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“Say what you will about organized crime, at least it’s organized.”
It was a real book—onionskin pages bound in what might have been actual leather. Miller had seen pictures of them before; the idea of that much weight for a single megabyte of data struck him as decadent.
“Welcome to Tycho Station,” said the Butcher of Anderson Station. “Call me Fred.”
Two hours later, Miller finished the last of the paperwork and sent Dowd off to the cells. Three and a half hours later, the first of his docking log requests came in. Five hours later, the government of Ceres collapsed.
