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"
Yeah
.
"
Jimmy
puts
one
finger
into
his
empty
eye
socket
and
scratches
absently
at
the
clotted
gore
within
.
"
See
your
point
.
Well
,
in
a
construct
situation
,
what
you
got
to
do
is
get
to
the
next
screen
somehow
.
Right
?
"
During
the
period
on
Harlan
’
s
World
known
,
with
typical
grim
humour
,
as
the
Unsettlement
,
guerrillas
in
the
Quellist
Black
Brigades
were
surgically
implanted
with
a
quarter
-
kilo
of
enzyme
-
triggered
explosive
that
would
,
on
demand
,
turn
the
surrounding
fifty
square
metres
and
anything
in
it
to
ash
.
It
was
a
tactic
that
met
with
questionable
success
.
The
enzyme
in
question
was
fury
-
related
and
the
conditioning
required
for
arming
the
device
was
patchy
.
There
were
a
number
of
involuntary
detonations
.
Still
,
no
one
ever
volunteered
to
interrogate
a
member
of
the
Black
Brigades
.
Not
after
the
first
one
,
anyway
.
Her
name
—
You
thought
they
could
do
nothing
worse
,
but
now
the
iron
is
inside
you
and
they
are
letting
it
heat
up
slowly
,
giving
you
time
to
think
about
it
.
Your
pleading
is
babbled
—
As
I
was
saying
…
Her
name
was
Iphigenia
Deme
,
Iffy
to
those
of
her
friends
that
had
not
yet
been
slaughtered
by
Protectorate
forces
.
Her
last
words
,
strapped
to
the
interrogation
table
downstairs
at
Number
Eighteen
,
Shimatsu
Boulevard
,
are
reputed
to
have
been
:
That
’
s
fucking
enough
!
The
explosion
brought
the
entire
building
down
.
That
’
s
fucking
enough
!
I
jackknifed
awake
,
the
last
of
my
screams
still
shrilling
inside
me
,
hands
scrabbling
to
cover
remembered
wounds
.
Instead
,
I
found
young
,
undamaged
flesh
beneath
crisp
linen
,
a
faint
rocking
motion
and
the
sound
of
small
waves
lapping
nearby
.
Above
my
head
was
a
sloping
wooden
ceiling
and
a
porthole
through
which
low
angled
sunlight
flooded
.
I
sat
up
in
the
narrow
bunk
and
the
sheet
fell
away
from
my
breasts
.
The
coppery
upper
slopes
were
smooth
and
unscarred
,
the
nipples
intact
.
Back
to
start
.
