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"
No
.
And
I
think
we
can
also
suppose
that
this
will
be
the
last
direct
contact
between
us
until
this
matter
is
resolved
.
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Well
,
inappropriate
though
it
may
seem
,
good
luck
,
Kovacs
"
The
screen
blanked
,
leaving
the
words
hanging
in
the
air
.
I
sat
for
what
seemed
like
a
long
time
,
hearing
them
,
staring
at
an
imagined
afterimage
on
screen
that
my
hate
made
almost
real
.
When
I
spoke
,
Ryker
’
s
voice
sounded
alien
in
my
ears
,
as
if
someone
or
something
else
was
speaking
through
me
.
"
Inappropriate
is
right
,
"
it
said
into
the
quiet
room
.
"
Motherfucker
.
"
Ortega
did
not
come
back
,
but
the
aroma
of
what
she
had
cooked
curled
through
the
apartment
and
my
stomach
flexed
in
sympathy
.
I
waited
some
more
,
still
trying
to
assemble
all
the
jagged
edges
of
the
puzzle
in
my
mind
,
but
either
my
heart
was
not
in
it
or
there
was
still
something
major
missing
.
Finally
,
I
forced
down
the
coppery
taste
of
the
hate
and
frustration
,
and
went
to
eat
.
Kawahara
’
s
groundwork
was
flawless
.
An
automated
limo
with
JacSol
insignia
lightning
-
flashed
onto
its
flanks
turned
up
outside
the
Hendrix
at
eight
the
next
morning
.
I
went
down
to
meet
it
and
found
the
rear
cabin
stacked
with
Chinese
designer
-
label
boxes
.
Opened
back
in
my
room
,
the
boxes
yielded
a
line
of
high
quality
corporate
props
that
Serenity
Carlyle
would
have
gone
wild
for
:
two
blocky
,
sand
-
coloured
suits
,
cut
to
Ryker
’
s
size
,
a
half
dozen
handmade
shirts
with
the
JacSol
logo
embroidered
on
each
wing
collar
,
formal
shoes
in
real
leather
,
a
midnight
blue
raincoat
,
a
JacSol
dedicated
mobile
phone
and
a
small
black
disc
with
a
thumbprint
DNA
encoding
pad
.
