dots went pink, six more turned blue. “Projection, two centuries...” Four more white dots turned pink, seven turned blue. “Projection, three centuries: data insufficient.”
“Query,” Royce said. “Impact on Pacifica, immediate, medium-term, long-term.”
“Immediate impact: nil. Medium-term impact: decline in interstellar markets for Pacifican Web exports, collapse of ‘News of the Galaxy’ news service, inability to purchase off-world science and technology due to balance-of-payments problems and partial collapse of market in same. Long-term impact; collapse of the Galactic Media Web, planetary isolation, possible political polarization along ideological lines, possible overthrow of Pacifican Constitution.”
With a grunt of displeasure, Royce unplugged from all channels, including the obscreen image of the Arkology Heisenberg . “ Whonkf” Rugo squawked indignantly, startled by the angry punch of buttons.
“No shit, Jocko?” Royce muttered. You’re right, he thought, suddenly this doesn’t seem like such a joke. He gazed out the window, abruptly overcome with a temporary case of media cafard.
It was fully dark now, and though the sea was whipped into a chop by the arrival of the thundersquall that had chased him home, most of the sky was still clear. Far from the lights of Gotham, undisturbed by any moon, the sky over the Island Continent was a blaze of stars against the velvet blackness of the heavens, and a silvery, ever-shifting sheen on the churning surface of the waters.
What went on up there in the cold hard blackness was reflected on the quicksilver surface that lay below. How many other people on how many other planets were at this moment looking out over the serene nightscapes of their worlds while the storm moved stealthily and unnoticed toward them among the pinpoint lights of the common sky?
Lightning crackled in the thunderheads over the lagoon. There was a crash of thunder, and a hard rain began to fall.
3
C ARLOTTA HAD SET THE WAKE-UP PLATE IN THEIR G OTHAM bedroom for the predawn hour the night before, but instead of being eased electronically into full wakefullness, she was awakened by Royce’s body moving on hers, by an insistent tingle between her legs, by the unconscious motions of her own body responding to his from the other side of the veil of sleep.
“Whuh—? Huh—? What the hell are you doing?” Physical pleasure vied with early-morning grouchiness. Her body was awake and enjoying itself, but her mind was half-asleep and grumbling.
“What does it feel like Fm doing?” Royce muttered slyly in her ear without breaking rhythm.
“You’re raping me, bucko,” Carlotta grunted, blinking away the vestiges of sleep.
“Oh,” Royce said. “Sorry.” He stopped his body in midthrust, holding himself stiff and lifeless as a corpse. “I thought you were enjoying it.”
Carlotta moved her hips against him. “Cut this shit out.”
“Say please.”
“Please,” she whispered with a giggle, sticking her tongue in his ear. Royce laughed, and they moved together once more, fully awake to each other’s rhythm now, building swiftly to a rather well-timed mutual fulfillment.
Afterwards, Carlotta leaned back lazily against a pillow and pressed a button on the nightstand, which drew back the curtains to admit the wan gray light of impending dawn blearing down on a barely stirring Gotham. Fully awake now at this loathsome hour, she longed to drift back to sleep at least until the sun was a civilized distance above the horizon. Royce, as always, was filled with his loathsome and incomprehensible first-thing-in-the-moming energy, punching out an order for a bedside pot of kaf. “What was the idea of that?” Carlotta asked.
“Just a silly way of starting what promises to be a very unsilly day,” Royce said, suddenly serious.
“Yeah,” Carlotta said somberly. “It’s not going to be easy. You coming along with me?”
“Be there before noon,” Royce said, as the