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You
take
what
is
offered
,
said
Virginia
Vidaura
,
somewhere
.
And
that
must
sometimes
be
enough
.
It
took
them
another
eleven
days
to
authorise
the
needlecast
returning
me
to
Harlan
’
s
World
,
most
of
which
I
spent
hanging
around
the
Hendrix
watching
the
news
and
feeling
oddly
guilty
about
my
impending
checkout
.
There
were
very
few
actual
facts
publicly
available
about
the
demise
of
Reileen
Kawahara
,
so
the
resulting
coverage
was
lurid
,
sensational
and
largely
inaccurate
.
The
UN
Special
Inquiry
remained
veiled
in
secrecy
,
and
when
the
rumours
about
the
forthcoming
adoption
of
Resolution
653
finally
broke
there
was
little
to
connect
them
to
what
had
gone
before
.
Bancroft
’
s
name
never
appeared
,
and
nor
did
mine
.
I
never
spoke
to
Bancroft
again
.
The
needlecast
authorisation
and
re
-
sleeving
bond
for
Harlan
’
s
World
were
delivered
to
me
by
Oumou
Prescott
who
,
though
she
was
pleasant
enough
and
assured
me
that
the
terms
of
my
contract
would
be
honoured
to
the
letter
,
also
conveyed
a
smoothly
menacing
message
that
I
was
not
to
attempt
any
further
communication
with
any
member
of
the
Bancroft
family
ever
again
.
The
reason
cited
by
Prescott
was
my
deceit
over
the
Jack
It
Up
story
,
the
breach
of
my
much
-
vaunted
word
,
but
I
knew
better
.
I
’
d
seen
it
in
Bancroft
’
s
face
across
the
inquiry
chamber
when
the
facts
about
Miriam
’
s
whereabouts
and
activities
during
the
assault
on
Head
in
the
Clouds
came
out
.
Despite
all
his
urbane
Meth
bullshit
,
the
old
bastard
was
stabbed
through
with
jealousy
.
I
wondered
what
he
would
have
done
if
he
’
d
had
to
sit
through
the
deleted
Hendrix
bedroom
files
.
Ortega
rode
with
me
to
Bay
City
Central
the
day
of
the
needlecast
,
the
same
day
that
Mary
Lou
Hinchley
was
downloaded
into
a
witness
stand
synthetic
for
the
opening
hearing
on
Head
in
the
Clouds
.
There
were
chanting
crowds
on
the
steps
up
to
the
entrance
hall
,
faced
off
against
a
line
of
grim
-
looking
black
-
uniformed
UN
Public
Order
police
.
The
same
crude
holographic
placards
that
I
remembered
from
my
arrival
on
Earth
bobbed
about
over
our
heads
as
we
forced
our
way
through
the
press
.
The
sky
above
was
an
ominous
grey
.
"
Fucking
clowns
,
"
growled
Ortega
,
elbowing
the
last
of
the
demonstrators
out
of
her
way
.
"
If
they
provoke
the
Pubs
,
they
’
ll
be
sorry
.
I
’
ve
seen
these
boys
in
action
before
and
it
isn
’
t
pretty
.
"
I
ducked
around
a
shaven
-
headed
young
man
who
was
punching
violently
at
the
sky
with
one
fist
and
holding
one
of
the
placard
generators
with
the
other
.
His
voice
was
hoarse
and
he
appeared
to
be
working
himself
into
a
frenzied
trance
.
I
joined
Ortega
at
the
upper
fringe
of
the
crowd
,
a
little
out
of
breath
.
"
There
isn
’
t
enough
organisation
here
to
be
a
real
threat
,
"
I
said
,
raising
my
voice
to
compete
with
the
crowd
.
"
They
’
re
just
making
a
noise
.
"
"
Yeah
,
well
that
never
stopped
the
Pubs
before
.
They
’
re
likely
to
break
a
few
skulls
just
on
general
principles
.
What
a
fucking
mess
.
"
