As Raleigh drew on his cigarette he continued to watch the block of flats over the road. It was one of the new Nanobuildings. They were state of the art, each flat built to individual specifications, but the thought of those microscopic bugs building atom by atom with what could only be called their shit made his skin crawl. As Raleigh reflected on the 'wonders' of the 2040's a car rose up into the street from the basement car park. It was the massive hydrogen powered Lada he'd been waiting for, the last word in luxury. Tonguing the chip in his tooth, Raleigh began to record everything his retinacam saw.

The Lada wound its way through the bright streets of St. Johns Wood, joined the elevated expressway (another wonder of nanotech) and headed for the Brixton Free Trade Zone. 'The Zone' thought Raleigh 'I might have known.' Both drivers hooked up to Central Commuter Command, relinquished control, and let their cars pick up speed under the control of the traffic computer. If anything the rain was getting harder, turning the nanocrete into a shining black ribbon above the buildings below. The L-X looped out over a swollen and sluggish Thames and the dashboard of Raleigh's car beeped. The Zone's puter was checking to see whether the car had been reported stolen or whether the driver was wanted by any of the security forces bordering The Zone. Noting that Raleigh was clean and that there were no excuses to squeeze him for more than the standard toll, the entry fee was removed from his credit bubble. Border formalities over, Raleigh's car slowed and control was returned to him for street level driving.

The Zone was buzzing as usual. Day or night, rain or shine, the cokeocracy enclave was packed with touts, tourists, tarts and troublemakers. As the crowds in the street got thicker the car ahead pulled over and parked. Raleigh continued past for about twenty metres and then parked on the opposite side of the crowded road. He climbed out and flipped a twenty euro chip to a ragged teen standing by the road.
"Thank you, Cit. I'll watch your car."
"For 20 euro you'd better."

Raleigh turned and slipped into the crowd, his eyes fixed on the man who had got out of the Lada. He was glad that he could finally confirm that it was the subject. He had followed cars in the past only to find them being driven by the cleaner or the mechanic. The subject was a middle-aged man trying to look younger. His face had the wasted look of the habitual plastic surgery recipient, his skin was brown and leathery from days beneath a UV lamp. He had something to do with The Net; a designer of some sort, but that wasn't what interested Raleigh. He was also a smuggler of wetware; illegal brain interface tech that would result in a mindwipe for any Cit caught in possession. The subject's stiffname was Howard Keegan, but in the twilight world of wetware he was known simply as Scorpio. As Raleigh followed his mark, he thought back to the evening before when the blonde had walked into his office........(cont)