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knew, the rich lived in gated communities on the best land and roamed the streets on the back of robots while the poor had their kids killed by the drones patrolling the slums.
    Black three–wheelers honked and buzzed their way around the dirty rubbish–strewn streets. Street kids scattered. In one corner there was an armful of stray dogs picking at the rubbish, skinny and scared. In places the pavement was ruptured, as if someone had started road repairs and then given up halfway through. Confident wives with armfuls of groceries marched together, still young and pretty.
    She saw a pair of Western girls, all backpacks and super–nutritioned height and brand new tans and braids in their hair, one with little bright yellow ink tattoos on her shoulders, that she’d have to keep hidden in the West. They were walking towards a big temple she could see high on a hill up the road. Amber thought of them getting pickpocketed and hit on by drunks and thieves while they tried to gobble up all the experiences they could. She shook her head.
    Cooking–smells wafted from roadside stalls. Women strolled past in bright saris. Older men wore little red pointed hats.
    The road was lined with shops, dirty cavities stretching back inside the crooked buildings. She passed one and stopped. Amongst the Coca–cola and Budweiser branding, a sign over the entrance read buy darknet transmitter here . She blinked at the audaciousness of it – the darknet was completely illegal under the Technological Limitation Agreement. In the US the penalty for possession started at five years imprisonment. She looked around for some reason to let it slide. Was it a joke?
    “You seeing what I’m seeing?” she said.
    “By definition,” Emily replied in her ear.
    “Would I be within my remit to investigate that?”
    “That would depend on your intentions.”
    “To investigate the advertising of a criminal activity.”
    “Why are you asking?”
    “Is that a yes?”
    “If that’s actually what you’re going to do, then yes, it’s technically inside your remit. But I’m not sure that the General meant–”
    Amber was already inside the shop.
    Inside was dark, lit only by a pair of filthy fluorescent tubes in a far corner. The walls were covered with shelves and the shelves were crammed with boxes overflowing with tiny electronic components. The man behind the counter was half–asleep, one hand buried in one of the little boxes. When he saw her he snapped awake and jumped around the desk towards her. He was wearing a bright red waist–coat, embroidered with a pattern of vines. He gave her a big grin.
    “Immune?” he said.
    Amber nodded. “I’m looking for a transmitter.” A shadow of fear crossed the man’s face for a moment. He knew it was illegal – how could he be stupid enough to put a sign up? Was ITSA so weak here? Were the Chinese so strong?
    “Oh, no,” he grinned, “We do not sell that. Electronic components only.”
    “Don’t worry, I’m not police,” she said. “I want to buy.”
    “Er…” Emily said in her ear. Amber blinked to make her shut up.
    “You want to buy?” the man said, appearing to consider it.
    “Yeah,” she said, “Sell me one,” Amber said. To her surprise the man nodded.
    “Follow me,” he said, still nodding. “Come here.”
    He ushered her into an even darker part of the shop.
    “Amber…” Emily said. Amber blinked again. She could feel the implant administrator activating various nervous system heighteners, readying her body to fight. She glanced around. It was an enclosed space, but he was only one man, and she was stronger than him and probably faster. She patted her sidearm anyway, as if to make sure it was still there.
    They reached a door. The man pushed it open on a dark and smoky room. Amber counted eight men sat on crates. Everyone was smoking. They all looked up and stared at her. One tall, thin man pushed himself to his feet and shuffled towards her, smiling a yellow smile. She