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'
Kuang
’
s
ready
?
’
'
Hot
to
trot
.
’
'
Okay
.
’
He
flipped
.
And
found
himself
staring
down
,
through
Molly
’
s
one
good
eye
,
at
a
white
-
faced
,
wasted
figure
,
afloat
in
a
loose
fetal
crouch
,
a
cyberspace
deck
between
its
thighs
,
a
band
of
silver
trodes
above
closed
,
shadowed
eyes
.
The
man
’
s
cheeks
were
hollowed
with
a
day
’
s
growth
of
dark
beard
,
his
face
slick
with
sweat
.
He
was
looking
at
himself
.
Molly
had
her
fletcher
in
her
hand
.
Her
leg
throbbed
with
each
beat
of
her
pulse
,
but
she
could
still
maneuver
in
zero
-
g
.
Maelcum
drifted
nearby
,
3Jane
’
s
thin
arm
gripped
in
a
large
brown
hand
.
A
ribbon
of
fiberoptics
looped
gracefully
from
the
Ono
Sendai
to
a
square
opening
in
the
back
of
the
pearl
-
crusted
terminal
.
He
tapped
the
switch
again
.
'
Kuang
Grade
Mark
Eleven
is
haulin
’
ass
in
nine
seconds
,
countin
’
,
seven
,
six
,
five
.
.
.
’
