I could be politic here, but something—maybe it’s the look in Blake’s eyes—tells me that’s not the way to play it. Time for a risk, maybe. If I win, I’m into the inner councils, suddenly increasing my value exponentially. "What about it?" I fire back. "Your way, the rep we get is that we’re stupid for wading into a costly war we could have avoided." Fahd the weasel’s face goes white, and I know I’ve made another enemy. Busy day. I consider stopping there, but whafuck? "You want to stroke your ego," I tell Fahd directly, "go beat the drek out of someone who’s not going to bloody your nose. Cut a deal with the Ancients, like Vladimir says, but go butt heads with the Eighty-Eights." I name one of the local Chinese-style triads. "They’ve been getting too frisky anyway."