It was he who had sprung them loose, purging the middle-aged aristocrats to finance the wirehead defections...Memories went back; they were data, that was all, just as fresh on reels somewhere as the enemy Margaret Juliano was on her bed of Cataclyst ice...Even amid fugue the surge of satisfaction was quick and sharp enough to penetrate into consciousness from his backbrain...That unique sense of warmth that came only from the downfall of a rival...