Steamship Soldier on the Information Front

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Just before the plane touched down at Logan, Allan Haller gave one last check to the PID on the back of his tie-tack. Good. Intense vibration in the Cathy icon, superintense in Suzette, and even Charlie showed acceptable oscillation. No need to contact any of them, that would save time. Patti and Jon, too—their icons shivered and thrilled at nearly top speed. And three minutes till landing.

“My, look at what you have there,” said his seatmate pleasantly. A well-rounded grandmotherly sort, she’d been trying to engage him in conversation since La Guardia. “What sort of gadget is that, might I ask?”

No, Allan almost said, because what ground could possibly be gained? But then he looked at her again. Expensive jacket, good haircut, Gucci bag. Certainly money, but probably not entrepreneurial—rich old women tended to safe and stodgy investments. Still, what could he lose? Two and a half-minutes until landing, and speculative capital, as he well knew, was sometimes found in very odd places.

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