Amy steps over and pulls off his mirrorshades. There’s a viewscreen where his eyes ought to be. A text file starts scrolling by even as she first looks. Nothing interesting there. She moves on to the next one, the next in the series of tanned, muscled superstuds lying there in the stand, and the next one and the one after that. The datafiles she’s looking at seem no more significant than secretarial notes. She’s onto her fortieth hunk when something stops her cold. When suddenly, she’s looking at nuyen.