The Englishman was surprised to find himself in Chiba. He'd worked for Renraku before, of course—he numbered virtually all the megacorporations among his clients—but it was the first time he’d been obliged to travel from his Manhattan base to talk to a Johnson. Luxury suborbital was what he’d expected, but why did they want him in Chiba? The limo they sent to meet him had the usual darkened windows and armored paneling, even a life-support system built into its formidable carapace. He was met at the airport by four troll samurai, including the chauffeur, and even that seemed excessive. They know something I don’t, he told himself.