The Zeebs kept order on the streets but lacked the training and incentive to do anything more. Sure, the corpies liked to complain, but since anything that resembled real law enforcement might get in the way of profits, they left things as they were. We were silent. Jasper liked it that way and nodded his approval. “Good…let’s get down to business. Plans have been laid and are ready to be executed. Before we move to that step, however, there are some minor housekeeping matters to deal with. Corporate security informs me that twenty-seven members of the audience lack the weapons permits necessary for this kind of operation and will not be allowed to participate.”

I don’t think anyone was surprised to learn that Jaspers was in radio contact with his goons. I remembered the baton and the vid cams. The corpies had taken our mug shots, fingerprints, and lord knows what else. More than the minimum amount of information necessary to run us through the so-called “Citizen’s Registry,” and come up with twenty-seven unlicensed shooters. Shooters who had lost their permits or never had one to begin with.

Doors popped open around the perimeter of the room, and uniformed soldiers stepped in. They wore the burgundy-and-gray uniforms of the Droidware Dragoons and held riot guns cradled in their arms. Their was a universal hiss of indrawn breath followed by the loud whisper of fabric as hands went to weapons. Some people stood while I remained perfectly still.

There are sizeable gaps in my memories, but my dreams are quite vivid. One involves a group of soldiers firing into a crowd. I don’t know if the massacre really took place, or if I was there, but I’m afraid that it did and I was. So I had seen what double-ought buck does to a crowd and knew what the industrial-strength drains were for. Jaspers held up his hand.