As Gwyntaan and Tesla settled in for the night, Seattle was still a hive of activity.  The streets were crowded with traffic, despite the rain, and there was another kind of traffic humming through the air.<br/><br/><em>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;(Anyone else scope the light show tonight?)<br/>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;(You talking that simshow by the Needle?  Heard the lights were wiz, but the band was drek.)<br/>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;(Nah, not a fragging sim.  Over Midtown.  Don't you bleeders ever look <strong>up</strong> anymore?)<br/>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;(Saw something about it on the newsfeed.  Some kind of corp testing.)<br/>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;(Thought they had to do that out in the wastes?  At least fifty klicks from civilized areas...)<br/>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;(Depends on what they're testing.  Just count your fingers and toes when you wake up in the morning.)<br/>&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;(That'll depend on what arm I've got plugged in.)</em><br/><br/>Along with other conversations, the countless bits of data skittered through the electronic consciousness that served corp and scavenger alike.  Both corp and scavenger gleaned what they could from it - time, location, descriptions, theories - and most of all, determined whether or not the data was at all<em>useful</em>.  Although the chatter usually contained a lot of dross, unusual events were typically either good news or bad news for somebody, and that 'somebody' was likely to pay handsomely to know which.