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Ric switched off his monitor and staggered to bed. Blood filled his dreams.
When he rose it was noon. There were people outside his gates, paparazzi with
cameras. The phone had recorded a series of requests for an interview with the
new, controversial vid star. Someone at the party had talked. It took Ric a
long time to get a line out in order to tell the AI to sell.
The money in his pocket and a gun in his lap, he raced his car past the
paparazzi, making them jump aside as he tried his best to run them down. He
had to make the next suborbital shuttle out of Christchurch to Mysore, then
head northwest to a hospital and to a new life. And somehow he'd have to try
to cover his tracks. Possibly he'd buy some hair bleach, a false mustache. Pay
only cash.
Getting away from Cartoon Messiah wouldn't be hard. Shaking the paparazzi
would take a lot of fast thinking.
Sweat made his grip on the wheel slippery.
As he approached Christchurch he saw a streak across the bright northeast sky,
a shuttle burning its way across the Pacific from California.
He wondered if there were people on it that he knew.
In his mind, the screams went on.
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