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spot without catching fish and never moves on.''
"I wish you luck." Ooljee negotiated a low river dune. "But it would be better
if we knew what to use for bait."
CHRPTER
g
OOLJEE DROPPED HIM outside the downtown Intercontinental Hotel. Moody followed
the police pickup until it was swallowed by the traffic. Then he turned a slow
circle, alone for the first time in an alien environment.
He felt more at home than he'd expected. The stream of well-dressed tourists
and white-collar workers flowing past him was little different from what he
would have encountered in a cosmopolitan eastern city, except for the
invigorating racial diversity. He rubbed the back of his neck. It didn't itch
as bad as it had on the day of his arrival. Maybe he was getting acclimated a
little.
It was late and the holasers and neons and airborne elec-trophosphorescents
were emerging from electronic hibernation, flaring to luminescent life in
search of consumer prey. More of them would appear as twilight gave way to
night, their messages insistent, visually and aurally demanding your
attention.
Hands jammed in the pockets of his jacket, he chose a direction at random and
began to walk, trying to recall what he could of blocks and street names but
more or less just letting his legs and his curiosity carry him along.
Most of the shops were long and narrow, their limited
112
HI an Dean Foster frontage a sure indication of high rents. They sold jewelry,
paintings, souvenirs classy and cheap, sculpture, electronic gadgets; designer
clothing from China, Russia, Japan, Paris; high-
duality furniture from Brazil and the South American Union; antiques, Oriental
specialties, and fine pastries. Moody was especially careful to avoid the
latter.
Amerindian artifacts he could not judge, but he suspected what he was seeing
on the street was not the most authentic available. Ganado was a commercial,
not a cultural, center. Ethnologists would find better hunting in Kayenta or
Window Rock.
However, the materials, if not the designs, were the finest. One store
displayed a magnificent watchband fashioned from platinum, turquoise, and blue
sapphires. That these were not traditional materials would not deter wealthy
businessmen from Hakana, Shanghai, or Frankfurt. The absence of tradition did
not in any way detract from the fine craftsmanship or the beauty of the final
product.
He had been doing his best to avoid the many tempting window displays of the
various food emporiums, but now as he crossed the street he was attracted to
an open establishment from which issued halfway listenable music and the
robust aroma of exotic coffees. Stepping through the air curtain, he ordered a
double cup of the best Arusha blend from the counter, along with a cleverly
woven little Indian basket piled high with scones and an accompanying pot of
clotted cream.
An empty table by the window allowed him to indulge in his high caloric
purchase while observing the steady flow of pedestrian traffic outside. He
remained thus, sipping the pungent dark brew and noshing, until the last
vestige of sunlight was but a recent memory, and existing illumination was
supplied solely by electrons which had been bent to the will of determined
advertisers, much as toy poodles had been bred for the delight of elderly
women suffering from emotional deficiencies.
CYBER LUflY
113
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With the lateness of the hour the composition of the crowd began to change,
growing perceptibly younger as he watched. Businessfolk had retired to their
homes and zenats and laptops. The people out and about now were dressed for
excitement, for fun. Some were intent on specific destinations, while others
simply wandered in hopes of encountering stimuli, or at the very least
something to interrupt the monotony of their lives.
He downed the last of his coffee, the final chunk of scone, and debated
ordering another cup, finally deciding that he was going to have enough
trouble sleeping tonight. The air door whooshed softly as he exited.
Out on the boulevard he was surrounded by flashing lights and insistent
whisperers proffering
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t suggestions and invitations in a dozen different languages. The crowd
pressed close around him as he headed down a side street, seeking
enlightenment along with relief from the crush. He was tracing a whiff of
Tandoori when something slim and shiny flashed in an alcove on his right and a
voice snapped, "De-mobilate right there, fatso."
The voice he ignored, but the object gave him pause. As his eyes acclimated to
shadow he made out three figures standing in the shuttered entrance of a shop.
One aimed a device at his chest. It might have been a knife, it could have
been a gun. The stocky figure standing next to the weapon-
wielder beckoned. A cerebromassage red-and-yellow headband pulsed softly
against his forehead like a somnolent snake.
"In here, bilagaanna. Quick, unless you want to die."
A glance showed Moody that he was alone on this side of the street. This bunch
had been waiting for someone just like him, which was to say, stupid and
preoccupied. Without justification, he'd allowed himself to relax. Just
because this wasn't Tampa.
Behind the speaker and the one with the weapon stood a last, larger mugger. He
wasn't quite
Moody's size and like
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