Metrophage

evidence. Prove she's a Watt Snatcher.'

From the corner of his eye, Jonny saw Skid, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. 'Maybe we shouldn't stay here,' said the Kid quietly.

Ice stood up, holding a small prayer wheel; its half-melted copper cap squeaked as she spun it. 'Either way, Sumi's long gone,' she said. 'Turn off that damned light.'

Man Ray put the squeeze light back on his sash. Jonny remained on his haunches; Ice kicked her way through the clothes and half-melted lumps of cheap plastic furniture, and nudged him with her boot. 'Looks like it's just you and me for now, cowboy,' she said.

Jonny looked up at her. 'I'm going to kill someone for this, you know.'

Ice nodded, smiled. 'Well, don't forget to leave something for me,' she said.

'This is payback from Zamora,' said Jonny.

Groucho cleared his throat. 'I think Skid was right a moment ago,' he said. 'Perhaps we ought to leave. If Pere Ubu's involved, he may have left sentries behind.'

Jonny pulled himself from the floor, looking the room over one more time, pressing the image in his brain for later. When he might need the anger. 'Okay,' he said, 'we came in the back, we go out the front. Good crowds for cover.'

They left the apartment. Skid abandoned his coat and walked point in his Zombie gear: an innocent hustler in search of the night's mark. They saw no Committee boys on the way out.

The main courtyard of the Babylonian temple was stifling in the overheated illumination coming from tiered ranks of klieg lamps.

Dozens of made-up, costumed extras milled around, Valley kids mostly, speaking in hushed cathedral tones. The movie set reminded Jonny of something- an immense surgery, the light giving people and objects a look of startling precision and sterility.

'Okay kids, Ms. Vega's going to make her walk in a minute,' came a man's flat nasal voice from a P.A. WWhat we need here is lots of clapping and cheering. But no whistling. You want to whistle, go see kick-boxing. W

This brought shrill waves of high-pitched whistling from the temple's squatters who were massed just behind a police line around the set. The extras were costumed in cleaned-up Hollywood versions of squatter gear, much too clean and well-fed, thought Jonny.

WVery funny. Get to your positions, kids.'

Jonny and the others joined the general flow of the crowd, threading their way through the back of the set, following a line of dancers in sequined parodies of Lunar Commando vacuum-suits.

Jonny was not particularly surprised by the presence of the film crew; it was not the first time he and the other squatters had been forced from their digs by a some local production company. Aoki Vega was one of the Link's most popular musical-porn stars. The irony of the situation, Jonny thought, was that the Link was going to turn around and sell the broadcast of Vega's performance to the same squatters they had displaced, presenting them with an expensive ad glittering souvenir of their powerlessness.

The dancers Jonny and the others were following seemed to be headed to a partitioned area at the far end of the pavilion near a semicircle of honeywagons and generator trucks. Skid was walking on his toes, trying to see over the line of extras waiting to cheer the star. A bank of stadium-sized video projectors displayed views of the set from several different angles.

As he pushed his way through the extras, Jonny became aware of a certain unnerving sameness about them, as if they had all been weaned from the same shallow gene pool. Caucasian faces were blandly orientalized; nisei kids snapping their fingers to unheard pop tunes, their hair bleached and skin darkened with biologics to some bizarre ideal of southern California chic. They could have been from anywhere, nowhere. A gag postcard about sex appeal and beaches.

'I know you. You're the producer, right?' said someone nearby.

Jonny turned to her. She wore a loose jacket of woven aluminum filament, plated gold. Her face held the same assembly line features as the others. Only her eyes were memorable. She wore diffraction grating contacts; her eyes were spiraling rainbows.

'We met at Marty's party in Laurel Canyon,' she said brightly. 'You're Mister Radoslav, right?'

It was obvious to Jonny that the woman was stoned. She might as easily have thought he was the Pope. Jonny, still moving, glanced over at the police line, then fixed her with the most radiant smile he could muster. 'Please keep your voice down,' he said. 'No one's supposed to know I'm here.' He put his arm around Skid. 'This is my associate, Mister Kidd.'

'My pleasure,' the woman said, extending a bronzed hand. She and Skid shook, the Kid mumbled an incoherent pleasantry.

'Tell me, is there somewhere we can go and talk, Ms.-?' Jonny began.

'Viebecke,' she said. 'But everybody calls me Becky.'

'Becky, of course. Is there anywhere we can speak privately, Becky? Perhaps discuss an audition?'

'Sure,' she said. 'The extra's trailer is probably empty now.'

The look she gave Jonny was infused with such hunger and lust that, for a moment, he considered cutting right then and there and taking his chances with the police.

Something glided by. Jonny looked up. A long articulated arm supporting a German video-cam was hovering a few meters overhead; a half-dozen lenses rotated, pulling to focus on them. His face and Skid's were splashed across the dozen enormous video screens. 'The trailer sounds fine,' he said.

Ice and the others were waiting beside a two-story boom crane that reminded him of an orange praying mantis. He introduced the others to Becky who clung to his arm, looking disappointed when she saw Ice. Then she smiled, the Hollywood optimism bubbling forth.

'Oh wow, are you guys actors, too?' she crooned.

'How'd you guess?' asked Ice, flashing her teeth.

'We're casting a new feature right now,' said Jonny. 'Looking for fresh, interesting faces.'

Becky giggled and led them to a group of trailers behind the honeywagon. The chemical smells of processed fish and beef analogs permeated the place. Becky went inside before them, holding up a hand to indicate that they should wait there. The sound of raised voices came from beyond the door. Jonny looked at Ice. She shook her head slowly.

A moment later, a young woman came storming out of the trailer. She resembled Becky so strongly, that for an instant, Jonny thought it was the actress in a new set of clothes. But the new woman just glared at them and stalked off. 'You can come in now,' Becky called from the doorway. They went inside.

The trailer was long and narrow, smelling faintly of perfume and sweat, with rows of lighted mirrors on one side, benches and hooks heavy with clothes on the other. Sun lamps and video monitors were crowded at opposite ends of the room. Jonny and the others went immediately to the clothes, and started pawing through them.

Becky perched on a table by the mirrors, holding her head rigid, favoring them with her best side.

'What are you guys doing?' she asked at last.

'Costumes,' said Jonny. 'Gotta know what young people are wearing these days.'

Becky lit a joint, puffed, and rose from her perch, trying to keep up a merry front. Man Ray found a hound's tooth overcoat that fit over his body armor; Ice put on a white toreador jacket, trimmed with gold beads. When Becky lay a hand on Jonny's arm she was radiating nervousness, but her face remained a smiling mask.

Looking at her, Jonny felt an obscure sorrow. He wondered if she had any other facial expressions buried somewhere under all that bargain basement surgery.

'Is there anything you want to ask me?' she purred.

'Yeah, there much security down at this end of the set?'

Becky looked at him blankly, like a deranged puppy. She screamed: 'Hey! You aren't the producer!'

'We're criminals,' said Jonny. 'Desperate, armed criminals.'

Becky fell back drunkenly and cowered in a far corner of the trailer, whimpering and mumbling 'Oh wow,' like a mantra.

They had their new clothes on in a few seconds, (Groucho in a Mexican Air Force jacket studded with medals, Skid in a black leather jumpsuit and Chinese revivalist Mao cap) and started out the door. Jonny went to Becky to attempt a quick apology. She was still in the corner, struck dumb with drugs and fear, and when she thrust a chair at him, he could not tell if she wanted to give it to him or hit him with it. He just backed away slowly saying, 'I'm