There was too much travel involved in being a Jetstream.
The ladies had used their real names, which pointed the finger away from them, but Kichi said go anyway. He’d make sure Carel and Smoove rendezvoused with them, but for now, go.
Next stop, Manila.
“You notice the billboards?” Ramses asked Milo during their flight.
“White kid telling the schoolyard, ‘My reality’s better than your reality’? Schoolyard’s got the black, Hispanic and Asian sprinkled in? Yeah.” They were everywhere. “Reality Unbound Network. Biggest one yet.”
“Not even trying to hide it.”
“Brother, they never really did. Every other billboard was liquor. The South is rising again.”
“So to speak,” said Ramses.
“So to speak.”
“I’ve been plotting the logorhythmic path of commercials. Logical conclusion is no consciousness left,” said Ramses.
“Money machines,” said Milo. “Not people. Renewable, sustainable money machines.”
“And we’re chasing Buford to the exclusion of all else?”
“Brother, Buford is all else. Agents of Change can handle domestics. Botha Dish should be on his feet soon. Karaplides and Technique disabled the broadcast towers of every Clear Channel station in Houston. The young guard prefers the old methods; we can afford our magicks against the magician.”
“What do we actually do when we get him?” Ramses asked sensibly. “Seal him up? Put him on display? Hydra’s heads grow back.”
“So we cut off its nuts so it doesn’t breed. They’ve never had a problem with extinction. Neither are we.”
“The revolution won’t be televised.”
“Won’t be broadcast at all.”
They settled back to ride out the flight on one of Bruce Weyne’s private jets.