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'
Mon
,
’
Maelcum
was
saying
,
'
I
don
’
t
like
this
.
.
.
’
'
It
’
s
cool
,
’
Molly
said
.
'
It
’
s
just
okay
.
It
’
s
something
these
guys
do
,
is
all
.
Like
,
he
wasn
’
t
dead
,
and
it
was
only
a
few
seconds
.
.
.
’
'
I
saw
th
’
screen
,
EEG
readin
’
dead
.
Nothin
’
movin
’
,
forty
second
.
’
'
Well
,
he
’
s
okay
now
.
’
'
EEG
flat
as
a
strap
,
’
Maelcum
protested
.
He
was
numb
,
as
they
went
through
customs
,
and
Molly
did
most
of
the
talking
.
Maelcum
remained
on
board
Garvey
.
Customs
,
for
Freeside
,
consisted
mainly
of
proving
your
credit
.
The
first
thing
he
saw
,
when
they
gained
the
inner
surface
of
the
spindle
,
was
a
branch
of
the
Beautiful
Girl
coffee
franchise
.
'
Welcome
to
the
Rue
Jules
Verne
,
’
Molly
said
.
'
If
you
have
trouble
walking
,
just
look
at
your
feet
.
The
perspective
’
s
a
bitch
,
if
you
’
re
not
used
to
it
.
’
They
were
standing
in
a
broad
street
that
seemed
to
be
the
floor
of
a
deep
slot
or
canyon
,
its
either
end
concealed
by
subtle
angles
in
the
shops
and
buildings
that
formed
its
walls
.
The
light
,
here
,
was
filtered
through
fresh
green
masses
of
vegetation
tumbling
from
overhanging
tiers
and
balconies
that
rose
above
them
.
The
sun
.
.
.
There
was
a
brilliant
slash
of
white
somewhere
above
them
,
too
bright
,
and
the
recorded
blue
of
a
Cannes
sky
.
He
knew
that
sunlight
was
pumped
in
with
a
Lado
-
Acheson
system
whose
two
-
millimeter
armature
ran
the
length
of
the
spindle
,
that
they
generated
a
rotating
library
of
sky
effects
around
it
,
that
if
the
sky
were
turned
off
,
he
’
d
stare
up
past
the
armature
of
light
to
the
curves
of
lakes
,
rooftops
of
casinos
,
other
streets
.
.
.
But
it
made
no
sense
to
his
body
.
'
Jesus
,
’
he
said
,
'
I
like
this
less
than
SAS
.
’
