Chewing on a stylus, Wilson walked around the colony-in-a-crater, studying the details and angles. The place was recreated with amazing exactness in the dynarama on the table. The model filled most of what was called his office here inside The Core, the granite mesa. The papier mache mountains stood at throat level, the undersea farms waving to holograph currents. Wilson gave a signal, and watched intently as pinkie-sized submarines came floating into the space behind the mountains to launch tiny torpedoes, and the city retaliated with a dozen burning lines. The slim lances of fire moving sluggishly outward like burning radio antennas rising from a car.