“Next generation?” echoed Eve, posing it as a question. “Are you talking that exoskeleton stuff?”

HK shared a brief secret smile with Kuga and Santoro. “Exo-suits, to be sure,” she said, “but we have some other surprises that I can truly guarantee will raise a smile on all your faces. I think it’s fair to say that the American Operation is going to be quite the event.”

“Now that,” said Kuga, “is what I like to hear.”

“Yeah,” said Eve, more to herself than anyone, “me, too.”

CHAPTER 16

IL POMODORO BEACH

LUNGOMARE MARINA ITALIANA

GIOVINAZZO, PUGLIA, ITALY

The two young men came out of the restaurant, exiting through a staff door, which they closed and locked. The place was closed for the night, and they were exhausted from hours of cleaning, restocking, and prework for the next day. Enea was the short, fat one, a deputy chef and shift manager; Federico—known to all his friends as Spike because he looked vaguely like the character from the old American TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer—was the tall, skinny one. Spike had started bleaching his hair white and spiking it after having met the actor who played Spike at the big comic convention in Lucca. It didn’t matter that the waitstaff, all of whom were at least a decade younger, had no idea who Buffy or Spike were. They liked the nickname, though. Most women he met thought it was a euphemism for how well he was hung.

They were best friends and had worked at this restaurant, and two previous ones, since high school. Whenever possible, they worked the same shifts—Enea running the kitchen on the evening shifts whenever the head chef was on days; and Spike doing prep work and cleanup after the last customer was gone. They cranked up the sound system and blasted old Italian punk, with a heavy bias toward Derozer and Punkreas. The screaming vocals rattled the glassware and made the whole cleanup process fun and fast.

Their post-work ritual was to go down to the big rocks by the water, smoke some good Turkish weed if there were no polizia around, or smoke their way through three or four Benson & Hedges Reds while talking about politics and watching the stars. Tonight was a canapa night, and the joints were fresh and potent, spiked with something special that brought them quickly to a nice level and softened the edges of reality.