the smuggler’s bible

Huron

There’s an awful lot of garbage moving in the normal heave and flow of information—but there’s gold dust, too. A man can make a little bit of money if he knows the difference. And old Huron, well, he knows the difference.

One of his scanners picks up a surge somewhere out in the cold night of cyberspace, and a set of dusty plastic speakers mounted over his desk emits a soft chime. He runs an eye over the flickering screen and whistles.

“I don’t believe it,” he says and leans in, squinting, to look again. “I don’t believe it.”