I’ve managed to hold it together long enough to walk a few blocks from Fi nes Que t, boost another car, and make tracks out of Tarislar. Now I’m sitting behind the wheel of a hot Ford Americar, stopped in the parking lot of a Stuffer Shack in downtown Sumner—probably an oxymoron—and I’ve got the shakes, big-time. Like, it’s been too many shocks piled one on top of another for the past few days. To finish it off, there’s the slick and frosty way the elf biff and her yobos danced me around, letting me know at just about every fragging step that they could have blown my guts out without my so much as being able to return fire. All so calm, so pro, so fragging urbane, all the way to the topper, giving me my drek-sucking pocket secretary back. If this is the level of professionalism you get from corp security assets, I’ll stick with the fragging gangs. Like the lady said—or at least implied—I’m out of my league.