Halo | Page 6

steel core of much of the world's prosperity. The
United States and the dragons lived in uneasy symbiosis: the Asians
had a hundred ways of making sure the American economy didn't just
roll over and die and take the prime North American consumer market
with it. Whether Japanese, Koreans, Taiwanese, Hong Kong
Chinese-Canadians--they bought some corporations and merged with
others, and Americans ended up working for General Motors Fanuc,
Chrysler Mitsubishi, or Daewoo-DEC, and with their paychecks they
bought Japanese memexes, Korean autos, Malaysian robotics.
Shutter blades cranked open with a quick scream of metal, and
Gonzales stepped inside. An Egyptian guard in a white headdress,
blue-and-white checked headband, and gray U.N. drag cross-checked
his i.d., gave a quick, meaningless smile--teeth white and perfect under
a black moustache--and waved him on.
Southeast Asian Faction Customs waited in the form of a small Thai
woman in a brown uniform with indecipherable scrawls across yellow
badges. Her features were pleasant and impassive; she wore her black
hair pulled tightly back and held with a clear plastic comb. She stood
behind a gray metal table; on the floor next to it was a two-meter high
general purpose scanner, its controls, screens, and read-outs hidden
under a black cloth hood. Dirty green walls wore erratically-spaced
signs in a dozen languages, detailing in small type the many categories
of contraband.
The woman motioned for him to sit in the upright chair in front of the
table, then for him to put his clothes bag and cases on the table.
She spoke, and the translator box at her waist echoed in clear, neuter
machine English: "Your person has been scanned and cleared." She put
the soft brown bag into the mouth of the scanner, and the machine
vetted the bag with a quiet beep. The woman slid it back to Gonzales.
She spoke again, and the translator said, "Please open these cases" as

she pointed toward the two shock-cases. For each, Gonzales screened
the access panel with his left hand and tapped in the entry codes with
his right. The case lids lifted with a soft sigh. Inside the cases, monitor
and diagnostic lights flashed above rows of memory modules, heavy
solids of black plastic the size of a small safety deposit box.
Gonzales saw she was holding a copy of the Data Declaration Form the
memex had filled out in Myanmar and transmitted to both Myanmar
and Thai governments. She looked into one of the cases and pointed to
a row of red-tagged and sealed memory modules.
The translator's words followed behind hers and said, "These modules
we must hold to verify that they contain no contraband information."
"Myanmar customs did so. These are SenTrax corporate records."
"Perhaps they are. We have not cleared them."
"If you wish, I will give you the access protocols. I have nothing to
hide, but the modules are important to my work."
She smiled. "I do not have proper equipment. They must be examined
by authorities in the city." The translator's tones accurately reflected her
lack of concern.
Gonzales sensed the onset of severe bureaucratic intransigence. For
whatever occult reasons, this woman had decided to fuck him around,
and the harder he pushed, the worse things would be. Give it up, then.
He said, "I assume they will be returned to me as soon as possible."
"Certainly. After careful examination. Though it is unlikely that the
examination can be completed before your departure." She slid the case
off her desk and to the floor behind it. She was smiling again, a
satisfied bureaucrat's smile. She turned back to her console, Gonzales's
case already a thing of the past. She looked up to see him still standing
there and said, "How else can I help you?"
----

The machine-world began to disperse, turning to fog, and as it did,
banks of low-watt incandescents lit up around the room's perimeter,
and the patterns of console lights went through a series of rapid
permutations as Gonzales was brought to a waking state. The room's
lights had been full up for an hour when the desynching series was
complete and the egg began to split.
Inside the egg Gonzales lay pale, nude, near-comatose,
machine-connected: a new millennium Snow White. A flesh-colored
catheter led from his water-shrunken genitals, transparent iv feeds from
both forearms. White sealant and anti-irritant paste had clotted around
the tubes from throat and mouth. The sharp ozone smell of the paste
was all over him.
An autogurney had rolled next to the egg, and its hands, shining
chrome claws, began disconnecting tubes and leads. Then it worked
with hands and black flexible arms the thickness of a stout rope to lift
Gonzales from the egg and onto its own surface.
Gonzales woke up in his own bedroom and began to whimper. "It's