Never trust an elf

"It is not my wish to confuse you, Neko. Nor to suggest that you are unqualified. Qualifications are not at issue, nor is interest. Say, rather, that any hesitancy on our part is born of concern over willingness." "Price, then."

Enterich laughed. "You are unusually direct for a Japanese. But price is a matter for later discussion. I speak of a different sort of willingness." He paused, making a show of seeking the right words. "It is well known that most, ah, persons of your trade wish to operate exclusively where they have a secure net of contacts and intimate knowledge of their territory. I 'm afraid that this job will require some travel on your part."

"Paid for, of course."

"Of course," Enterich said. "Your involvement with Verner suggested that you had a wider outlook than many of your colleagues."

^H "Competitors," Neko corrected.

"Competitors." Enterich accepted the correction with a nod. "This matter will require that you travel to Seattle."

Neko leaned back in his chair. He could feel his excitement and hoped he was hiding it well enough. As if there were any doubt that he would agree! Seattle meant North America and an entry into UCAS, the United Canadian and American States. He had always wanted to see the States. Aloofly, he said, "If I agree."

"Yes, of course." Enterich smiled at him. "If you agree."

• Neko's mind raced. America! UCAS, with its spy nets, the quixotic southern Confederated American States, the exotic Native American Nations, and the sinister Atzlan! Such fertile ground for shadowrun-ning. The big-league shadowrunner circuit. Once in the States, he would find many opportunities to employ his skills. He would make a name for himself in the land that had spawned modern shadowrunning. He'd meet the legends of the trade. Maybe even meet the elven decker Dodger in person or even the shadowy Sam Verner himself.

He raised his teacup and said, "The European custom involves a drink on agreement, so fca?"

"It does, but not usually tea." Despite his words, Enterich raised his cup and touched it to Neko's. "Let us drink, then, and get down to details."

A bunch of half-grown ork kids from the hall, Kham's son Jord among them, tore past Kham as he turned the corner onto Beckner Street. They were chasing something that yowled when the leader of the pack struck it with the stick he carried. Each yowl from the prey brought a chorus of jubilant hoots from the pursuers and a change in the leader of the pack. When the leader missed his stroke, the hoots were derisive and the failed swinger dropped to the back of the pack. Kham watched them for a while, smiling. The prey was quick and agile, so the kids' reflexes would get a good workout before they brought whatever it was home for the stewpot.

Food, especially for the crew that filled the hall, was always a problem. Beyond what they could buy, scrounge, or catch, they had access to government rationing, thanks to the widow Asa's pension. The beef-soy cakes they got for the coupons were far more soy than beef, but that was not surprising. The Native American Nations controlled most of the prime beef-land, and though the federal government had culture tanks, the corps usually raided them for their dependents well before the government got its share. Wherever the beef went, it wasn't into the soy cakes they gave to the good, but poor, citizens of UCAS. The beef-soy they got for the widow's coupons might be okay nutrition-wise, but it tasted like ashes and there never was enough. Any meat the kids brought in would flavor and add more protein to the stew. If they'd had more SINs in the hall, they'd have more

food, but they didn't. Asa was the only one with a SIN, a system identification number, which she needed to get her government pension and the ration coupons. The disenfranchised, like Kham's family and the rest of the hall's residents, were not even entitled to that. They weren't in the computers: numbered, tagged, and ready to be processed. Without a nice corporate system identification number neither were they eligible for the government dole or even any of the corporate ones. They were outside the system, scraping up what they could to get by.

Sure they could buy meat in a store just like anybody else, if they had the money. Or they could go to the black market, where the meat was cheaper but you never knew how safe it was. The net result was that fresh meat was a luxury they couldn't afford except when somebody made a score or the kids brought something home from the alleys. Kham hadn't gotten a good look at what they were hunting, but he hoped it wasn't cat again. He hated the taste.