Rules of Engagement

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They didn’t blame me for it. They knew I’d as soon be Inside with them, suited-up and popping Joeys. The four of us had been commissioned power suit lieutenants together; had gone through the grueling training side by side. I still had the bars. I still looked at them some nights when the hurt wasn’t so bad, when I could think about what might have been without feeling the need for chems.

Talk detoured through the winter crop of Hollywood morphies and whether American could take Congress from Liberty next year, and how the Air Cav had collared El Muerte down in the panhandle, and have you seen Chica Domosan’s latest virtcheo. Angel and Lyle practically drooled when I told them I had the uncensored seedy; and they insisted on viewing it right then and there. I only had the one virtch hat, so they had to take turns watching. With the stereo earphones and the wrap-around goggs enclosing your head it was just like she was dancing and singing and peeling right there in front of you.

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