Clusters of telecom stands turn the broad floor of the concourse into an 
enormous pinball game, breaking the rivers of hustling salarymen into hundreds 
of individual streams. Tikki steps up to one of the stands and puts a wad of 
chewing gum over the telecom’s visual pickup. When the time on the telecom’s
display shows 20:05:00, she thrusts a certified credstick into the chrome port. 
Her fingertips tingle, the telecom bleeps. The words "Enter Telecom Code" wink
on and off, on and off. Tikki leans toward the display like a near-sighted 
geezer, interposing her head between the screen and anyone who might try to look 
over her shoulder. She taps at the keys. Three times she enters the code, and 
three times she hears sounds like a telecom bleeping at the other end of the 
line, followed immediately by a return of call tone. She is into and through 
several secured telecom systems that quickly. Midway along she lifts a Fuchi 
MemoMan recorder to the telecom’s audio pickup. The corder spits out a
rapid-fire electronic melody that gets her past a specially coded protocol 
barrier.