"I’m afraid that Mr. Cortez . . ." He coughed slightly to restrain his mirth. "The paint, you see, on the wall . . ." Nadia's perplexity staggered his emotions all over again. He jutted his chin forward, pointing to where Cortez stood, his back toward the group, moving a stack of chip-disks from one filebox into another. A smeary pink NatVat logo gleamed wetly from the shoulder of Cortez's neatly tailored black suit.