Bates walked around a man driving a floor-scrubber; the Authority believed in sanitation as a deterrent to crime. He stepped up to the turnstile. A pleasant chime sounded, followed by a woman’s voice; “Ten roubles, please.”

“I just arrived,” he said. “I don’t have any money. Suppose I pay you double next time?”

“You must pay the fare in order to ride the Loop.”

“Where can a new guy get a little cash?”

“Vouchers for transients are distributed at the Colony Administration Complex, 7th floor.”

“Where’s the Colony Administration Complex?”

“Central Station.”

“I need a ride to Central Station.”

“You must pay the fare in order to ride the Loop.”

Bates nodded and turned away. He went to the floor-scrubber, shoved the driver off and climbed onto it. “Ow! Hey!” the driver objected. Bates swung it around, gunned its motor and aimed for the turnstile. “What the hell do you think …” shouted the driver, giving chase. The collision carried the turnstile several feet away, trailing broken cables.