matter what the nature of their deal, it can only end up benefiting the Arabs.'
Jonny leaned against the wall, mindlessly working his fingernails between two strips of paneling. 'Funny, I never pegged you for a flagwaver, Colonel.'
'I'm not. This is simple economics. What they've got, we want.'
'By the time we found that shuttle, its cargo section had been emptied,' Zamora said. 'Whatever the deal is, it's already in motion.'
Jonny smiled at him. 'You know, I don't believe a word of this.'
Colonel Zamora glanced at his watch. 'Well, believe this: As of right now, you have forty eight hours to deliver Conover to me. If you do that, you and I are square. Bullshit me and maybe I'll give you back to those children upstairs. Some of them very vivid imaginations. I imagine they'd start on your eyes.'
Jonny walked back to the table, working the kinks from his legs. His hands were shaking, so he shoved them into his pockets. 'If I go along, how soon can I get out of here?' he asked.
'Right now,' said Zamora. 'Do you accept my terms?'
Jonny smiled. 'Colonel, I'm a happy child of the New Rising Sun. No camel jockey's gonna push me around.'
Zamora narrowed his eyes at Jonny. 'You should take this more seriously,' he said.
'If I took this anymore seriously, I'd drop dead.'
'Good, consider that your new koan, Gordon.' Zamora said. He rose, picked up a leather satchel and pulled Jonny with him to the door. 'Meditate on it. At least for the next forty eight hours.'
Colonel Zamora took a flat metallic octagon from his pocket and placed it against the magnetic lock. The door clicked open and Jonny followed him outside.
Jonny and Colonel Zamora waited in the lobby of the Yellow Sector for an elevator. Across the plant floor, a recruit with polarized cornea implants was jacked into a construction masterboard, directing a bank of plasma torches. Whacked-out on alkaloid stimulants, he still managed to move a dozen torch-bearing waldoes in a smooth tidal dance, like a clock-work anemone, simultaneously slicing four sides of a gutted fission furnace.
'That's a neat trick,' said Jonny.
Zamora nodded. 'We have to clear away some of this old equipment. We'll be needing the space for new cells soon.'
'Come on, Colonel, no one's recording us now,' said Jonny. That stuff you were saying before, you really don't buy all that space pirate crap, do you?'
Colonel Zamora sighed. 'Seeing you has depressed me, Gordon.'
'You remind me too much of the sad state of the world. Paranoia. Self-centeredness. All the symptoms of information overload. The World Link's the real enemy. Thirty years ago we didn't have the Link, plugs in our heads. We had to rely solely on videos and the news rags. The Arabs were the enemy and we still had a chance to kick Japan and Mexico in their industrial balls. Now we've got the moon.
The Alpha Rats hanging like Damocles' sword over our heads. The Net should never have broken that story. I'm telling you, this city, this country would be a different place if they had kept all that under wraps. It's too strange to assimilate. Too alienating. That kind of information invites paranoia and destroys trust.'
'It's hard to trust, Colonel,' said Jonny, 'when you've got something like the Committee breathing down your neck.'
'Bullshit. In a sane world, our presence wouldn't cause a ripple. As a nation, we've allowed ourselves to behave like animals in a trap, gnawing off our own legs to get out.'
'You wouldn't be trying to win me over by telling me this is some kind of crusade, would you?'
'Of course not,' said Zamora. 'That would be expecting too much of you.' The Colonel pushed the elevator button again. The boy directing the waldoes aimed them at the base of the furnace, cutting at the support structure with long, smooth strokes that reminded Jonny of kendo strikes. 'We're at a crossroads,' said Zamora. 'Do you know that? The next few years will tell the story. Whether we're going to end up another post-colonial back alley like Britain or France or whether we're going to take back the dominance we gave up too easily. To do that, we have to get rid of the Alpha Rats. Until they're gone we can't even start on the Arabs.'
The Colonel smiled. 'It all comes down to economics. It always does.'
A few meters away, a bell rang and elevator doors slid open.
Nimble Virtue, a slunk merchant and one of the least trustworthy lords in the city, stepped out. She was leaning heavily on the arm of one of her handsome young nephews. When she spotted Jonny, she gave him a tiny bow, indicating that she had no time to talk. Then she and her young man walked down the corridor, awash in the echoes of insect clicks from the exoskeleton Nimble Virtue wore beneath her kimono. At the end of the corridor, a door hissed open for them and they were gone.
A moment later, Jonny found himself being pushed into the elevator car Nimble Virtue had just vacated. He and Zamora rode up in silence. Jonny felt a nasty satisfaction at having caught the Colonel with his snitches down. The look on Nimble Virtue's face had said it all. She had sold Jonny out.
'Now that I can believe,' said Jonny. 'The Great White Whale would sell her mother for sausage if she thought she could hide the wrinkles.'
'Don't let her concern you.'
Jonny sniffed the air distastefully. 'Sorta stank up the joint, didn't she?'
Zamora backhanded him across his injured shoulder. Something blue and hot exploded in Jonny's eyes, fragments trailing away down some bottomless cavern. He slid down the wall to the floor.
'Don't even think about going after Nimble Virtue. You haven't got the time,' said Zamora.
The elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors slid open.
Taussig was waiting, a small grin spreading across his face when he saw Jonny on his knees.
'Help him up,' ordered Zamora.
The lieutenant pulled Jonny to his feet and walked him from the car. When they caught up with Zamora, the Colonel turned to Taussig and said, #Later, you and I are going to talk about what went on in this man's cell.' Jonny had the satisfaction of seeing the blood drain from the young lieutenant's face.
Zamora lead Jonny out a side exit and left him weak-kneed, standing in an oily puddle. The Colonel removed a Futukoro from his satchel and tossed it behind Jonny.
'Take that with you. Wouldn't want you getting mugged, now that you're back on duty. I'll be available to you for the next forty-eight hours, Gordon. After that, the deal's off. I'll be seeing you,' said the Colonel.
The door swung in quietly, hissing as it sealed itself shut.
Jonny was alone in the alley. He drew himself up and taking a few drunken steps forward, kicked savagely at the door's heavy riveted face; he pounded it with his good hand.
'Like hell, you bastard!' he screamed. 'You can't do this to me!'
For a vertiginous second he was insane, turning in frustrated circles, splashing more filth onto his ruined jeans.
Finally, panting and lightheaded, Jonny stepped away from the unyielding door, feeling angry for such a stupid waste of energy. He should be on his way out of town.
Jonny's gaze slid down the damp walls to the thin fog at the alley's mouth. He stooped awkwardly, protecting his throbbing shoulder, and scooped up the Futukoro. He walked to the infra-red scanner that monitored the alley, took aim and blew it off its mounting. Somewhere, an alarm went off. Jonny hurried away from the place.
THREE
'Shit,' Jonny mumbled as he stepped on something soft and clinging in the doorway of the abandoned hotel. Then, 'Shit' again as he recognized the accuracy of his curse. He was somewhere near Exposition Boulevard, out of breath, a few blocks from the old Lockheed rocket bunkers. Ancient booster engines and decaying nose cones displayed their brittle bones behind fences topped with razor wire.
Gingerly, Jonny scraped his soiled boot on a cracked stone step and peered from the alcove. Whoever Zamora
