DUNNO. THE AMOUNT OF EFFORT EXPENDED MOUNTING! THE BLITZ IS COMPLETELY OUT OF PROPORTION TO THE DAMAGE IT WOULD CAUSE. EVENT HORIZON LOST A LOT OF DATA IN THE RESULTANT DATANET SHUTDOWN, BUT NOTHING CRITICAL. THAT IMPLIES VENGEANCE.

The green letters with their subliminal flicker jolted him. He shook his head at his own slowness. The blitz had exactly the kind of protective layers as the memox-crystal spoiler, each one a cover for the one underneath, and progressively more complex, more subtle, Kendric di Girolamo's method of operation. A bright sensation of satisfaction rose up; identical patterns, and intuition now both focused on Julia's nemesis. That coincidence was far too much to ignore. Except… Kendric was smart, he wouldn't use the same pattern twice. Unless that was what he wanted people to think.

Greg sipped the last of his coffee reflectively; there were limits to paranoia. Go with your intuition, he told himself, at least you know you trust that.

SO WHAT DO YOU RECKON, HOLMES?

"Insufficient data. You want to do me a huge favour?"

FIND OUT WHO WAS IN ON THE BLITZ?

"Got it in one."

GRIN. SILENCE IS GOLDEN AT THE MOMENT, SO IT'LL MEAN HACKING HOTRODS, ACCESSING THEIR MEMORY CORES TO SEE IF THERE'S ANY REFERENCE TO THE BURN. AND IT'LL HAVE TO BE THE SOLO HOTRODS, THAT COTERIE WEREN'T VIRGINS. OOPS, PARDON MY FRENCH, ELEANOR.

She looked straight at the camera, brushing loose strands of titian hair from her face, and gave him a warm smile.

"If that's too big a deal for you, I can bring some help in from Event Horizon's security division," Greg said solemnly.

HOW SOON DO YOU WANT THE ANSWER, SMART-ARSE?

Greg saluted the camera with his empty coffee mug. "Soon as possible, if not before."

Royan's mouth parted a slit, revealing bucked teeth yellowed by the pulped vegetable mush Qoi fed him. His version of a smile. THE HUNT IS ON.

A whole load of apprehension lifted from Greg. Nobody hunted better than Royan, nor had more practice. And he took it seriously, deadly serious. Royan had monitor programs stashed in every major public data core in the country, sleepers watching for key words and names, Out of the four hundred and seventy People's Constables on duty the night of the riot there were less than two hundred left alive. The boy had been hunting them out ever since he plugged his axon splice into a gear terminal; seeking out their home addresses, tracking them through promotions, transfers, redundancies. Greg and the rest of the Trinities were told where to find them, what they looked like now, at what point in their daily routine they were most vulnerable.

Greg had personally taken out sixteen for him.

"Thanks," Greg said.

SNEAKY PRESENT FOR YOU, GREG. YOU MIGHT HAVE A USE FOR IT. GIVE ME YOUR CARD.