"Then go through it again," Homosoto ordered.
Miles turned his back to Perky and sat on the couch inside where he was sure he could speak in privacy. "Listen here Homo," Miles scowled. "In the last couple of years viruses have been become techno-yuppie amusements. The game has intensified as the stakes have increased. Are you aware . . .no I'm sure you're not, that the experts here say that, besides our work, almost every local area network in the country is infected with a virus of one type or another. Did you know that?"
"No, Mr. Foster, I didn't. How do you know that?" Homosoto sounded unconvinced.
"It's my fucking job to know that. And you run an empire?"
"Yes, I know , and I hope you do, Mr. Foster, that you work for me." Condenscention was an executive Oriental trait that Miles found unsettling.
"For now, I do."
"You do, and will until our job is over. Is that clear Mr.
Foster? You have much to lose."
Miles sank deep into the couch, smirking and puckering his dim- ples. He wanted to convey boredom. "I a job. You an empire."
"Do not be concerned about me. Good night, Mr. Foster."
Homosoto had quickly cut the line. Just as well, thought Miles. He had enough of that slant-eyed slope-browed rice-propelled mother-fucker for one night. He had bigger and better and harder things to concern him.