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neighborhood clean of vermin in a way that local government officials never could.
    Only being perhaps partly human, sometimes she made mistakes and targeted the locals. Like a doctor, her mistakes were buried.
    Or at least carted off for parts.
    Nearing the entrance to my apartment, I dodged around the Moravecs who pretended to be alive, dancing like jerky sprites to unheard, nebulous muzak. I’ve never understood why Snipe didn’t target the Moravecs that roamed our streets — but for some reason she treated the mechanical invaders as if they were invisible specters.
    Some in the neighborhood thought perhaps Snipe was a Moravec, and thus didn’t target her own. But those who claimed to have caught a glimpse of her on the roofs said most of her body and all her head was flesh and blood. If they were right, then she wasn’t a Moravec, even if she let them roam unmolested.
    The front door to my apartment fortress was charged so I approached it gingerly, placing my hand on the I-dent pad when I neared. “My name’s baloney,” I told the computer, eyeing the door guns that had automatically trained themselves on my chest.
    “Welcome home, Ralph,” the computer said in a low, feminine voice. “I didn’t bother calling the police when you were kidnapped since I figured the goons that took you were either friends or would have aced you by the time the cops came. If and when.”
    “Thanks for the consideration.” I pushed my way through the armored door as it buzzed opened. “You might want to make a call for recycle. Looks like Snipe got another subby out front.”
    “Already did. Third subvertiser she’s nailed today. Getting to be a better shot as of late. No wingings, just righteous kills. We should open a parts franchise.”
    “Don’t joke about selling body parts.”
    “Who’s kidding?”
    I shook my head, shuddering at the thought of how close I’d come to becoming cryogenic meat, and climbed the creaking stairs leading to my room. Once there, I tapped my code into the door lock, double-checking the small paper match I always placed below the hinge so I could tell if someone had circumvented the lock. It’s a thread-worn trick, but usually worked.
    The match was in place so I entered without drawing my pistol. Once in, I closed and barred the door behind me, addressing my MC. “Security, mail, and news.”
    “Alarm and defense activated,” the computer told me as it let sunlight stream in from the pipe to the roof. “No attempts to enter while you were gone. All e-mail’s junk and spams except for a note from Death asking that you pay him a visit.”
    “Dated hours ago, I hope.”
    “Yes. Nine-twenty AM.”
    “Been there, done that, didn’t wet my pants. Hey, I need a new subphone.”
    “Waste of money. Service unlikely to be reestablished anytime soon. Ecofreaks fried the main ground hub this morning.”
    I swore under my breath. Already I was feeling cellphone withdrawal; the anti-tech terrorists were intent to bring the world to its knees one phone tower at a time, and they couldn’t have picked a better way to do it in a world swollen with gossip. Fortunately, the wire net was still operational, and had enough redundancy to remain so for some time. The catch was whether it would have the capacity to carry the additional traffic, especially if more and more corporations switched to it as a replacement system for the wireless and air laser systems they’d lost.
    The computer continued, “Voice mail includes three second notices and threats to shut down your electrical and solar relays.”
    “Use this to pay the bills,” I said, jabbing the smart card Death had given me into the MC’s slot. I’d hoped to use the creds for some other purchases, but having the power and daylight down would be a bummer and hacking utility computers was often iffy at best. Sure, I had the talent to hit some ATMs now and then, but not the will; no matter how many times I told myself I was just stealing from