Schismatrix

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"I stretched my legs," Lindsay said with bland defiance.

"House arrest cramps me."

His uncle peered upward to follow Lindsay's gaze, shading his

eyes with an age-spotted hand. The bird-painted aircraft now

hovered over the Sours, a marshy spot in the agricultural panel

where rot had set into the soil. "You're watching the Sours, eh?

Where your friend Constantine's at work? They say he signals

you from there."

"Philip works with insects, Uncle. Not cryptography."

Lindsay was lying. He depended on Constantine's covert signals for news during his house arrest.

He and Constantine were political allies. When the crackdown

came, Lindsay had been quarantined within the grounds of his

family's mansion. But Philip Constantine had irreplaceable ecological

skills. He was still free, working in the Sours.

The long internment had pushed Lindsay to desperation. He

was at his best among people, where his adroit diplomatic skills