Alice turned. Charles Takamatsu differed little from his publicity shots: a tall, handsome, middle-aged man with an angular face and slick, black-gray hair. He wore a crisp blue suit with polished black leather shoes. The smell of vanilla grew as he approached. A cloud of the aerial black seeds followed him, their LIDAR arrays blipping the air with multicolored lasers. His clothing looked completely natural but it whispered data to him constantly. The only nonmilitary smart-clothing she’d seen was Toko’s suit; the delicate weave of Takamatsu’s made that look like a sack.