He had no idea where they were. Everything was familiar, but he couldn’t be sure he’d seen any particular stretch before. A curving hallway lined with wooden showcases displayed collections he was certain he’d never seen: the skulls of large birds, coins, masks of beaten silver. The service cart’s six tires were silent on the layered carpets. There was only the whine of the electric motor and an occasional faint burst of Zion dub, from the foam beads in Maelcum’s ears, as he lunged past Case to counter a sharp right. The deck and the construct kept pressing the shuriken in his jacket pocket into his hip.