Silvered corneas reflected the light as that one looked us over. Then his fingers flew over the keypad of a palm-sized computer that hung on his belt and plugged into his datajack. I could imagine the tiny unit transmitting an image of me downloaded from those cybereyes, and a central machine somewhere comparing that image with an "authorized visitors" file. Everything must have matched up, because it was only seconds before the mirror-eyed sec-guard said, "Welcome to Yamatetsu, Mr. Montgomery. Follow the road to the administration building. Please don't make any improper turns."