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Seen
from
the
bubble
of
the
taxi
,
Zion
’
s
makeshift
hull
reminded
Case
of
the
patchwork
tenements
of
Istanbul
,
the
irregular
,
discolored
plates
laser
-
scrawled
with
Rastafarian
symbols
and
the
initials
of
welders
.
Molly
and
a
skinny
Zionite
called
Aerol
helped
Case
negotiate
a
freefall
corridor
into
the
core
of
a
smaller
torus
.
He
’
d
lost
track
of
Armitage
and
Riviera
in
the
wake
of
a
second
wave
of
SAS
vertigo
.
'
Here
,
’
Molly
said
,
shoving
his
legs
into
a
narrow
hatchway
overhead
.
'
Grab
the
rungs
.
Make
like
you
’
re
climbing
backward
,
right
?
You
’
re
going
toward
the
hull
,
that
’
s
like
you
’
re
climbing
down
into
gravity
.
Got
it
?
’
Case
’
s
stomach
churned
.
'
You
be
fine
,
mon
,
’
Aerol
said
,
his
grin
bracketed
with
gold
incisors
.
Somehow
,
the
end
of
the
tunnel
had
become
its
bottom
.
Case
embraced
the
weak
gravity
like
a
drowning
man
finding
a
pocket
of
air
.
'
Up
,
’
Molly
said
,
'
you
gonna
kiss
it
next
?
’
Case
lay
flat
on
the
deck
,
on
his
stomach
,
arms
spread
.
Something
struck
him
on
the
shoulder
.
He
rolled
over
and
saw
a
fat
bundle
of
elastic
cable
.
'
Gotta
play
house
,
’
she
said
.
'
You
help
me
string
this
up
.
’
He
looked
around
the
wide
,
featureless
space
and
noticed
steel
rings
welded
on
every
surface
,
seemingly
at
random
.
When
they
’
d
strung
the
cables
,
according
to
some
complex
scheme
of
Molly
’
s
,
they
hung
them
with
battered
sheets
of
yellow
plastic
.
As
they
worked
,
Case
gradually
became
aware
of
the
music
that
pulsed
constantly
through
the
cluster
.
It
was
called
dub
,
a
sensuous
mosaic
cooked
from
vast
libraries
of
digitalized
pop
;
it
was
worship
,
Molly
said
,
and
a
sense
of
community
.
Case
heaved
at
one
of
the
yellow
sheets
;
the
thing
was
light
but
still
awkward
.
Zion
smelled
of
cooked
vegetables
,
humanity
,
and
ganja
.
'
Good
,
’
Armitage
said
,
gliding
loose
-
kneed
through
the
hatch
and
nodding
at
the
maze
of
sheets
.
Riviera
followed
,
less
certain
in
the
partial
gravity
.
'
Where
were
you
when
it
needed
doing
?
’
Case
asked
Riviera
.
