When Bruce Sterling called me last year to say he could no longer do a sciencecolumn on a regular basis, I begged him to continue. I pleaded with him.(Remember, we mentioned the art of editorial begging in a previous issue.) Whenit became clear that I could not change his mind, I asked that he send us anoccasional short story.

"The Littlest Jackal" is not an occasional short story. It is a strong novella,bringing Bruce's continuing character, Leggy Starlitz, back to our pages.

I hate sibelius," said the Russian mafioso.

"It's that Finnish nationalist thing," said Leggy Starlitz.

"That's why I hate Sibelius." The Russian's name was Pulat R. Khoklov. He'd oncebeen a KGB liaison officer to the air force of the Afghan government. Like manyAfghan War veterans, Khoklov had gone into organized crime since the Sovietcrackup.

Starlitz examined the Sibelius CD's print-job and plastic hinges with a dealer'sprofessional eye. "Europeans sure pretend to like this classic stuff," he said."Almost like pop, but it can't move real product." He placed the CD back in therack. The outdoor market table was nicely set with cunningly targetedtourist-bait. Starlitz glanced over the glass earrings and the wooden jewelry,then closely examined a set of lewd postcards.

"This isn't 'Europe,'" Khoklov sniffed. "This is a Czarist Grand Duchy withbourgeois pretensions."

Starlitz fingered a poly-cotton souvenir jersey with comical red-nosed reindeer.It bore an elaborate legend in the Finno-Ugric tongue, a language infested withumlauts. "This is Finland, ace. It's European Union."

Khoklov was kitted-out to the nines in a three-piece linen suit and a snappystraw boater. Life in the New Russia had been very good to Khoklov. "At leastFinland's not NATO."

"Look, fuckin' Poland is NATO now. Get over it."