Okay, yeah, that’s not the only thing that’s twisting up my guts. There’s a healthy dose of pre-op tension as well. And why not? I’m sitting on one of the rear benches of an assault-rigged GMC Riverine, crushed between Argent to my left and the boat’s gunwale to my right, wearing a suit of medium body armor that feels half a size too small, holding a smartgun-modified assault rifle. Ironically enough it’s a vz 88V; I wonder if Lynne Telestrian bought it from the fragging Cutters. On top of all that, I’m trying to bend my mind around an unfamiliar datachip in my skillwire chipjack. Beyond Argent, and across the rear deck area, are the other elements of Assault Team Able—eight hard-bitten merc types, wearing the same kind of armor as mine and packing a frightening assortment of weapons.