Cyberpunk

right.”
    “Of course I was. Data integrity is not ICE’s—”
    “No, when you said there was a ‘but.’ You were right about that.”
    “Thank you, Max,” she said, her voice changing timbre somewhat clumsily. “I appreciate you acknowledging that point.”
    “But it wasn’t a spoofer. The terminal wasn’t properly retired. I’m going there now to retrieve it.”
    “What is your intention?”
    “I’m going to find the guy, and—”
    “With the terminal.”
    “Oh, ah, yank its data and melt its processor core, probably.”
    Her voice went cold on me. “Place it in electrostatic suspension and cede it to my Corporate Persona.”
    “Hang on—” My mail icon blinked. And look, she’s gone and started a document trail. “Okay. Can we discuss this first?”
    “There’s always room for discussion, but not on this topic. I have a security breach that requires reconciliation. I must protect my assets.”
    A mental image of Yullg and his large knuckles flashed through my head.
    “Of course,” I said, my mood deflating. “We’ve all got to cover our assets.” I glanced at the mail icon, triggering the menus, and marked the incoming message from her as R & U. “There.”
    “Thank you, Max.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice had returned to its softer tone. “You’re not happy. I can tell.”
    “No kidding.” I raised my eyes toward the ceiling of the ’tubebus and shook my head. “It’s just—you know what? Never mind.” I should have ended the handshake, but I left it open. My theory-brain had nothing to offer.
    “I like your face better when you are smiling,” she said quietly.
    My head snapped down, and theory-brain started looking for EyeMonitors along the seams of the cabin. “You can see me? Right now?”
    “I can always see you, Max.” Her voice was almost a whisper, as if she was embarrassed to have been caught watching me, and then the handshake suddenly ended.
    But she kept watching, and when I nearly died at the Sandeesh domicile, she triggered the iMed alert that saved my life.
    Prescott Four made a personal visit to my private room in the ICE infirmary. I caught sight of Yullg and Grimester outside as he shut the door.
    He dropped an opened ICEpak on my lap. “I’ve rechained your mail to Yullg,” he said. “This came a winding ago.”
    My hands were immobilized, and when Prescott Four didn’t make any effort to help me, I surmised that whatever had been in the package was already gone. Pre-censored for my protection. “What was it?”
    “Doesn’t matter.”
    I blinked up the time, and realized it was still post-meridiem of the same cycle. “It came through the normal service?” I asked.
    “With the Gen-Y lot,” he said.
    The last run. “Two deliveries in one cycle?” My theory-brain pushed the question out of my mouth. “Why two?”
    He looked at me. “You told me there weren’t going to be anymore.”
    “No,” I clarified, “I said I was working on it, and that I had some ideas—”
    “Too many, evidently.”
    I shook my suspended arms. “Well, it got complicated.”
    “I can see that.” He sighed. “I sent Yullg to the Ring Positioning Coordinates from where iMed transported you.” He shook his head. “They chargeback us for these sorts of unscheduled deliveries, you know. A commensurate deduction will be attached to your PIPe.”
    “Of course,” I said. “Glad I could help offset the corporate deficit.”
    “Don’t mention it.” He waved off my thanks. “Unfortunately, Yullg only found . . . well, you made quite a mess.”
    I had very little recollection of what had happened. There had been something large and metallic waiting for me in the entry of the domicile. Something with bright lights and sharp bits. “Not my intention, sir.”
    “You’ve been at a desk for some time. I suppose that’s to be expected.” Even though he was being understanding, he still made it sound like it had been my fault. He pursed his lips. “I still need you, Max. Yullg has singular direction, and when there is no direction in which to point him . . .”
    I lay there, with my arms in slings and my lower body immobilized by the straps of the bed, trying to look more capable than I felt.
    He stepped over the panel beside the bed and stroked the lit column of the iNurse. “Yes, Mr. Prescott,” a hermaphroditic voice answered.
    “Mr. Semper Dimialos is returning to his assigned duties,” Prescott said.
    “I am?”
    “The