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She
passed
the
tips
of
her
fingers
through
Armitage
’
s
television
eyes
,
then
turned
to
the
figure
of
Case
.
Here
,
it
was
as
if
Riviera
-
and
Case
had
known
instantly
that
Riviera
was
responsible
-
had
been
unable
to
find
anything
worthy
of
parody
.
The
figure
that
slouched
there
was
a
fair
approximation
of
the
one
he
glimpsed
daily
in
mirrors
.
Thin
,
high
-
shouldered
,
a
forgettable
face
beneath
short
dark
hair
.
He
needed
a
shave
,
but
then
he
usually
did
.
Molly
stepped
back
.
She
looked
from
one
figure
to
another
.
It
was
a
static
display
,
the
only
movement
the
silent
gusting
of
the
black
trees
in
Armitage
’
s
frozen
Siberian
eyes
.
'
Tryin
’
to
tell
us
something
,
Peter
?
’
she
asked
softly
.
Then
she
stepped
forward
and
kicked
at
something
between
the
feet
of
the
holo
-
Molly
.
Metal
clinked
against
the
wall
and
the
figures
were
gone
.
She
bent
and
picked
up
a
small
display
unit
.
'
Guess
he
can
jack
into
these
and
program
them
direct
,
’
she
said
,
tossing
it
away
.
She
passed
the
source
of
yellow
light
,
an
archaic
incandescent
globe
set
into
the
wall
,
protected
by
a
rusty
curve
of
expansion
grating
.
The
style
of
the
improvised
fixture
suggested
childhood
,
somehow
.
He
remembered
fortresses
he
’
d
built
with
other
children
on
rooftops
and
in
flooded
sub
-
basements
.
A
rich
kid
’
s
hideout
,
he
thought
.
This
kind
of
roughness
was
expensive
.
What
they
called
atmosphere
.
She
passed
a
dozen
more
holograms
before
she
reached
the
entrance
to
3Jane
’
s
apartments
.
One
depicted
the
eyeless
thing
in
the
alley
behind
the
Spice
Bazaar
,
as
it
tore
itself
free
of
Riviera
’
s
shattered
body
.
Several
others
were
scenes
of
torture
,
the
inquisitors
always
military
officers
and
the
victims
invariably
young
women
.
These
had
the
awful
intensity
of
Riviera
’
s
show
at
the
Vingtime
Sicle
,
as
though
they
had
been
frozen
in
the
blue
flash
of
orgasm
.
Molly
looked
away
as
she
passed
them
.
The
last
was
small
and
dim
,
as
if
it
were
an
image
Riviera
had
had
to
drag
across
some
private
distance
of
memory
and
time
.
She
had
to
kneel
to
examine
it
;
it
had
been
projected
from
the
vantage
point
of
a
small
child
.
None
of
the
others
had
had
backgrounds
;
the
figures
,
uniforms
,
instruments
of
torture
,
all
had
been
freestanding
displays
.
But
this
was
a
view
.
A
dark
wave
of
rubble
rose
against
a
colorless
sky
,
beyond
its
crest
the
bleached
,
half
-
melted
skeletons
of
city
towers
.
The
rubble
wave
was
textured
like
a
net
,
rusting
steel
rods
twisted
gracefully
as
fine
string
,
vast
slabs
of
concrete
still
clinging
there
.
The
foreground
might
once
have
been
a
city
square
;
there
was
a
sort
of
stump
,
something
that
suggested
a
fountain
.
At
its
base
,
the
children
and
the
soldier
were
frozen
.
The
tableau
was
confusing
at
first
.
Molly
must
have
read
it
correctly
before
Case
had
quite
assimilated
it
,
because
he
felt
her
tense
.
She
spat
,
then
stood
.
Children
.
Feral
,
in
rags
.
Teeth
glittering
like
knives
.
Sores
on
their
contorted
faces
.
The
soldier
on
his
back
,
mouth
and
throat
open
to
the
sky
.
They
were
feeding
.
