The Armadillo was one of the premier decker bars in the Seattle metroplex. Everybody there, including Sly herself, had at least one datajack installed in his or her cranium, and some had as many as four or five. (Just for show? Sly wondered. Or can they actually keep track of that many data channels at once?) Reinforced Anvil travel cases containing cyberdecks were everywhere—on tables, leaning against chair legs, or clutched protectively in laps. Most of the first-string and the up-and-comers hung at The Armadillo, called it their base of operations: the console jocks, the Matrix cowboys, the bit-bashers.