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the direction of his turns to keep from getting dizzy.
    “Don’t let the Orgs intimidate you,” the NP said. “They’re puny logic machines built by engineers, whereas you have me on your side. I’m patterned after one of the shrewdest and most inventive personalities in recent times.”
    “And unlike you,” Dominic added, “Orgs have to obey the law.”
    He fiddled with his helmet controls and replayed the Orgs’ email on his heads-up display. He’d practically memorized their instructions. They wanted him to sneak aboard the crawler, incognito, and make a deal. No substitutes, only Dominic Jedes could do it He doubted his bargaining skills were the real reason. Maybe the Orgs wanted payback.
    Their email said Major Qi Raoshu had been working undercover for several years, living with protes and making contacts. The major would use these contacts to find the submarine, then act as guide. Dominic’s role was to negotiate. Right. He had no intention of wasting time with that. He would head straight for the Net link. For the hundredth time, he wondered why the Orgs didn’t just board the ship with their own police. The whole scheme filled him with suspicion.
    “You’re breathing too hard, son. Settle down,” said the NP. “We’ve got you covered from every angle. Believe me, I’m not about to lose you.”
    Right, I’m your flesh flunky, he thought bitterly, spreading his gloved hands. He looked at his short, thick fingers, too short for a man of his height. He had his father’s hands. His father’s face. Even the way his hair curled at the crown came from his father. Now he clenched his jaw and held his body still, a talent his father had never learned.
    “Someone’s coming,” the NP said. “To your left at eight o’clock.”
    Dominic spun quickly and staggered in the unfamiliar surfsuit. Far down the beach, a dark, lanky figure walked toward him. He glanced nervously up at the sky. Half a score of ZahlenBank satellites were watching by metavision.
    “Don’t worry, boy. I’m here.”
    He picked up his briefcase and trudged along the high-tide line to meet the major. In the briefcase, he carried antiviral tabs and a small fortune in cash cards—enough to buy anything or anyone he needed. He also carried three hyperwave Net nodes—on his wrist, in his ear, and in his briefcase. Unlike conventional nodes, which required Net links to relay their signals, these hyperwave nodes fixed directly on overhead satellites. They could transmit even through solid steel and hundreds of meters of water. For added safety, a transponder chip was concealed under the skin of his left buttock. And with every step, his boots sank in the oozy sand.
    Major Qi Raoshu was tall, he noted, as tall as himself but much thinner. He studied the major intently, and because of his limited view, he didn’t see a chunk of metal jutting up right in front of him—until he tripped and nearly fell. With a clumsy skip, he caught himself and cursed under his breath, damning the surfsuit to the nether regions of hell. He hated to appear awkward in front of this unknown major. By the time they met, he was sweating from his struggle through the sandy muck. Perspiration dripped in his eyes, and he couldn’t wipe them. He ground his teeth.
    Major Qi wore no insignia. Dominic noted the scarred helmet, the darkened faceplate, the belt bristling with gear. A spook all right. Salt brine marbled the stranger’s form-fitting surfsuit, and an L-shaped rip at the shoulder was patched with tape. Yes, the major was wiry thin, but in the skintight suit, Dominic could see the bulge of biceps, the muscular thighs, the narrow waist, and the—breasts. He looked again. In the dim light, he couldn’t see well. Yes, they were small, high and quite distinct. A pair of breasts.
    “ ’Morning, Nick-O!” The woman clapped him on the shoulder so hard he almost lost his balance. “I’m Qi. How they hangin’? You ready for some fun?”
    Dominic chinned his