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Fat Mama was cranked up to the limit.

Blondie was riding in the right-hand engineer's seat, wedged between the bulkhead and a bank of archaic-looking LCDs and touch pads. Dogface was in the centre seat, big hands wrapped around the manual-drive controls. Lambada and Credit Card were stationed on the left-hand side, each monitoring the systems that were too old for automation. A big red LED over the windscreen showed them shaving seconds off the normal transit time.

But as fast as they ran the priority override ran faster, picked up by sensors in the stations and channelled into tunnel gateways. In the older stations the signal was transmitted as coded patterns of light in spun glass; in the newer stations they ran as a stream of free electrons in room temperature superconductors. At the gateways the signal became theoretical ripples in the redundant marginal zone of the tunnel itself, the probability of an idea of a signal that instantaneously became real at the other end. Real photons and electrons, real information.

Ahead, in the local station nodes, logic gates snapped open and shut. Freight trains switched to sidings, even to the main passenger track, hooting their way past astonished commuters. Making space on the freight line so that Fat Mama had a clear line all the way to Pluto.

'I've got a trace,' called Lambada over the music. 'Triton Station. Moving fast.'

'That's fifteen stations ahead,' said Dogface. 'Plenty of leeway.'

'It's coming towards us.'

'Credit Card,' said Dogface, 'get some pixs.'

Credit Card leaned over his terminal and punched in a search protocol. 'I wish you had a plug in.'

'Ganymede coming up,' said Dogface.

'Ready.'

Fat Mama thundered through Ganymede Station, sucking in data from the traffic net.

'I've never been to Ganymede,' said Blondie.

'You haven't missed much,' Lambada told him.

The surveillance pix came up on the main monitor just as they slammed back into the tunnel. 'That's them at Oberon,' said Credit Card.

'Thirteen stations,' said Lambada.

'Looks like some free surfers,' said Credit Card.

'How many?' asked Dogface.

'Six people, three boards.'

'They must be out of their skulls,' said Lambada. 'Coming down a freight line the wrong way.'

'Whoever heard of free surfers in armour?' said Credit Card.

'Callisto coming up,' said Dogface. 'See if you can get an enhanced image.'

'I never would have thought of that.'

'They just hit Titania,' said Lambada. 'These boys are shifting it you know.'

There was a wash of white light through the cab windows as they went through the station.

'Maybe they're military,' said Credit Card. He touched his throat mike. 'Hey Sam?'

Old Sam was in the back looking after the turbines. Credit Card shunted the pictures on to his repeater screen. 'You ever seen armour like this?'

'Nope.'

'But you guys used to customize yours though, right?'

'We never used to put fucking spines on them.'

'Nine stations,' said Lambada. 'Maybe it's some kind of new gang.' She looked over at Blondie.

'What?'

'You know anything about this?'

'Hey, I'm from the Stop,' said Blondie. 'Free surfing's a rich kids' game.'

'They're going to be expensive paint soon,' said Dogface, 'if they don't get off the line.'

'I'll put up a station warning,' said Credit Card.

Another wash of light - another station. From the back Blondie heard the turbines cycle up a notch. Dogface was pushing the go faster knob forward. Fat Mama was accelerating.

'Are you sure that's a good idea?' asked Credit Card.

'Seven stations,' said Lambada.

'Where are we going to meet them?' asked Dogface.

'Stazione Centrale de Rhea.'

'Better warn Rhea Traffic Control,' said Credit Card.

'We could just stop at the next station and wait,' said Lambada.

Blondie was thinking about bay fifteen and the Bad Accident. He didn't want to but his mind kept vulturing round to pick at the memory.

'Five stations,' said Lambada.

Dogface had taken Blondie down there on his first day. All the old trains gathering dust under the xenon strips. Dogface walked him down the aisles