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- Ричард Морган
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I
leaned
back
against
my
side
of
the
window
frame
.
The
Watchtower
suite
had
been
aptly
named
.
All
three
rooms
looked
out
across
the
city
and
the
water
beyond
,
either
north
or
westward
,
and
the
window
shelf
in
the
lounge
accounted
for
about
a
fifth
of
the
available
space
,
layered
with
psychedelically
coloured
cushion
mats
.
Ortega
and
I
were
seated
opposite
each
other
with
a
clean
metre
of
space
between
us
.
"
OK
,
so
that
’
s
one
copy
.
Then
what
?
"
Ortega
shrugged
.
"
Fatal
accident
.
"
"
In
Ulan
Bator
?
"
"
Right
.
Dimi
runs
himself
into
a
power
pylon
at
high
speed
,
falls
out
of
a
hotel
window
,
something
like
that
.
An
Ulan
Bator
handling
agent
retrieves
the
stack
,
and
,
for
a
hefty
bribe
,
makes
a
copy
.
In
come
Cartwright
Solar
,
or
Lloyds
with
their
retrieval
writ
,
freight
Dimi
(
d
.
h
.
)
back
to
their
clone
bank
and
download
him
into
the
waiting
sleeve
.
Thank
you
very
much
,
sir
.
Nice
doing
business
with
you
.
"
"
Meanwhile
…
"
"
Meanwhile
the
handling
agent
buys
up
a
black
market
sleeve
,
probably
some
catatonia
case
from
a
local
hospital
,
or
a
scene
-
of
-
the
-
crime
drugs
victim
who
’
s
not
too
physically
damaged
.
The
Ulan
Bator
police
do
a
screaming
trade
in
DOAs
.
The
agent
wipes
the
sleeve
’
s
mind
,
downloads
Dimi
’
s
copy
into
it
,
and
the
sleeve
just
walks
out
of
there
.
Suborbital
to
the
other
side
of
the
globe
and
off
to
work
in
Bay
City
.
"
"
You
don
’
t
catch
these
guys
too
often
.
"
"
Almost
never
.
Point
is
,
you
’
ve
got
to
catch
both
copies
cold
,
either
dead
like
this
or
held
on
a
UN
indictable
offence
.
