Landau said, “Surely you’ve heard of the Mother Miranda cults? They’re sort of a Liver religion—so typical. Miranda as the Virgin Mary, interceding with the Divine. And for what? Not salvation or grace or world peace or any of those dreary eternal verities. No—Mother Miranda’s followers are praying for immortality. Another Change. If the SuperSleepless could deliver the first syringes, goes this risible theology, then they can just as well go deliver another miracle that makes all the grubby little Livers go on forever.”
Irv laughed, a sudden bark like ice cracking, and sniffed again from his inhaler. Direct pleasure-center excitation, Jackson guessed, with hallucinogenic additives and a selective depressant to lower inhibition.
Cazie said, “God, Landau, you’re such an unoriginal snob. It’s not only Livers involved in the Mother Miranda cult. There are donkeys in it, too.”
Theresa shifted on her chair, a small agitated gesture that was the kinesthetic equivalent of a whimper. Jackson took her hand.
Landau said, “But it’s mostly Livers. Our newly self-sufficient, self-disenfranchised eighty percent. And Livers are the only ones who do exorcisssms.”
Theresa said, so low that at first Jackson thought nobody else heard her, “Exorcising what? Demons?”
“No, of course not,” Landau said. His bees buzzed fractionally louder. “Impure thoughts.”
Cazie laughed. “Not exactly. More like ideologically incorrect thoughts. It’s really a political check to make sure all the good little Mother Mirandites are convinced of her semi-divinity. They just call it an exorcism because they drive out wrong ideas. Then they all create yet another broadcast to beam up at Sanctuary.”
“Real brain-trot entertainment,” Landau said.
Jackson couldn’t help himself. “And this ritual is open to the public?”
“Of course not,” Landau said. “We’re crashers. Humble novices in search of some faith in our pointless and overprivileged lives.”
Theresa’s quiet agitation increased. Cazie said, “What is it, Tess?”
Theresa burst out, “You shouldn’t!” Immediately she shrank back into her chair, then stumbled to her feet. Jackson, still holding her hand, felt her fingers tremble. “Good night,” she whispered, and pulled free.
Cazie said, “Wait, Tessie, don’t go!” But Theresa fled toward her own room.
“Nice going,” Jackson said.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t think she’d react like that. It’s not real religion.”
“She’s religious? My condolences,” Landau said. “And in the immediate family, too.”
“Shut up,” Cazie said. “God, you bore me sometimes, Landau. Don’t you ever get tired of supercilious posturing?”
“Never. What else is there, really? And may I remind you, Cassandra dear, that you too are on your way to this ex-or-cisssm, hmmmm?”
“No,” Cazie snapped. “I’m not. Get out!”
“A sudden mood shift into anger! How exciting!”
Jackson stood. Landau touched a point on his chest; his bees buzzed louder. For the first time Jackson wondered if they were all holos, or if some of the bees were weapons. Certainly Landau would wear a personal Y-shield.
“Out!” Cazie screamed. “You heard me, you infection! Out!” Her dark eyes blazed; she looked as much a caricature as Landau. Was she posturing as well, amusing herself with the drama? Jackson realized he could no longer tell.
Landau stretched lazily, yawned ostentatiously, and rose to his feet. He drifted toward the door. Irv followed, sniffing his inhaler. He hadn’t said a single word.
When Cazie returned from slamming the apartment door, Jackson said quietly, “Nice friends you have.”
“They’re not my friends.” She was breathing hard.
“You introduced them as friends.”
“Yeah, well. You know how it is. I’m sorry about Tessie, Jack. I really didn’t know Landau was so stupid.”
If this humility was a posture, it was a new one. Jackson didn’t trust it, didn’t trust her. He didn’t answer.
Cazie said, “Should I go after Tess?”
“No. Give her some time.” But from behind him came Theresa’s soft voice; she must have heard the door slam and crept out.
“Did they leave?”
“Yes, pet,” Cazie said. “I’m sorry I brought them here. I didn’t think. They’re real asses. No, not even that—just assholes. Fragments. Partial people.”
Theresa said eagerly, “But that’s just what I was saying earlier to Jackson! There’s something… not whole about people now. Why, this afternoon Jackson saw—”
“I can’t discuss a confidential medical case,” Jackson said harshly, although of course he already had. Theresa bit her lip. Cazie smiled, humility already replaced by mockery.
“A murder, Jack? I can’t think what else they’d need you for that you can’t discuss. A little off your usual practice of the once-monthly accident and the twice-monthly newborn Change?”
He said evenly. “Don’t needle me, Cazie.”
“Ah, Jackson darling, why couldn’t you be so assertive when we were married? Although I really do think we’re better off as friends. But Tess, honey”—she turned back to his sister, suddenly kind again, while Jackson was left wanting to hit her, or convince her, or rape her—“you have a point. We donkeys are just coming apart since the Change. Joining Liver cults, or doing brain-deadening neuropharms, or marrying a computer program—did you hear about that? For dependability. ‘Your AI will never leave you.’ ” She laughed, throwing back her head. The dark curls danced, and her elongated eyes narrowed to slits.
Theresa said, “Yes, but… but we don’t have to be that way!”
“Sure we do,” Cazie said. “We’re bred to be forthrightly self-serving, even the best of us. Jackson, did you vote today?”
He hadn’t. He tried to look condescending.
“Did you, Tess? Never mind, I know you didn’t. The whole political system is dead, because everyone knows it isn’t where power is anymore. The Change took care of that. The Livers don’t need us, they’re managing quite well in their own lawless little ground-feeding pseudo-enclaves. Or they think they are. Which is, incidentally, why I’m here. We have a crisis.”
Cazie’s dark eyes sparkled; she loved crises. Theresa looked frightened. Jackson said, “Theresa, did you show Cazie your new bird?”
“I’ll get him,” Theresa said, and escaped.
Jackson said, “Who has a crisis?”
“Us. TenTech. We have a factory break-in.”
“That’s impossible,” Jackson said. And then, because Cazie usually had her facts straight, “Which factory?”
“The Willoughby, Pennsylvania, plant. Well, it’s not exactly a break-in yet. But somebody was just outside the Y-shield this afternoon with bioelectric and crystal equipment. The sensors picked them up. If you’d check your business net, Jack, you’d know that. But oh, I forgot—you were out investigating murders.”
Jackson kept his temper. Cazie had received a third of TenTech in the divorce settlement, since her money had kept the company afloat during the disastrous year when a nanodissembler plague had attacked the ubiquitous alloy duragem, and businesses had died like Livers. He said evenly, “Nobody got inside, did they? Nobody can breach security on a Y-energy shield. At least, not…”
“Not Livers, you mean, and who else would be out in the wilds of central Pennsylvania? I think you’re probably right. But that’s why we should go have a look. If it’s not Livers, who is it? Kids from Carnegie-Mellon, sharpening their datadipping skills? Industrial espionage by CanCo? SuperSleepless like—gasp!—Miranda Sharifi, obscurely interested in our little family-owned firm? What do you think, Jack? Who’s messing with our factory?”