eastern mountain sports store

back along the corridor with the Remington at his side. The Zionite was smiling, his head bobbing to a rhythm Case couldnt hear. A pair of thin yellow leads ran from his ears to a side pocket in his sleeveless jacket. Dub, mon, Maelcum said. Youre fucking crazy, Case told him. Hear okay, mon. Righteous dub. Hey, guys, the Finn said, on your toes. Here comes eastern mountain sports store your transportation. I cant finesse many numbers as smooth as the pic of 8Jean that conned your doorman, but I can get you a ride over to 3Janes place. Case was pulling the adaptor from its socket when the riderless service cart swiveled into sight, under the graceless concrete arch marking the far end of their corridor. It might have been the eastern mountain sports store one his Africans had ridden, but if it was, they were gone now. Just behind the back of the low padded seat, its tiny manipulators gripping the upholstery, the little Braun was steadily winking its red LED. Bus to catch, Case said to Maelcum. 20 Hed lost his anger again. He missed it. The little cart was crowded: Maelcum, the Remington across his knees, and Case, deck and construct against eastern mountain sports store his chest. The cart was operating at speeds it hadnt been designed for; it was top heavy, cornering, and Maelcum had taken to leaning out in the direction of the eastern mountain sports store turns. This presented no problem when the thing took lefts, because Case sat on the right, but in the right turns the Zionite had to lean across Case and his

gear, crushing him against the seat. He had no idea where they were. Everything was familiar, but he couldnt be sure hed seen any particular stretch before. eastern mountain sports store A curving hallway lined with wooden showcases displayed collections he was certain hed never seen: the skulls of large birds, coins, masks of beaten silver. The service carts six tires were silent on eastern mountain sports store the layered carpets. There was only the whine of the electric motor and an occasional faint burst of Zion dub, from the foam beads in Maelcums ears, as he lunged past Case to counter a eastern mountain sports store sharp right. The deck and the construct kept pressing the shuriken in his jacket pocket into his hip. You got a watch? he asked Maelcum. The Zionite shook his locks. Time be time. Jesus, Case said, and closed his eyes. The Braun scuttled over mounded carpets and tapped one of its padded claws against an oversized rectangular door of dark battered wood. Behind them, the cart sizzled and eastern mountain sports store shot blue sparks from a louvered panel. The sparks struck the carpet beneath the cart and Case smelled scorched wool. This th way, mon? Maelcum eyed the door and snapped the

shotguns safety. Hey, Case said, more to himself than to Maelcum, you think I know? The Braun rotated its spherical body and the LED strobed. It wan you open door, Maelcum said, nodding. Case stepped forward and tried the eastern mountain sports store ornate brass knob. There was a brass plate mounted on the door at eye level, so old that the lettering that had once been engraved there had been reduced to a spidery, unreadable code, the name of some eastern mountain sports store long dead function or functionary, polished into oblivion. He wondered vaguely if Tessier-Ashpool had selected each piece of Straylight individually, or if theyd purchased it in bulk from eastern mountain sports store some vast European equivalent of Metro Holografix. The doors hinges creaked plaintively as he edged it open, Maelcum stepping past him with the Remington thrust forward eastern mountain sports store from his hip. Books, Maelcum said. The library, the white steel shelves with their labels. I know where we are, Case said. He looked back at the service cart. A curl of smoke was rising from the carpet. eastern mountain sports store So come on, he said. Cart. Cart? It remained stationary. The Braun was plucking at the leg of his jeans, nipping at his ankle. He resisted a strong urge to kick it. Yeah? It ticked its way around the door. He followed it. The monitor in the library was another Sony, as old as the first one. The Braun paused beneath it and executed a sort of Jig. Wintermute? eastern mountain sports store The familiar features filled the screen. The Finn smiled. Time to check in, Case, the Finn said, his eyes screwed up against the smoke of a cigarette. Cmon, jack. The Braun threw itself against his ankle eastern mountain sports store and began to climb his leg, its manipulators pinching his flesh through the thin black cloth. Shit! He slapped it aside and it struck the wall. Two of its limbs began to piston repeatedly,

uselessly, pumping the air. Whats wrong with the goddam thing? Burned out, the Finn said. Forget it. No problem. jack in now. There were four sockets beneath the screen, but only one eastern mountain sports store would accept the Hitachi adaptor. He jacked in. Nothing. Gray void. No matrix, no grid. No cyberspace. The deck was gone. His fingers were. . . And on the far rim of consciousness, a scurrying, a fleeting impression of something rushing toward him, across leagues of black mirror. He tried to scream. At the sunset hour of one warm spring day two men were to be seen at Patriarchs Ponds. The first of them--aged about forty,