Geoff said, "He'd share the money-he's not that that big a jerk. I don't think. But we have to stop him before he makes an offer, or we'll all be in for a heap of s.h.i.t." big a jerk. I don't think. But we have to stop him before he makes an offer, or we'll all be in for a heap of s.h.i.t."

"Yeah," Kam said. "If our parents find out-"

"If the cops find out, you mean," Geoff said. "We'll probably go to prison if we sell to the black market."

"That's an exaggeration," Kam said, but Amaya interrupted. "Neither of you gets it. It's much worse. My older brother says some of them have ties with the mob. If Ian approaches the wrong guy, we're all f.u.c.ked."

A lump settled, hard and nickel-iron cold, in Geoff's gut. "We have to stop him before he gets hurt."

"Yeah, so we we can kill him instead," Kam muttered. Geoff did not say it, but he was thinking the exact same thing. can kill him instead," Kam muttered. Geoff did not say it, but he was thinking the exact same thing.

Geoff and Amaya found Ian right where they had expected: in Industry Row, where the black marketers offered better exchange rates than the banks, for those foolish or desperate enough to believe their promises.

Kamal had gone to get help, but not before they wasted precious moments arguing, while catching their breath at a rest stop in the Noonie Spokeway.

Gravity tugged at them. A cold breeze, laced with the faint smell of ammonia, lifted their hair. Motes drifted up through the netting from the circle below that led to Bottomsville. Clots of commuters pa.s.sed by their benches, headed down on the spiral stair. Across the way, another stream of people trudged upward toward the lower-gravity levels. Some eyed the three of them as they pa.s.sed, and spoke to each other in whispers or gave them nods or pinged their sammy caches. Geoff's own cache was bigger and greener than it had ever been, and getting greener by the minute. Geoff did not like it so much. Being recognized by everyone creeped him out. He did not know any of these people. He made a face at a little kid who stared at him, and the kid stuck out his tongue, hit him with a bad-sammy, and ran to catch up with his parents.

"Kam, you need to get going," Geoff said. "And so do we."

"No way!" Kam insisted. "We stick together." He shivered, hands jammed in pockets, jacket zipped up to his chin. "He could be cutting a deal right now!"

"Somebody has to tell the authorities about the ice," Geoff said. He began pacing back and forth in the tiny cul-de-sac. Kam could be so pigheaded. "If we all go, and we get into trouble, who'll know?"

"Why don't we all go to the cops, then?"

"We've been over this! There's still time to stop Ian if we hurry. If we don't, they could force him to give them the coordinates to Ouroboros. They might hurt him."

They had tried calling their parents on the way down, but couldn't get a signal through because of all the newcomers in town jamming up the lines. Their families lived on the far side of Zekeston, over an hour away on foot. The centripetal transports were all booked hours ahead, and the spokeway lifts were running at a snail's pace. Geoff had never seen Zekeston so crammed with people, not even during the Cl.u.s.ter Fair. Emergency lines were open to the police station, but the police sergeant on duty at the Bottomsville precinct-whom they had reached after four attempts-had been harried and distracted. When she learned that no bulkheads had been breached and no one was bleeding, dying, or firing weapons, they had not been able to get her attention. She had just told them in a weary tone to take their ice claim doc.u.ments to one of the banks, and hung up.

"Somebody has to just go there and get in their faces," Amaya said. "Force them to listen."

"Why do I I have to go? Why not you? Or Geoff?" have to go? Why not you? Or Geoff?"

"Do you really want to tangle with a bunch of thugs?" Geoff asked. The truth was, Kam was not exactly tough. s.h.i.t, neither was he. Geoff would love it if he could hand this off to somebody else. But it was Geoff's ice, and Geoff's fight with him, that had set Ian off. And, he admitted to himself, he would rather have Amaya with him than Kam. She was no bigger than he, but she was tougher.

Amaya stood. "We don't have time for this. Could you just do this?"

Kamal eyed them both, then sighed forlornly. "All right. I give. I'll go."

Geoff handed Kam a slip of paper. "Here are the coordinates for Ouroboros and my best guess on how much ice there is. That should get their attention."

"We're not far from New Little Austin," Amaya added. "Go to the Phocaean Community Bank on Mall Row."

"Andre Ramirez?"

"Yeah," Amaya said. Ramirez was a bank officer they had traded ice harvest takings to once or twice, and he had always been fair. "Get him to call the cops."

"And hurry!" Geoff and Amaya said in unison.

Then they took off at a run down the stairs.

Contacting the black marketers wasn't all that hard, so the wikis said. You hung out on a corner in their neighborhood with your waveface wide open. Eventually, someone would ping you with an address. The message had a short half-life, and the address was always different, but the destination was somewhere in the borders of the Badlands, just above Bottomsville. There, they would cut you a deal in one of the surveillance shadows-out of sight of motes, mites, security cams, and other such devices.

When they first reached the appointed corner, Ian was nowhere to be seen. Because he was already dead? Geoff tried to shake off the thought. The whirring of engines echoed down the Promenade from a nearby manufacturing plant, or a bug juice piping manifold. Gusts of steam emanated from grates and rolled down the street, smelling of bug juice, trash, machine oil, and old urine. The odor made Geoff queasy, and the heavy gravity made his joints hurt. He shifted, turned up his collar, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. At least the stink was a warmish one; it wasn't as cold here as up in the spoke.

"What now?" Amaya asked.

"I suppose we could ask around," Geoff said. A few people were scattered about the neighborhood, but none of them seemed to be black marketers. A woman was carrying groceries and trying to keep her toddler from dashing into the middle of the Promenade, toward the tracks where the commuter and robotic traffic ran. Three workers in greasy coveralls had removed panels from the walkway and were repairing a utility line. Three school-aged kids were bouncing a ball off a wall to one another, singing a rhyme, the Zekie Spokeways rhyme, as fast as they could: "No, Noonie, Weenie, Wee;"Weesu, Suzee, So, See;"Easy, Ee, Eenie, Nee;"Drop the ball and breach the Zee..."

But right then Ian came strolling up. His right eye was swollen. Geoff suppressed a guilty grimace. Amaya, arms folded, glowered. Geoff reconsidered his choice: maybe she had not been the right one to bring. He gave her a warning glance. She shrugged, microscopically.

"Chiisu," he said. he said.

Ian lifted a hand in a casual wave. "Chiisu. I was wondering when you'd show up. You're late for the party."

"Um, sorry-" He gestured at Ian's shiner. Ian shrugged with a sheepish look, and gestured at Geoff's tender, swollen nose. "Likewise."

"Look, let's get out of here, Ian. This isn't our turf."

But Ian wasn't listening. "I've met some guys, and they're ready to deal. They want to give us a hundred thousand a hundred thousand for Ouroboros! That'll get us to Earth with wads of cash left over for trainers and living expenses." for Ouroboros! That'll get us to Earth with wads of cash left over for trainers and living expenses."

Geoff started to speak, but Amaya interrupted. "Bukkurosu yo!" "Bukkurosu yo!" She shoved Ian's shoulder. "Idiot! I'm going to pound you! You have no idea what you're doing. They're criminals!" She shoved Ian's shoulder. "Idiot! I'm going to pound you! You have no idea what you're doing. They're criminals!"

Ian tried a grin; it came out more like a grimace. "They're just trying to make a buck, Amaya. Come on..."

Geoff shook his head, arms folded. "We're not making a deal with them. Kam is already at the bank, trading our ice in."

Ian's face went through a series of contortions. "No f.u.c.king way! We'd only get a tenth of what these guys are offering. If that!" We'd only get a tenth of what these guys are offering. If that!"

"I told you. I'm not selling my ice on the black market."

"Then you're you're the idiot." the idiot."

They stared at each other. When he saw they weren't going to budge, Ian's anger drained away, leaving fear in its place. He leaned close. "Don't you guys get it? They know about the ice now. They're watching us. We have have to sell to them." to sell to them."

"And that's just the way you planned it, isn't it?" Amaya asked. "You are such an a.s.shole." She cut herself off with a growl. Ian looked both mad, embarra.s.sed, and sick to his stomach.

Geoff said to Ian, "You can stick around if you want. But Amaya and I are leaving. Come on," he told her. He turned-and nearly ran into a man with a hairless chest. He took a step back and looked up.

The hairless man must have weighed a hundred fifty kilos. He wore an expensive business suit but no shirt beneath. He had deep blue skin and a bald head. Neon coursed across his chest in rivulets of light. He seemed unaffected by the chill in the air. His sammy cache was full to the brim, and pulsed an alarming red. The sight of it made Geoff's neck hair bristle. His companions' caches weren't much better.

"What seems to be the problem here?" the man asked. The others fanned out around them.

"Just a misunderstanding," Ian said, with a nervous chuckle, while Geoff replied, "No problem. We were just leaving."

He and Amaya tried to go around them, but one of the men blocked their path. Geoff's heart pounded.

"We hear you got some high-carbon ice," the guy who had stepped into their path said. He had a tuft of white hair at the crown, and his scalp, face, and neck bled neon like the other guy's chest did.

"High-quality stuff," a third said. "A good ten tons or more."

"You trying to cut us out?" Blue Tattoo asked.

Geoff folded his arms across his chest. "I didn't make any deal with you. And it's my ice to trade-not his," with a jerk of his head toward Ian. "I've already made a deal with the bank. They're waiting for us to get there and sign. If we don't show soon, they'll call the cops."

Blue Tattoo looked from Geoff to Ian and back. He looked thoughtful. Then he chuckled. "Bulls.h.i.t. You don't show, your banker buddy'll a.s.sume you're full of c.r.a.p and won't give it another thought."

He leaned into Geoff's face. His breath stunk of bacteria and old booze. "Here's how it works. You deal with us or we leave your cold-a.s.s corpses up top for the cops to find."

Geoff's hands balled up. a.s.shole. a.s.shole. He started to retort, but a large group of people pa.s.sed nearby: Downsiders, talking noisily. Tourists? They must be-he heard one of them call Phocaea "foh-KAY-uh" instead of "foh-SEE-uh." Geoff tried to bolt toward them with a yell-"Hey! Help!" but he was jerked backward by his hair. Someone clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, which started bleeding again. They were manhandled into an alleyway. He started to retort, but a large group of people pa.s.sed nearby: Downsiders, talking noisily. Tourists? They must be-he heard one of them call Phocaea "foh-KAY-uh" instead of "foh-SEE-uh." Geoff tried to bolt toward them with a yell-"Hey! Help!" but he was jerked backward by his hair. Someone clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, which started bleeding again. They were manhandled into an alleyway.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n, he's bleeding all over the place."

"You broke his nose, you jerks," Amaya said. She shoved them back and made her way over to hand him a cloth sc.r.a.p smeared with bike grease. He pressed it to his face.

The gang exchanged looks. One of the men said something Geoff couldn't make out, something about "heroes," "look at their caches," and "just let it go." He realized they had been recognized.

Blue Tattoo said, "Nah, that much goods, we can't just blow it off, even for them, or our a.s.ses will be for s.h.i.t. We've got to talk to the money about this one. Bring them."

9.

Back at her office, Jane called Benavidez but he was tied up, so she left a message with Thomas Harman, describing what had happened to her at the memorial. "The Ogilvies are obviously hauling out the big guns on this one. I checked his background. This Nathan Glease is a junior partner of Bock, t.i.tus, and Thomson, a Martian law firm with ties to the Ogilvie crime family. He's an up-and-comer-extremely smooth, aggressive, and smart. We'll have trouble with him."

"I'll make sure the prime minister gets the word," Thomas said.

Next she put a call into Sarah Ryan, her friend and legal counsel.

Sarah invoked legal privacy, and said, as motes fell like ash around Jane, "I've opened up my calendar. I'm good for a meeting tomorrow afternoon. Are you free at one-thirty?"

"I'll make it so. I also need you to run a check for me." Jane gave Sarah a rundown on her encounter with Glease and his muscle, and beamed the info she had dug up. "I want to know who Grease's local connections are."

"You're in nickname mode already? He's in for it now."

"We'll see," Jane said, though Sarah's tone made her smile. "Ogilvie & Sons won't come down easy. I need everything you can find on this guy. He's got to have a counterpart licensed in Phocaea, doesn't he?"

"Not necessarily... not unless he's planning to file a legal motion of some kind. But he may still have found someone to help him oil the local machinery. I'll see what I can find out."

"See what hits you get on the other man, while you're at it. Grease called him 'Mills.'"

Sarah took a few notes. "I'm on it. I'll give you an update tomorrow."

Jane also made an appointment for a checkup. Doctor's visits were off-limits to the cameras. She was certain the Voice had been a stress-induced aberration, but she would feel better to have a doctor tell her she was fine. She spent the rest of the morning responding to the PM's information requests, resolving priority conflicts, making calls, keeping key players up-to-date on the crisis; defending her people to Parliament staffers: buying time.

She was still cold. Marty had not been able to come up with a sweater for her, only a s.p.a.cer technician's thermal undergarment, which would stick out under her outfit. She couldn't possibly get away with wearing it during business hours. Her fingers kept going numb. She shivered, and eyed with longing the thalite underwear dangling like Peter Pan's shadow against the wall's eyelets.

Finally, with a sigh of disgust, she donned the underwear. Protocol be d.a.m.ned; temperatures were down to seven degrees C. She was tired of a cold nose and ears, tired of numb hands and feet.

Thomas Harman called her at just before noon, while she was updating her resource-use daily trend report.

"Trouble," he said. "Reports of looting on Levels 226 through 228."

New Little Austin. "Has anyone been hurt?"

"There've been injuries. No reported deaths."

"Thanks for letting me know," she said.

A smirk flicked across his face. "This isn't just a courtesy call. The prime minister wants you down there."

Oh, for Christ's sake. "Whose idea was this?" "Whose idea was this?"

"Look, the PM is just trying to help you out. Our a.n.a.lysts are telling us you're on the cusp of a sammy dive."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Take a look at your numbers. Your bad-sammy count is on an upward trend and your good-sammies are headed down."

"So? My numbers have been up and down before."

"Not like this. The whole administration is vulnerable right now. You've got to play the game."

Jane sighed. G.o.dd.a.m.n it. G.o.dd.a.m.n it.

"Go down there and make a speech," Thomas said. "Express your concern. Your presentation at the memorial was awfully stiff and you hardly gave the press ten seconds afterward."

"Oh for- My friends' son had just died! What do you expect?"

"The battle wagons are circling, and you're the one in their sights. Your job is in jeopardy. Benavidez is trying to help."

"Talking to the public isn't going to make me any more popular than I am now, if I fail to get the resource allocation system under control."

He looked straight at her. "You are Madam Resource Maven. You don't talk and they are going to a.s.sume the worst."

As well they should, she thought. she thought.

He signed off. She toyed with the idea of not going. But she needed to keep Benavidez on her side right now. More important, Thomas had scored a point, d.a.m.n him. People were scared. She had a responsibility, however painful she might find it, to give them information and a.s.suage their concerns.

The lifts were locked down and her waveware politely informed her that all citizens were requested to remain on their own levels till further notice. She used her access code to secure a lift, and arrived at Level 226 in a swarm of chaos: shouts, people pushing each other and running around beyond the opening doors of the lift. As she stepped out, a speakerphone blared in her ears, both live and across her wave connection: "-is the police! Come out with your hands on top of your head! Attention, all citizens in the Mall! This is the police-"

She pressed her hands to her ears and pa.s.sed through the police cordon. The mayor and police chief, just ahead, were heading for a uniformed officer holding a loudspeaker. She made her way toward them. Beyond was the New Little Austin Mall, a three-level warren of shops, living s.p.a.ces, and crannies along the sides of a narrow atrium. Reporters and their remotes were kept behind the barricades, but she felt their cameras on her, and the spy-glamour was chokingly thick.