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You watch your back, man. He nodded, anxious to be gone.

I saw your girl last night, Ratz said, passing Case his second Kirin. I don't have one, he said, and drank.

But the dreams came on in the Japanese night like live wire voodoo and he'd cry for it, cry in his sleep, and wake alone in the dark, curled in his capsule in some coffin hotel, his hands clawed into the bedslab, temper foam bunched between his fingers, trying to reach the console that wasn't there.

It was vibrating with the speed he'd taken. The brown laminate of the table top was dull with a patina of tiny scratches.