaying like windblown grass, a field of flesh shot through
with sudden eddies of need and gratification.
He sat beside Molly in filtered sunlight on the rim of a dry concrete fountain, letting
the endless stream of faces recapitulate the stages of his life. First a child with
hooded eyes, a street boy, hands relaxed and ready at his sides; then a teenager,
face smooth and cryptic beneath red glasses. Case remembered fighting on a rooftop
at seventeen, silent combat in the rose glow of the dawn geodesics.
He shifted on the concrete, feeling it rough and cool through the thin black denim.
Nothing here like the electric dance of Ninsei. This was different commerce, a different
rhythm, in the smell of fast food and perfume and fresh summer sweat.
With his deck waiting, back in the loft, an Ono-Sendai Cyberspace 7. They’d left the
place littered with the abstract white forms of the foam packing units, with crumpled
plastic film and hundreds of tiny foam beads. The Ono-Sendai; next year’s most expensive
Hosaka computer; a Sony monitor; a dozen disks of corporate-grade ice; a Braun coffeemaker.
Armitage had only waited for Case’s approval of each piece.
“Where’d he go?” Case had asked Molly.
“He likes hotels. Big ones. Near airports, if he can manage it. Let’s go down to the
street.” She’d zipped herself into an old surplus vest with a dozen oddly shaped pockets
and put on a huge pair of black plastic sunglasses that completely covered her mirrored
insets.
“You know about that toxin shit, before?” he asked her, by the fountain. She shook
her head. “You think it’s true?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Works either way.”
“You know any way I can find out?”
“No,” she said, her right hand coming up to form the jive for silence. “That kind
of kink’s too subtle to show up on a scan.” Then her fingers moved again: wait. “And
you don’t care that much anyway. I saw you stroking that Sendai; man, it was pornographic.”
She laughed.
“So what’s he got on you? How’s he got the working girl kinked?”
“Professional pride, baby, that’s all.” And again the sign for silence. “We’re gonna
get some breakfast, okay? Eggs, real bacon. Probably kill you, you been eating that
rebuilt Chiba krill for so long. Yeah, come on, we’ll tube in to Manhattan and get
us a real breakfast.”
L IFELESS NEON SPELLED out METRO HOLOGRAFIX in dusty capitals of glass tubing. Case picked at a shred of
bacon that had lodged between his front teeth. He’d given up asking her where they
were going and why; jabs in the ribs and the sign for silence were all he’d gotten
in reply. She talked about the season’s fashions, about sports, about a political
scandal in California he’d never heard of.
He looked around the deserted dead-end street. A sheet of newsprint went cartwheeling
past the intersection. Freak winds in the East side; something to do with convection,
and an overlap in the domes. Case peered through the window at the dead sign. Her
Sprawl wasn’t his Sprawl, he decided. She’d led him through a dozen bars and clubs
he’d never seen before, taking care of business, usually with no more than a nod.
Maintaining connections.
Something was moving in the shadows behind METRO HOLOGRAFIX.
The door was a sheet of corrugated roofing. In front of it, Molly’shands flowed through an intricate sequence of jive that he couldn’t follow. He caught
the sign for cash , a thumb brushing the tip of the forefinger.
found you. So you see, Case, you need us. You need us as badly as you did when we
scraped you up from the gutter.”
Case looked at Molly. She shrugged.
“Now go down to the freight elevator and bring up the cases you find there.” Armitage
handed him the magnetic key. “Go on. You’ll enjoy this, Case. Like Christmas morning.”
S UMMER IN THE Sprawl, the mall crowds swaying like windblown grass, a field of flesh shot through
with sudden eddies of need and gratification.
He sat beside Molly in filtered sunlight on the rim of a dry concrete fountain, letting
the endless stream of faces recapitulate the stages of his life. First a child with
hooded eyes, a street boy, hands relaxed and ready at his sides; then a teenager,
face smooth and cryptic beneath red glasses. Case remembered fighting on a rooftop
at seventeen, silent combat in the rose glow of the dawn geodesics.
He shifted on the concrete, feeling it rough and cool through the thin black denim.
Nothing here like the electric dance of Ninsei. This was different commerce, a different
rhythm, in the smell of fast food and perfume and fresh summer sweat.
With his deck waiting, back in the loft, an Ono-Sendai Cyberspace 7. They’d left the
place littered with the abstract white forms of the foam packing units, with crumpled
plastic film and hundreds of tiny foam beads. The Ono-Sendai; next year’s most expensive
Hosaka computer; a Sony monitor; a dozen disks of corporate-grade ice; a Braun coffeemaker.
Armitage had only waited for Case’s approval of each piece.
“Where’d he go?” Case had asked Molly.
“He likes hotels. Big ones. Near airports, if he can manage it. Let’s go down to the
street.” She’d zipped herself into an old surplus vest with a dozen oddly shaped pockets
and put on a huge pair of black plastic sunglasses that completely covered her mirrored
insets.
“You know about that toxin shit, before?” he asked her, by the fountain. She shook
her head. “You think it’s true?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Works either way.”
“You know any way I can find out?”
“No,” she said, her right hand coming up to form the jive for silence. “That kind
of kink’s too subtle to show up on a scan.” Then her fingers moved again: wait. “And
you don’t care that much anyway. I saw you stroking that Sendai; man, it was pornographic.”
She laughed.
“So what’s he got on you? How’s he got the working girl kinked?”
“Professional pride, baby, that’s all.” And again the sign for silence. “We’re gonna
get some breakfast, okay? Eggs, real bacon. Probably kill you, you been eating that
rebuilt Chiba krill for so long. Yeah, come on, we’ll tube in to Manhattan and get
us a real breakfast.”
L IFELESS NEON SPELLED out METRO HOLOGRAFIX in dusty capitals of glass tubing. Case picked at a shred of
bacon that had lodged between his front teeth. He’d given up asking her where they
were going and why; jabs in the ribs and the sign for silence were all he’d gotten
in reply. She talked about the season’s fashions, about sports, about a political
scandal in California he’d never heard of.
He looked around the deserted dead-end street. A sheet of newsprint went cartwheeling
past the intersection. Freak winds in the East side; something to do with convection,
and an overlap in the domes. Case peered through the window at the dead sign. Her
Sprawl wasn’t his Sprawl, he decided. She’d led him through a dozen bars and clubs
he’d never seen before, taking care of business, usually with no more than a nod.
Maintaining connections.
Something was moving in the shadows behind METRO HOLOGRAFIX.
The door was a sheet of corrugated roofing. In front of it, Molly’shands flowed through an intricate sequence of jive that he couldn’t follow. He caught
the sign for cash , a thumb brushing the tip of the forefinger.
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