"Never mind that. You can customize it later. If you want to see without the glasses, flip the lenses up-they're on a hinge. Don't take the glasses off, or you'll log off the system-and it'll take a few seconds to get logged back on. You'll get used to it."

They reached the door. Price motioned for Sebeck to stay put, then he grabbed the door handles. He glanced back. "Sergeant, welcome to the Daemon's darknet." He opened the doors.

They swung inward, revealing a plushly appointed but rather stodgy office with stuffed leather chairs and thick carven furniture. It looked like the office of an eighteenth-century natural philosopher. Bookcases and curio cabinets filled with insect and rock specimens lined the windowless walls. There was dust everywhere.

But what riveted Sebeck's gaze was the translucent apparition of Matthew Sobol sitting behind the big mahogany desk, hands folded, as if waiting patiently. It was post-surgery Sobol, with his open eye socket, hollow cheeks, and bald head-a shriveled wreckage of a man ravaged by chemotherapy and cancer. He was wearing the same suit he wore at his funeral.

His spectre nodded in somber greeting. "Detective Sebeck. I've been waiting for you." He motioned for Sebeck to come forward. "Please, have a seat."

Sebeck looked to Price.

Price nodded in commiseration. "I know. It's freaky, but don't worry. You're not Hamlet. This is a Temporal Offset Projection,Sergeant-it's an interactive 3-D avatar projected over the GPS grid. It's only visible and audible in your HUD glasses."

Sebeck studied the spectre. He flipped up his glass lenses. Sobol disappeared. He flipped them back down again and Sobol's spectre returned. "It's a private dimension."

"Actually, it's a dynamic array capable of encapsulating a variable number of dimensional elements."

Sebeck looked at him blankly.

Price patted him on the back. "You're right. It's a private dimension." He made a scooting motion. "Better sit down. He'll know if you don't do it." Sebeck stepped forward and sat in one of the stuffed leather chairs. He wiped a thin layer of dust from the armrests and shifted to keep the computer belt from pressing into his back.

Sebeck could actually see Sobol more clearly now, since he was closer. Sobol's phantasm was gaunt, and the gaping eye socket looked horrific. He really did resemble a restless spirit wandering the Earth.

Sobol looked toward Price. "Leave us."

"Damn." Price looked to Sebeck. "You're on your own, my man. I gotta leave."

Sebeck gestured to the apparition of Sobol. "What the hell do I say to this thing?"

"I was hoping you'd know." Price rushed out, closing the double doors behind him.

Sobol's spectre gazed at the doors. A loud click sounded as they locked.

After a few moments, Sobol turned again to Sebeck. He smiled slightly. "I'm glad it was you, Sergeant. You were my favorite. So damaged by your choices. You never understood games. Maybe that's why the world was such a mystery to you."

Sebeck stared. "Why don't you just die already?"

Sobol paused. "Mammals of every species indulge in play. Games are Nature's way of preparing us to face difficult realities. Are you finally ready to face reality, Sergeant?"

"Kiss my ass."

Sobol's spectre pointed at his own forehead. "It's so clear here. Even if you can't see it." He lowered his arm. "Civilization is about to fail."

Sebeck felt a wave of anxiety wash over him. Kee-hrist.

"The modern world is a highly efficient, precision machine. But that's its flaw-one wrench in the works and it all grinds to a halt. So what does our generation get? A culture of lies to hide weakness. Decreasing freedom. All to conceal one simple fact: the assumptions upon which our civilization is based are no longer valid. If you doubt me, ask yourself: why was I able to accomplish this?"

Sebeck shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"But what if we corrected civilization's weakness-as painful as that correction might be?"

Sobol changed expression, looking more relaxed. "But you're probably confused. Why did I frame you? It's simple: you were bait-bait that they took. The weak hide their weakness. By now, the plutocrats have put their money in safer havens, and I have closely watched this transfer. Now they are more vulnerable than ever." Sobol grinned humorlessly. "You were my Trojan horse, Sergeant."

Sebeck's fingernails nearly tore through the chair leather. "Fuck you! You destroyed my life!"

Sobol's spectre flickered almost imperceptibly. "An analysis of your voice patterns is revealing. Prosody tells me that you are agitated. Save your anger, Detective. It will make no difference to the outcome."

Sebeck ground his teeth.

"Who will mourn for you, Sergeant? No one. You and I share that. We have sacrificed for the greater good. In gratitude I cared for your family in your absence-when no one else would. Your family has no idea that I am their benefactor."

Sebeck leaned forward, another rage building. "What have you done?"

Sobol continued. "They will continue to have good fortune-but only as long as I can count on you, Detective."

"You son of a bitch!" Sebeck swept a curio case off of Sobol's desk, sending it crashing into the wall behind him. Glass shards flew everywhere. "Don't involve my family!"

Sobol's spectre flickered again. "There is that pattern again. You're upset. I defer to your judgment in this matter. Answer 'yes' or 'no': should the Daemon withdraw support from your family?"

Sebeck stopped short. He took a breath and realized he had no idea how to respond. If-

"Respond 'yes' or 'no'-or I will make a random choice for you."

"Damn you!"

"Answer NOW. Do you want the Daemon to withdraw financial support from your family?"

Sebeck shook his head and closed his eyes. "No."

"Thank you. The Daemon will continue to provide for them. Now, please sit down."

"I hope you're burning in hell." Sebeck sat.

"We both know you don't believe in hell."

Sebeck sat stunned at the spectre's response.

"Yes, I've done quite a bit of research on you, Sergeant. But don't confuse me with someone who gives a damn about you. You will live or die, and I don't care which. The only thing I care about is the Daemon's goal. There's a greater good in this than you can understand-perhaps than you'll ever understand. Since you were clever enough to save yourself, you may be of some use to me still. If the Daemon triumphs, tens of millions will die. If it fails, billions will die, and we will fall back to a seventeenth-century agrarian economy. Those are the stakes, Sergeant."

Sebeck was practically climbing out of his skin. He whispered under his breath, "Goddamn you…"

"You want to destroy the Daemon-but you offer nothing in its place. How can you expect to handle the future if you can't even handle the present? I'll tell you what the Daemon is: the Daemon is a remorseless system for building a distributed civilization. A civilization that perpetually regenerates. One with no central authority. Your only option is what form that civilization takes. And that depends on the actions of people like you."

Sobol stood and started pacing behind the desk. For the first time Sebeck noticed that the desk chair was also a phantasm-there was no real chair behind the desk.

"There are those who resist necessary change. Even now they think only of protecting their investments. I am at war with them. A war that you'll never see on the evening news. And to my mind, the outcome of this war will decide whether civilization flourishes-or collapses into a thousand-year dark age. Perhaps even with the eclipse of the human race as the dominant species on this planet."

Sobol ran his hand along the scar on his skull. "My enemies will show themselves soon, Sergeant. As much as you despise me, they are your true enemy. I am merely an inevitable consequence of human progress. An unfeeling, unthinking thing."