It can’t be the Star. Procedure doesn’t allow for them calling me direct, for any reason. (And to reinforce that, I’ve made sure they don’t even have my number.) Blake’s got the number, as do a few other higher-ups in the Cutters. They could be calling me, but why? I’m off duty for the next twenty hours, and Blake didn’t say anything about being on call. Conceivably, some emergency’s come up and he needs all his Praetorians around him, but frag him and the hog he rode in on. I’m not answering. "Get fragged," I grunt to the phone. Obligingly, it shuts the frag up. I roll over and close my eyes again.