ghosts."
"I understand."
Teek almost smiled. "Yeah, I'll bet you do." He finished making up his own drink and took a long sip. Chase let him savor it before changing the subject.
"So why'd you throw the girls out? I don't remember you being that morally discerning before. Though I guess with that pair…"
"No, those two aren't dangerous that way. They're loopers."
"Loopers?"
"Sim looping." Teek read the blank stare in Chase's face and laughed. "You have been away." He finished his drink and started another. "They've got a three-way hookup or some such rig. The two of them and their client rig up and sense-tap each other doing whatever they feel like doing at the time."
"You've got to be kidding. What the hell does that kind of hardware cost?"
"Not anywhere near as much as a few months ago. From what I understand they've got a basic portable sensory recording deck that's been rigged to route the sense signal to another unit instead of recording it. Instant feedback. Since the link is two-way I imagine it can lead to an escalating loop that builds until the circuit breakers trip. Aficionados call it 'shooting the hoop' or something."
"Is it illegal?"
Teek shrugged. "Not yet, too fresh. The signal the portable equipment handles is pretty crude, well within legal levels. There've been no direct psychological effects that I know of, but…"
"You suspect otherwise."
He shrugged again and looked off toward the back of the bar. "I've had enough of twisted realities myself, thank you very much. I know what that stuff can do the gear's hot enough. There's a new batch of psycho-traumatic sense chips hitting the market every week. I understand Knight Errant recently grabbed up a bunch that have a behavior-modifying secondary signal. Anarchist Euro-policlub drek, but strong enough to make an impact on some."
"Great."
"Figures we'd start importing the crazy stuff. Couldn't bring over the British sewing circles or beer-chuggers. No, this is America. Gotta have the radicals."
Chase shook his head. Teek was treading on dangerous memories. "Bomb the lot, I say. See how they like it."
Teek looked at him for a moment, then smiled lightly. "So speaks the voice of experience."
Chase shrugged and looked at his friend. "You play the game, you live by the rules."
3
A week passed easily.
His apartment was as he'd left it, the little he had still intact. The Home Secretary expert-system had done its job of answering electronic mail and paying bills, but sometime over the last few months the ventilation system had decided to back up, throwing a pall of dust over nearly everything. He surprised the building management company with a quick call and got a promise that they'd clean the place up the next day.
They did, and he spent that day and the next, and the one after that, just knocking around. He fired up the brewkaf machine and sampled the diverse selection of coffees he'd forgotten the cupboards contained. He laughed often at the easy banality of his life.
Three days back, and his Vienna contact forwarded a couple of job offers through a blind route. Each offer came tagged for the name they knew him by, and got routed by the private, secure systems of the Vienna data haven to similar systems in Denver. From Denver it bounced to Manhattan via a protected mail-forwarding system in Boston. It was safe, but not foolproof. If someone wanted Chase bad enough they could track it all, but there were enough safeties along the route that he'd probably know they were coming. He planned to live his life very pleasantly and with the only risk of surprise visitors being the roaches that occasionally made the trek up from downstairs.
On the fourth day, Teek called.
"I thought you'd want to know that someone's been looking for you," he said, his face looming six times its normal size on the telecom screen.
Chase sat up. "Oh?"
"I wasn't here. Nick was working the door—you haven't met him—but he told me when I came in."
"Nick, whom I do
"I understand."
Teek almost smiled. "Yeah, I'll bet you do." He finished making up his own drink and took a long sip. Chase let him savor it before changing the subject.
"So why'd you throw the girls out? I don't remember you being that morally discerning before. Though I guess with that pair…"
"No, those two aren't dangerous that way. They're loopers."
"Loopers?"
"Sim looping." Teek read the blank stare in Chase's face and laughed. "You have been away." He finished his drink and started another. "They've got a three-way hookup or some such rig. The two of them and their client rig up and sense-tap each other doing whatever they feel like doing at the time."
"You've got to be kidding. What the hell does that kind of hardware cost?"
"Not anywhere near as much as a few months ago. From what I understand they've got a basic portable sensory recording deck that's been rigged to route the sense signal to another unit instead of recording it. Instant feedback. Since the link is two-way I imagine it can lead to an escalating loop that builds until the circuit breakers trip. Aficionados call it 'shooting the hoop' or something."
"Is it illegal?"
Teek shrugged. "Not yet, too fresh. The signal the portable equipment handles is pretty crude, well within legal levels. There've been no direct psychological effects that I know of, but…"
"You suspect otherwise."
He shrugged again and looked off toward the back of the bar. "I've had enough of twisted realities myself, thank you very much. I know what that stuff can do the gear's hot enough. There's a new batch of psycho-traumatic sense chips hitting the market every week. I understand Knight Errant recently grabbed up a bunch that have a behavior-modifying secondary signal. Anarchist Euro-policlub drek, but strong enough to make an impact on some."
"Great."
"Figures we'd start importing the crazy stuff. Couldn't bring over the British sewing circles or beer-chuggers. No, this is America. Gotta have the radicals."
Chase shook his head. Teek was treading on dangerous memories. "Bomb the lot, I say. See how they like it."
Teek looked at him for a moment, then smiled lightly. "So speaks the voice of experience."
Chase shrugged and looked at his friend. "You play the game, you live by the rules."
3
A week passed easily.
His apartment was as he'd left it, the little he had still intact. The Home Secretary expert-system had done its job of answering electronic mail and paying bills, but sometime over the last few months the ventilation system had decided to back up, throwing a pall of dust over nearly everything. He surprised the building management company with a quick call and got a promise that they'd clean the place up the next day.
They did, and he spent that day and the next, and the one after that, just knocking around. He fired up the brewkaf machine and sampled the diverse selection of coffees he'd forgotten the cupboards contained. He laughed often at the easy banality of his life.
Three days back, and his Vienna contact forwarded a couple of job offers through a blind route. Each offer came tagged for the name they knew him by, and got routed by the private, secure systems of the Vienna data haven to similar systems in Denver. From Denver it bounced to Manhattan via a protected mail-forwarding system in Boston. It was safe, but not foolproof. If someone wanted Chase bad enough they could track it all, but there were enough safeties along the route that he'd probably know they were coming. He planned to live his life very pleasantly and with the only risk of surprise visitors being the roaches that occasionally made the trek up from downstairs.
On the fourth day, Teek called.
"I thought you'd want to know that someone's been looking for you," he said, his face looming six times its normal size on the telecom screen.
Chase sat up. "Oh?"
"I wasn't here. Nick was working the door—you haven't met him—but he told me when I came in."
"Nick, whom I do
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