"Max, Max, Max," he said, his head lolling to one side. "You came at a good time man. Things, floating like the ships, my brother. Remember when we used to float together Maxie?"

I did, and Benny had been my Forma supplier so many years ago. It's why I knew him so well. Of all the people, he knew best the things I'd done to get it; stealing, theft, selling blood and semen, all the usual back then. But I didn't have time to reminisce. The Feds were gonna fry me like a worm for all my Forma induced crimes, unless I found a certain little girl.

I stepped closer, bringing one of my hands to his chest. I pressed forward and he sagged further into the chair, his body almost totally limp. "Damn, Max."

"Cut it, Ben. I'm looking for somebody, a little girl. A girl you know." I relaxed the pressure on his chest and Benny relaxed too, as if he could only react in kind to outside stimuli. His eyes focused on me and slid from feet to head. He concentrated on my eyes at last, frowning slightly. "Where's my payment, man?"

"Where's the girl, Benny?"

"What girl?"

"Benny, look. I know you know who I'm talking about. You were with her two days ago old man. I saw the video." In the old days, before World War Finis, Benny had been one of the best players in New Baltimore. Forma had finished that though, and he hadn't stopped like a few of us had. He was getting sloppy. I smiled a little wider, easing the pressure until only my fingers rested on his chest. "Can you tell me, Benny?"

"Oh." His eyes unfocused again but his body became rigid, and he began to cough, a hard, hacking sound. I backed off and his coughs became harder, more violent, racking his thin body. Benny fell to the floor in a heap, clutching his chest. He lay there on the floor, and he shuddered. Then his coughing stopped, and his eyes were wide.

I knelt by his side to feel his pulse but I already knew he was dead.

The whole thing stank of either poison or psionics. Option one would make me feel better, uninvolved; option two meant somebody was nearby, and maybe settling their mind on me next.

I waited two minutes to decide that no one was going to kill me and another twenty to rifle through Benny's place. Benny was a grade-A slob, keeping only the best crap. His apartment was some sort of office-sleep area combo, and you could smell the acid wisps of Forma in the air. Wrinkled, matted magazines occupied one corner of the place, held up by bricks and boxes. Another corner of the tiny room served as the bathroom, being an open air type with the tub situated in the floor next to a porcelain hole that was the toilet. The third corner held the refrigerator, and I refrained from opening it; God knew what Benny had stashed in there.

But it was the fourth corner that interested me, the one with Benny's gridrider. I took the thick, old, plastic g-rider and stuck it under my arm, disconnected the leads from it, and grabbed the datacards near it, dropping those into my pockets.

Near the gridrider was a notebook, opened, scrawled with what I assumed was Benny's broken writing. I took it up and shoved it next to the gridrider in my hand, and chanced to glance over at Benny's body. I decided to leave it where it was, no fingerprints, no tussle. Whoever found his corpse would only see a lonely old man who had croaked doing Forma. Common enough, not even news worthy. I took a tour of the place one last time, making sure I didn't leave anything behind, and I left, closing the door behind me.

I went out of town to Kara's, taking a cab from the maglev station to her apartment, situated n the suburbs. She lived in one of those prefab, renovated buildings, the sort that rose up twenty or thirty stories before tapering off into unfinished sections. There were lots of those as you got further away from New Baltimore, grandiose projects that suddenly lost money as company after company disappeared during the war. She lived up on the thirteenth floor, no elevator, so I hiked it with my charges tucked carefully close to me, taking two stairs at a time until I hit her floor.

Once I was in I dropped the rider to her and gave her the story. I've found its easier just to tell the truth to someone you work with than to lie to them; they always find out later and they hate you for it. Kara looked at me like I was crazy, whistling under her breath and shaking her head. "You nutty, Maxie? Them implants got static?" Kara's eyes narrowed as she rolled Benny's gridrider in her hands, probing the plastic case with her fingers. She found the latch and twisted it, opening it. A slim keyboard was revealed, a cylindrical portjack next to it, no screen. Kara fingered the portjack and shook her head again. "You know how p-noid Benny was, Maxie. Can you imagine what kinds of Data Protectors he's got here?"

I nodded but pretended to be distracted with Benny's notebook. Kara's chatter was just that, chatter, and it wouldn't amount to much. Truth was, she was waiting to get a handle on something like this, and I knew it; all the gridsurfers did. Benny wasn't exactly a household name as a gridsurfer but he was close enough to hold interest.

"So, can you do it Kay? Or do I gotta take it to Tambo?"

Kara set the rider down and stared at, communing with it, maybe; gridsurfers were strange. She looked up at me, her lips pulled tight. "Tambo couldn't hack his way into a clock. Let's say I take the job, as like, a favor. This a charity function or do I see remuneration whiz?"

"The rider and any junk Benny's got in there. I get a percentage of all profit, of course, and all the info I need for my case." I got up and dusted off my jacket, never mind that my jeans were as dirty and that I didn't bother with them.

"Where you going, cowboy? You look beat. There's a futon in the backroom if you want it." Kara's hands played over Benny's rider, her expert fingers searching for all the ports of access. I turned and headed for her door, waving a hand behind me as I left.

"Something in Benny's notebook. Gotta check it out. Call me later."

That something was where the girl was from. My clients, when they contacted me, gave me the usual sob story. Oh, sir, please help us find our daughter, she was taken by the corp, blah blah blah. They'd promised to clear my record of all the stuff I did while on Forma. Wasn't sure if I believed them but I had to take the chance. Can't say I trusted them though. If old Benny was involved, then this wasn't a run of the mill corp slave kidnapping. Despite his failings, Benny had been a good procurer of 'special items,' people included. And there was the whatever that had killed him when I was talking to him. Someone cared a great deal that this little girl wouldn't be found. Poison or psionics, doesn't matter; both were expensive services. What did this girl have that warranted it?

Rifling through Benny's book produced a picture of the little girl. It matched the one my clients had given me and the video I'd seen with Benny and the girl on it. A young face, red hair, glasses, very thin body. More importantly, I had a name and a place: Marie Hasting, Claude Orphanage. I took the maglev from Kara's place to the center of downtown. It was early morning, and the only people up were the street sweepers and a few homeless rummaging through last night's garbage. I hit a phone booth, flipped through the computer directory until I found the orphanage and gave them a call, told them I was looking to adopt.

The older man on the phone perked up when I mentioned adoption, his face on the screen becoming more animated. "Well, then, sir, please, come right on down! You've got the address there?" I told him I did and signed off.

The orphanage was what you would expect of a corp run facility: large, picturesque front yard, clean white stone walls, stained glass windows depicting scenes of children playing. The thing spoke money, and with all the graffiti artists around it meant they laid out even more cash to keep it clean. As I walked up the steps into the place. I wondered how it would look inside.

The lobby was decked out in Oriental opulence, with satin chairs and plush couches. Asian art smothered the walls in finery, ornate statues in each corner. Looking up I could see security camera's aligned on the walls, sweeping slowly over the room.

Someone behind me clapped hands excitedly and said, "Ah, Mr. Porter, welcome." I turned to see the older man I'd seen earlier, his face smooth and round, with thick eyebrows and a pudgy nose. He wrung his hands together and dipped his head toward an office. "Won't you have a seat?"

I sat and we talked for a while, him dithering over the problems of the orphanage, and so on, all of which I patiently nodded to and sighed at the right moments. Eventually I pulled out my picture and said, "Actually, sir, I'm looking for someone. A relative really. I was told that she came here only recently. I'd like to see her." The old man looked at the picture and scrunched his face, then shook his head.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't know her. Of course, I don't know most of the children here. Can I take this a moment?" I let him have the picture and he swiveled in his chair to face his computer, ran the picture through a scanner and returned it to me. In a moment something came up on the screen and he smiled. "Ah, yes, her picture matches someone here in our school. Eighty-seven percent match." He stood up and tapped a button on the computer, and a sheaf of paper rolled out from the printer. "Would you like to see her room? Each child gets a room with a roommate. Privacy laws and all that, you understand, and we follow them proudly!" He handed me one of the sheets, a dossier, and rolled the others in his hands as he lead me out of the office and into the orphanage itself.

We walked down very clean, white corridors, the walls completely bare save for the occasional camera. It smelled like a hospital, and I wondered if the children were somehow diseased. Did only certain types of children come here?

"What corporations use this facility?," I said as we came to the door of the girl I'd been looking for. The old man put his hand to the door panel and began to punch in a code.

"Many, many really. Smaller corporations that don't have their own facilities generally. Our company, Care-A-Lot, has an excellent reputation of assisting other corporations in their health-care needs." The last part was spat out mechanically, his fingers still playing with the panel. With a final push of a button the door slid open.

The room was small, a double bunk in one corner, and little else in the way of furniture. It was clean, almost antiseptic, and had the same smell as the corridor. There were some books and papers on the desk, a few stuffed animals along the floor. The old man stepped aside as I walked in.

And I was struck from behind, sent sprawling into the room. My boosted reflexes took over, compensating for the blow. I rolled into a ball, hit the floor and spun myself so that I was facing toward the door, on my knees, hands in a defensive position. The old man ran toward me, almost too fast to be seen, lashing out with his foot, connecting with my forearm as I blocked. I punched, aiming for the groin, but he stepped back and launched his other foot at me, falling backward at the same time. I fell onto my back, missed by his kick.

I snapped to my feet, using my hands to spring me forward. My adversary was on his feet as well, his body moved into a fighting stance, legs slightly apart and knees bent. I took up my own stance as well, mirror to his, hands forward and palm open.

He stepped forward into a low kick with the back foot, but pounced forward at the last moment into a high one, foot arc up and over me. I jumped back, waited as his foot became to come out of the arc, and I leaped forward, driving my knee into his stomach.

The old man fell, and I grabbed him by the collar, and threw him into the bed near the door. His head hit the post with a solid thud, and he was down, lying next to it. I stepped over him and closed the door. My hands groped along the wall until they found a switch, and I flipped it, bathing the room in a soft yellow fluorescent glow.

I knelt down beside the old man and for a moment and felt a sense of deja-vu, like I was on Forma again and here was another guy I'd robbed. I put a hand to his neck and could feel a steady pulse. I flipped the old man onto his back, saw blood trickle down his lip and forehead, but otherwise he looked okay. I had no doubt that beneath the pale, flabby skin there were mechanical enhancements to his system like there were to mine. If he had any sort of similar set up, he would be waking up soon, his biocomputer pumping synthetic stimulants into his bloodstream. I pulled a pistol from my coat and held it to his neck, aiming just below the Adam's apple. He wasn't dead, and that was good, since a corpse can't tell you anything, unless the talk-show circuit psychics were to be believed.

His eyes fluttered open a few moments later, and he immediately tried to get up, and I was nearly pushed away by his augmented strength. Instead, he noticed the gun on his throat and decided to stay were he was, lying on the floor. I motioned for him to sit up and he did, slowly, resting his back on the bedpost.

The pistol I had was old, still used a hammer, and I cocked it back so that he could see me do it. "You've got about five seconds to tell me who sent you." I dug the barrel a little further into his skin. He swallowed and smiled.

"We can talk, can't we?" I nudged the pistol against his Adam's.

"Three seconds."

"All right, look, the girl sent me, the girl!" And as soon as he'd said it his eyes went wide, and a ragged breath rattled past his lips. He didn't shake, but just sort of wobbled in place. I looked away, but heard him sigh out the last breath. My second corpse in less than a day.

I stood up. Outside the barred windows, some of the children that lived here were playing. I squinted for a moment, to see if I could catch sight of little Marie Hasting, the girl that was trying to have me killed.

Or was she? Where were the cops? In both cases, this one and the last one, it would have been an easy matter to get the cops on me long before I could escape. And here I was, standing in the room with a dead man, and not a damn policeman in sight.

I went to the door and opened it, stuck my head out and saw that there was no one in the halls. I tapped the lock switch on the inside panel, and stepped out while the door closed behind me . I waited. No sounds but the muffled voices of children here and there in the orphanage. I walked through the clean hallways, backtracking the route the old man had taken me through. I made it as far as the lobby.

In the opulent lobby, sitting on one of the brocaded chairs, was the little girl. Her red hair was tied into a pair of pigtails, framing a very soft, round, bronze face, just like in Benny's picture. She wore a pair of jeans and a faded T-shirt, combat boots and a thin blue jacket. The girl stood as I approached, her thin hands at her side. "Good morning, Max."

"Ms. Hasting, I presume? A pleasure." I bowed, and as I did so, put my hand to the pistol in my jacket. I rose up with the weapon tucked firmly in my hand, but out of sight. The girl's lips puckered slightly.

"You won't need that, Max. I just want to talk. Will you take me for a walk in the park?" She held out her toward me and I contemplated that hand. Would I touch it and cough to my death like Benny? I stepped forward and took her little hand in mine, and together we walked out of the orphanage.

We went along the street, heading toward Raleigh's Park. The girl beside me was quiet, smiling, skipping now and then as we went. We passed into the park 12 blocks later, one of the few places the city planners designed for stress, after the old city had been burned. Marie was in front now, leading me by the hand deeper into the park, away from the paths where the morning joggers went.

She turned to me, and with a curt smile, and sat on a deformed stump covered with moss. Marie placed her hands on the edge of the stump, digging her fingers into the old wood. "You know, I was never yours to catch. I just wanted you to know what was going on." The girl kicked her feet in the air as she talked, her eyes fixed on them as they swung up and down.

"And what is going on?," I said, still standing, trying to keep my voice hushed. I did not bother to put my hand on my gun again, because I knew that she had killed Benny and the old man, and that she could kill me just as fast. For all my boosted reflexes, I couldn't move faster than thought. But at least I would go out standing.

"I'm leaving, finally. I had to find a way to get rid of the last two people who knew anything about me, the last two who'd helped me get out of the system. You did good, pop." Marie reached into her jacket and for a wild moment I thought she was going to produce a gun, and then I thought, why would she need it? Instead, she whipped out a stick of gum, some tropical mixed flavor thing, and popped it in her mouth. She quickly pulled out another and offered it to me. "It's real good. My favorite."

"So why me?"

"Because I just ate a piece, and it's polite to offer. My mom said. Oh, you mean all of this?" She laughed, a completely un-girlish laugh, high-pitched, almost a cackle. "Why, that's easy. I wanted to see my father in action."

"Father?"

"Sure. Mind you, you weren't the only choice. My mom chose from several donors. The doctors do a good job of uncontaminating the sperm from Forma addicts. But not real good. She really liked your profile though, the one you wrote on the form. Ex-soldier and all that. Nice stuff." Marie stood up and brushed off the back of her pants. Again she reached out her hand and I took it, not knowing what else to do. Or that I could do anything else. "Can we walk?"

"If you want." We stepped away from the clearing and onto another path. "It's not your fault, you know, me being what I am. Forma's tough stuff. She was hooked on it to. My foster parents thought I'd be normal. But the combo of your cells and hers made me, well, this. And I'm not the only one." We passed into a deeper part of the park, where the trees grew closer together, and on the edge of the treeline, before the path plunged toward an artificial lake, I could see two people. They were about Marie's height and build, and they sat on the edge of the hill, looking down. Marie let go of my hand and looked up at me, a smile on her face.

"You know, finally meeting you in person, you're not that bad. My mom was right to chose you. I'm glad she did." She began to walk toward the hill, toward the two others, and she got closer they stood up, turning toward her. 'Go home.' I heard in my head, no sound, as if floating on the wind. 'Live your life. I've taken care of your record. A gift to my pop. I'll visit you one day.'

She walked down the hill with the other two children and she was gone. I contemplated running over the hill to see where they went, to follow, but at that moment my pager beeped. Without thinking I pulled it out and looked at the number flashing on the tiny screen: Kara. Live your life, my daughter had said. I turned from the hill, and decided to take her advice as I headed for a phone.