He met his reflection' s eyes in the glass. Well, it doesn' t feel much like it from where I' m standing."

Coincidence never does. It' s not in the nature of human genetic wiring to accept it. And as a thirteen, you have your own increased predisposition toward paranoia to contend with as well."

Carl grimaced. Has it ever occurred to you Matt, that- "

Matthew."

Yeah, Matthew. Sorry. Has it ever occurred to you that for a thirteen, for someone who doesn' t connect well with group dynamics, paranoia might be quite a useful trait to have?"

Yes, and evolutionarily selective, too." The datahawk' s didactic tone had not shifted. It almost never did; didactic was part of the way Matthew was wired. But this is not the point. Human intuition is deceptive, because it is not always consistent. It is not necessarily a good fit for the environments we now live in, or the mathematics that underlie them. When it does echo mathematical form, it' s clearly indicative of an inherent capacity to detect the underlying mathematics."

But not when they clash." Carl leaned his forehead against the glass. They' d had this discussion before, countless times. Right?"

Not when they clash," Matthew agreed. When they clash, the mathematics remain correct. The intuition merely indicates a mismatch of evolved capacities with a changed or changing environment."

So Norton' s clean?"

Norton is clean."

Carl turned his back on his reflection. Leaned against the window and looked around the room that caged him. He recognized the reflex- seeking exits. Stupid, there was the fucking door, right there.

So use it, fuckwit.

Does it ever bother you?" he asked into the phone.

Does what bother me, Carl?"

This whole thing." He gestured as if Matthew could see him. Jacobsen, the fucking Accords, the Agency and the enforcement. Having to be licensed like some fucking hazardous substance."

To the extent that personal identification records are a form of social licensing, we are al licensed, base humans and variants alike. If the type of licensing reflects certain gradients of social risk, is that a bad thing?"

Carl sighed. Okay, forget it. I' m asking the wrong person."

In what way?"

Well, no offense, but you' re a gleech. Your whole profile is post-autistic. This is an emotional thing we'

re talking about."

My emotional range has been psychochemically rebalanced and extended."

Yeah, by an n-djinn. Sorry, Matthew, I don' t know why I' m fronting you with this stuff. You' re no more normal than I am."

Leaving aside for a moment the question of what exactly you would consider to be a normal human, what makes you think you would receive a more valid answer from one? Are normal humans especially gifted in discovering complex ethical truths?"

Carl thought about that.

Not that I' ve noticed," he admitted gloomily. No."

So my perception of the post-Jacobsen order is probably no more or less useful than any other rational human' s."

Yeah, but that' s just the big fat point." Carl grinned. There was a solid pleasure in showing up the datahawk and his hyperbalanced mind-set, mainly because he didn' t get to do it very often. This isn' t about rational humans. The Jacobsen Report wasn' t about a rational response to genetic licensing, it was about a group of rational men trying to broker a deal with the gibbering mass of irrational humanity.

The religious lunatics, the race purists, the whole doom-of-civilization crew." For a moment, he stared off blindly into a corner of the room. I mean, don' t you remember all that stuff back in ' 89, ' 90? The demonstrations? The vitriol in the feeds? The mobs outside the facilities and the army bases, crashing the fences?"

Yes. I remember it. But it did not bother me."

Carl shrugged. Well, you didn' t scare them like we did."

And yet Jacobsen was not a capitulation to the forces you describe. The report is critical of both irrational responses and simplistic thinking."

Yeah. But look who ended up in the tracts anyway."

Matthew said nothing. Carl saw Stefan Nevant' s lupine grin, rubbed at his eyes to make it go away.

Look, Matt, thanks- "

Matthew."

Sorry. Matthew. Thanks for the check on Norton, ' kay? Talk to you soon."

He hung up. Tossed the phone on the bed and got rapidly dressed in the least used and bloodied garments from among his limited wardrobe. He let himself out of the hotel room, paused briefly on his way past Sevgi Ertekin' s door, then made an exasperated noise in his throat and stalked on. He waited ten impatient seconds at the elevator, then stiff-armed the door to the emergency stairwell open instead and went down the steps two at a time. Crossed the lobby at a fast stride and went out into the city. He walked a single block to get the feel of the evening, then flagged down an autocab.

The interior was low-lit and cozy, an expansive black leatherette womb with slash-narrow views to the passing street. In the gloom on the front panel, an armored screen blipped into life and showed him a rather idealized female driver interface. Generic Rim beauty, the classic Asian-Hispanic blend. Pinned dark hair, a hint of a curl in it, chic high-collar jacket. Something of Carmen Ren in the features and the poise, but machined up to an inhuman perfection. The voice was an Asia Badawi rip-off.

Good evening, sir. Welcome to Cable Cars. What will be your choice of destination this evening?"

He hesitated. Sutherland, he knew, would not have been impressed with this.

Sutherland' s on fucking Mars.

Just take me somewhere I can get in a fight," he said.

Switched off and careless from jet lag, long sleep, and yesterday' s combat, he never noticed the figure on the corner that watched him leave the hotel, or the nondescript teardrop that slid out from parking on the opposite side of the street and dropped into the traffic behind his cab.

CHAPTER 41.

D ougie Kwang' s week had been shaping up for shit ever since it started, and tonight didn' t look any better. He was three games down to Valdez already, stalking the angles of the table, pumping violent, crack-bang shots to take his mind off it all. The technique- if you want to call it that, he fumed- mostly just rattled the balls in the jaws, and they sat out more often than he sank them. He knew his anger was the exact reason he was losing, but he couldn' t shake it loose. There was too much else gone to shit around him.

Wundawari' s shipment never made it through MTC in Jakarta; Wundawari herself was now banged up in an Indonesian jail on trumped-up holding charges until some scummy Seattle-based rights lawyer she used could wire across and get her out. The money was gone. Write it off, the Seattle guy advised drily down the line, what you maybe claw back from the Maritime Transit guys in compensation, you' re going to be paying me in fees. Dougie might have called him on that one, but Wundawari wouldn' t do the time, and both he and Seattle knew it. She was too soft, came from Kuala Lumpur money and a whole creche of spoiled-brat connections down in the Freeport. She' d pay whatever Seattle wanted.

On the street, things were no better. Alcatraz station were coming down hard and heavy all over the fucking place, big-ass RimSec interventions at levels those guys mostly didn' t bother with. He stil couldn'

t find out why. Some shit about a factory raft bust last night and the fallout, but none of his few bought-and-paid-for touches inside the RimSec machine ranked high enough to know any more than that. More importantly, they were too fucking scared of Alcatraz to risk sniffing around any closer. End result was, he couldn' t move shit anywhere north of Selby or west of the Boulevard, and even in the yards at Hunter Point, he was getting heat he didn' t need. And the border had been sticky for fucking months now, none of the gangs he knew could get more than the odd fence-bunny across, mostly straitlaced white girls out of the Dakotas who took fucking forever to break in and even then didn' t play too well to popular demand.

Mama was stil coughing. Still wouldn' t take her fucking pil s.

Now Valdez was lining up in the wake of another too-hard-too-fast fuckup, two spots floating nice and loose over open pockets, clean backup angles everywhere, and then the eight-ball doubled into the side, one of Valdez' s favorite cheap trick shots, he' d do it with his fucking eyes closed if he wanted. Another fifty bucks. He' d- But Valdez frowned instead and lifted his chin off the cue. Got up and came around the table to Dougie, eyes narrowed.

Hey, pengo mio. You say Elvira wasn' t working tonight?" He nodded across the gloom to the bar.

Because if that ain' t work, then you got a problem."

So Dougie slanted a glance across the gloom to where Valdez was looking, and like the rest of it wasn' t fucking enough, here' s Elvie on her stool with her back to the bar, elbows down and tits cranked out in that red top he bought her back in May, legs making all kinds of slit-skirt angles on the frame of the stool, and all for this big black guy draped over the next stool and just looking her over like she' s fruit on some Meade Avenue street stall.

Too fucking much.

He hefted the cue up one-handed through his own grip, half a meter down from the tip where it thickened, reversed his hold, and carried it low at his side across to the bar. Elvira saw him coming, made that dumb fucking face of hers, and stopped gabbing. Dougie let the silence work for him, came on a couple more steps and locked to a halt a meter and a half off the black guy' s shoulder.

That' s a mistake you' re making, pal," he said, breathing hard. Anger slurred through his tone like smeared paint on a cheap logo. See, Elvira here isn' t working tonight. You want some cheap fucking pussy, you' d better come around and see her another fucking day. Got that?"

We' re just talking." The black guy' s tone was low and reasonable, almost bored. Weird fucking accent as well. He didn' t even look at Dougie. If Elvira' s not working, I guess she' s free to do that, right?"

Dougie felt the weight of the day come down on him like demolition.

I don' t think you' re paying attention," he told the guy tightly.

And then the black guy did look at him, a sudden switch so his eyes col ected Dougie' s stare like third base snapping up a low ball out at Monster Park.

No, I am," he said.

It stopped Dougie dead in his tracks, knocked him back and kept the cue at his side, because at some level he couldn' t quite nail he knew this guy was actively looking for what came next. It felt like a skid, like ice under his wheels when he least expected it. He knew he had to keep going, no one much in the place tonight but Valdez was watching, so were the barkeep and a couple of others, whatever went down, street feed would have it out to everyone by morning, he had to fuck this guy up, but the ground under his feet had shifted, was no longer safe, he couldn' t fucking read this guy or what he' d do.

He tightened his grip on the cue.

Try to hit me with that thing," said the black man softly. I will kil you."

Dougie' s heart kicked in his chest. He felt the rage flicker, overstoked, held too long, suddenly unreliable.

Tiny, rain-drip voice of caution in the gap. He drew breath, forced the knowledge down.

Door' s over there," he said. Just walk the fuck away."

My feet are tired."

So Dougie just swung that fucking cue like he' d always known deep down he' d have to. Lips peeled back off a snarl and the shaky lift of the held-too-long adrenal surge.

Situation like that, what else was he going to fucking do?

Even as the fight bloomed, Carl could feel the small seep of disappointment at the back of it all. This swaggering low-grade gangster in front of him, a little more spine than most pimps maybe, but in the end no competition, no real threat.

Yeah, like you expected anything else out here, black-walled bunker bar in a derelict neighborhood on the edge of an al but fully automated navy yard. Not like he hadn' t discussed it carefully enough with the autocab, walked the deserted streets for long enough looking. Face it, soak, this is exactly what you' ve been prowling for. This is what you wanted. Enjoy.

The fight was so mapped out in his head, it was almost preordained. He already had his weight braced off the stool he' d been using, some in the forearm where he leaned on the bar, more in his legs than he showed. He saw the intention tremor down the other guy' s arm, grabbed a leg of the stool and yanked the whole thing savagely upward. The leg ends hit and gouged, face and chest. Swing momentum on the seat end hooked the thing around and blocked out the cue completely- the strike never made it above waist height. He let go, stepped in as the pimp reeled back, hand up to the rip in his face. The stool tumbled away. Carl threw a long chop, hard as he could make it, into the unguarded side of the throat.

The pimp hit the floor, dead as far as he could tell. Elvira shrieked.

At the pool table, the pimp' s shaven-headed friend stood shocked and motionless, cue held defensively across his body in both hands. Carl stalked forward a couple of steps, proximity sense peeled for the rest of the room.

Well?" he rasped.

It was half a dozen meters at most; if the skinhead had a gun, he wasn' t going to have time to clear it before Carl was on him. Carl saw in his face that he knew it.

Peripheral vision, left. The barkeep, fumbling for something, phone or weapon. Carl threw out an arm, finger raised.

Don' t."

On the floor, the pimp moaned and shifted. Carl checked every face in the room, calibrated probable responses, then kicked the downed man in the head. The moaning stopped.

What' s his name?" he asked of the room.

Uh, it' s Dougie." The barkeep. Dougie Kwang."

Right. Well anyone here who' s a big friend of Dougie Kwang' s, maybe wants to stay and discuss this with me, you can. Anyone else had better leave."

Hasty shuffle of feet, graunch of chair legs jammed back in a hurry. The thin crowd, scrabbling to leave.

The door swung open for them. He felt the cold it let in touch the back of his neck. The barkeep snatched the opportunity, went too. Left him with Elvira, who' d started grubbing about on the floor next to Dougie in tears, and the skinhead, whom Carl guessed just didn' t trust getting safe passage to the door. He gave him a cold smile.

You really want to make something of this?"

No, he doesn' t. Look at his face. Stop being an asshole and let him go."

Control and the mesh stopped him whipping around at the voice, the cool amusement and the iron certainty beneath. He already knew from the tone that there was a gun pointing at him. That he wasn' t on the floor next to Dougie, shot dead or dying, was the only part that didn' t make sense.

He shelved the wonder, stepped aside with ironic courtesy, and gestured the skinhead to pass him.

Momentary flashback to the chapel in South Florida State, the sneering white supremacist walking past him up the aisle. Suddenly he was sick of it all, the cheap postures and moves, the use of stares, the whole fucking mechanistic predictability of the man-dance.

Go on," he said flatly. Looks like you get a free pass. Better take Elvira there with you."

He watched Dougie Kwang' s friend drop the pool cue he was clutching and come forward a hesitant step at a time. He couldn' t work out what was going on, either. His eyes flickered from Carl to whoever the new arrival was and back. A numb failure to catch up was stamped across his face like a bootprint. He knelt beside the off-duty whore and tried to manhandle her to her feet. She wriggled and wept, refused to get up, hands stil plastered on Dougie' s motionless form, long dark-curling hair shrouding his eyes-wide, frozen face. She keened and sobbed, half-comprehensible fragments, some Sino-Spanish street mix Carl couldn' t follow wel .

Enjoying our handiwork here, are we?

He wondered momentarily if, when the time came, there' d be a woman, any woman, to weep like this for him.

We don' t have al night," said the voice behind him.

Carl turned slowly, fear of the bullet prickling at the base of his neck. Time to see what the fuck had gone wrong.