He could hear gunfire splitting the night. More than just the minor firefight that Mary had said was raging in the front of the tavern. This was more autofire, punctuated by the resonating booms that he’d come to associate with grenades. A real fragging urban war was going on somewhere. What the frag was happening? Was it like the ambush at the docks, where Modal had said multiple teams—all corp, the elf had guessed—were scrapping it out? It made an ugly kind of sense. Sly kept talking about the prelude to a corp war. Had it started, and already spread to Cheyenne? Frag, why not? Everything else is . . . what was Modal’s word? Fugazi!