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The
week
before
,
he
’
d
delayed
transfer
of
a
synthetic
glandular
extract
,
retailing
it
for
a
wider
margin
than
usual
.
He
knew
Wage
hadn
’
t
liked
that
.
Wage
was
his
primary
supplier
,
nine
years
in
Chiba
and
one
of
the
few
gaijin
dealers
who
’
d
managed
to
forge
links
with
the
rigidly
stratified
criminal
establishment
beyond
Night
City
’
s
borders
.
Genetic
materials
and
hormones
trickled
down
to
Ninsei
along
an
intricate
ladder
of
fronts
and
blinds
.
Somehow
Wage
had
managed
to
trace
something
back
,
once
,
and
now
he
enjoyed
steady
connections
in
a
dozen
cities
.
Case
found
himself
staring
through
a
shop
window
.
The
place
sold
small
bright
objects
to
the
sailors
.
Watches
,
flicknives
,
lighters
,
pocket
VTRs
,
simstim
decks
,
weighted
manriki
chains
,
and
shuriken
.
The
shuriken
had
always
fascinated
him
,
steel
stars
with
knife
-
sharp
points
.
Some
were
chromed
,
others
black
,
others
treated
with
a
rainbow
surface
like
oil
on
water
.
But
the
chrome
stars
held
his
gaze
.
They
were
mounted
against
scarlet
ultrasuede
with
nearly
invisible
loops
of
nylon
fishline
,
their
centers
stamped
with
dragons
or
yinyang
symbols
.
They
caught
the
street
’
s
neon
and
twisted
it
,
and
it
came
to
Case
that
these
were
the
stars
under
which
he
voyaged
,
his
destiny
spelled
out
in
a
constellation
of
cheap
chrome
.
'
Julie
,
’
he
said
to
his
stars
.
'
Time
to
see
old
Julie
.
He
’
ll
know
.
’
Julius
Deane
was
one
hundred
and
thirty
-
five
years
old
,
his
metabolism
assiduously
warped
by
a
weekly
fortune
in
serums
and
hormones
.
His
primary
hedge
against
aging
was
a
yearly
pilgrimage
to
Tokyo
,
where
genetic
surgeons
re
-
set
the
code
of
his
DNA
,
a
procedure
unavailable
in
Chiba
.
Then
he
’
d
fly
to
Hongkong
and
order
the
year
’
s
suits
and
shirts
.
Sexless
and
inhumanly
patient
,
his
primary
gratification
seemed
to
lie
in
his
devotion
to
esoteric
forms
of
tailor
-
worship
.
Case
had
never
seen
him
wear
the
same
suit
twice
,
although
his
wardrobe
seemed
to
consist
entirely
of
meticulous
reconstructions
of
garments
of
the
previous
century
.
He
affected
prescription
lenses
,
framed
in
spidery
gold
,
ground
from
thin
slabs
of
pink
synthetic
quartz
and
beveled
like
the
mirrors
in
a
Victorian
dollhouse
.
His
offices
were
located
in
a
warehouse
behind
Ninsei
,
part
of
which
seemed
to
have
been
sparsely
decorated
,
years
before
,
with
a
random
collection
of
European
furniture
,
as
though
Deane
had
once
intended
to
use
the
place
as
his
home
.
Neo
Aztec
bookcases
gathered
dust
against
one
wall
of
the
room
where
Case
waited
.
A
pair
of
bulbous
Disney
-
styled
table
lamps
perched
awkwardly
on
a
low
Kandinsky
-
look
coffee
table
in
scarlet
-
lacquered
steel
.
A
Dali
clock
hung
on
the
wall
between
the
bookcases
,
its
distorted
face
sagging
to
the
bare
concrete
floor
.
Its
hands
were
holograms
that
altered
to
match
the
convolutions
of
the
face
as
they
rotated
,
but
it
never
told
the
correct
time
.
The
room
was
stacked
with
white
fiberglass
shipping
modules
that
gave
off
the
tang
of
preserved
ginger
.
'
You
seem
to
be
clean
,
old
son
,
’
said
Deane
’
s
disembodied
voice
.
'
Do
come
in
.
’
Magnetic
bolts
thudded
out
of
position
around
the
massive
imitation
-
rosewood
door
to
the
left
of
the
bookcases
.
JULIUS
DEANE
IMPORT
EXPORT
was
lettered
across
the
plastic
in
peeling
self
-
adhesive
capitals
.
If
the
furniture
scattered
in
Deane
’
s
makeshift
foyer
suggested
the
end
of
the
past
century
,
the
office
itself
seemed
to
belong
to
its
start
.
Deane
’
s
seamless
pink
face
regarded
Case
from
a
pool
of
light
cast
by
an
ancient
brass
lamp
with
a
rectangular
shade
of
dark
green
glass
.
The
importer
was
securely
fenced
behind
a
vast
desk
of
painted
steel
,
flanked
on
either
side
by
tall
,
drawered
cabinets
made
of
some
sort
of
pale
wood
.
The
sort
of
thing
,
Case
supposed
,
that
had
once
been
used
to
store
written
records
of
some
kind
.
The
desktop
was
littered
with
cassettes
,
scrolls
of
yellowed
printout
,
and
various
parts
of
some
sort
of
clockwork
typewriter
,
a
machine
Deane
never
seemed
to
get
around
to
reassembling
.
