“GET WHAT YOU went for?” the construct asked. Kuang Grade Mark Eleven was filling the grid between itself and the T-A ice with hypnotically intricate traceries of rainbow, lattices fine as snow crystal on a winter window. “Wintermute killed Armitage. Blew him out in a lifeboat with a hatch open.” “Tough shit,” the Flatline said. “Weren’t exactly asshole buddies, were you?” “He knew how to unbond the toxin sacs.” “So Wintermute knows too. Count on it.” “I don’t exactly trust Wintermute to give it to me.” The construct’s hideous approximation of laughter scraped Case’s nerves
