“Lice,” said Saint. He’d taken off his foil helmet and shrugged his coat onto the back of his chair. His hair looked like upholstery on cheap furniture—it was buzz-cut, half-bleached to a punky orange, and there was a paisley filigree cut into it, revealing curving lines of scalp that seemed to have small translucent insects crawling along them.
“You have lice, Saint?” exclaimed Wendy. “How filthy! We have to get you disinfected! Oh! And we’ve all been hugging you!”
“I think he’s teasing you, Wendy,” said Stahn, peering closer at the tiny creatures on his son’s scalp. “Those are micro-DIMs. I know they’ve been used for barbering, but I’ve never heard of them doing paisley before. Did you program that yourself, Saint?”
“My friend Juanne taught the lice,” said Saint. “But I found the DIM beads. I’ve been finding some really floatin’ ware in this building I’m maintenance-managing, Da.”
“This is your new janitor job?” said Stahn.
Saint was suddenly very angry. “Don’t you always say that, you stupid old man. A maintenance manager is not a janitor. I like to fix things. I’m good at it. And for you to always act like it’s—”
Stahn winced at the intensity of his son’s reaction. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he said quickly. “I’m senile. When I was your age, I was Sta-Hi the taxi driver, so who am I to talk? Maintenance is wavy. Retrofitting. Tinkering. It’s almost like engineering.”
“Saint doesn’t want to go to engineering school, Da,” put in Babs. “Get over it. His friends already look up to him like a teacher.”
“They do?” asked Stahn.
“Yes,” said Saint. “I like to think about the meaning of things. And what to do with life. Every day should be happy. My friends listen to me.”
“Well, hell,” said Stahn. “Then maybe you can be a senator.” He put up his hands cringingly. “Just kidding!”
The waitress arrived with a pitcher of sangria, more potatoes, and the grilled prawns. Stahn passed Saint the prawns and poured out glasses of the sangria.
“What’s the building you’re doing maintenance for?” Wendy asked Saint.
“Meta West Link,” said Saint. “They own the satellites and dishes for sending uvvy signals to the Moon.”
“Wholly owned by ISDN since 2020,” put in Stahn. “I can certainly believe that Meta West would have some interesting things in their basement.”
“Give me some DIM lice, Saintey?” pleaded Babs. “I’ll make a Smart Art flea circus! I want lice right now!” She crooked one arm around her brother’s neck and began picking at his head. “I’m the lice doctor!” When Babs had been younger, she’d enjoyed taking ticks off the family dog.”
“Don’t be so disgusting, you two,” said Wendy severely. “You’re in a restaurant. Stop it right now.”
The kids broke apart with a flurry of screeches and pokes, and then both of them sat there calmly with their hands folded.
“It’s Da’s fault,” said Saint.
“Da did it,” added Babs.
“Da’s bad,” said Saint.
“Da’s lifted and drunk,” said Babs.
“Da has a drug problem,” said Saint.
Stahn got the waitress and ordered himself a brandy and an espresso. “Anyone else for coffee or a drink? Anything? Dessert, kids?”
Saint and Babs ordered cake, but Wendy didn’t want anything. She said she thought it was about time they got going.
“Mind if I join you?” said Sally the moldie, suddenly appearing at the end of the table. Her body was a cubist dream of triangles and bright colors.
“Sally, ole pal!” said Babs, hilarious on her four drinks. “Sit down.” Sally pulled up a chair and Babs introduced her. “This is my brah and my rents—Saint, Stahn, and Wendy. This is Sally, guys.”
“I’ve been wanting to meet Wendy,” said Sally. “We moldies all wonder about her. How do you do it? Emulate a human wife and mother, I mean. It’s a pretty bizarre thing to do.”
“I’ve been doing it so long it feels normal,” said Wendy. “Though I am getting a bit tired of this particular human body.”
Sally produced a screw-top jar from the folds of her flesh and took off the top. “I like to have a little rub of this when I’m around people getting high,” she said, using a green-striped finger to crook out a glob of ointment. She rubbed the goo into her chest and handed the jar to Wendy. “Try some, Wendy. It’s betty. Fine, fine betty.”
“We still have a long trek home,” objected Stahn. He counted on Wendy being the sober one.
“Just chill sometime,” said Wendy, scooping up two fingers of betty and smoothing it onto her ‘Cloak self.
By the time Sally could put the jar away, she and Wendy were completely lifted. “Wave this new take on the soft watch,” said Sally, turning beige. In seconds she was shaped like an old-time computer box with a monitor on it—the box melting and drooling off the edge of her chair to make a puddle on the floor, and the monitor was displaying—the face of that Jenny-thing who’d been on-line with Tre Dietz last night?
At the same time, Wendy was tweaking quite savagely. Her Happy Cloak stopped being a demure red Wendy the Witch cape and bunched up around her neck in a big convoluted green dinosaur ruffle. “I’ve been a good wife and mother all these years, but I don’t want to get any older. I want a full upgrade! You need to understand this meat body isn’t me,” she raved. “Watch!” The ruff on her neck bucked up, pulling a frightening tangle of rootlike connectors out of her flesh and into the air. Wendy’s face went slack and her head pitched forward to lie on her crossed arms on the table. Wendy’s ‘Cloak gestured nastily with its tendrils, then wormed them back into Wendy’s neck. Wendy straightened up, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “See?”
“We’re outta here,” said Stahn, getting to his feet and throwing down money for the check. “You shouldn’t have given her that damn shit, Sally.”
“Bye, Sally,” said Wendy. She winked and pointed a finger upward. “Thanks for the lift and the lift .”
“Have a good trip,” said Sally.
Stahn tried to take Wendy’s arm to steady her, but she twisted away from him with frightening vigor. She pushed out to the street, followed by her family.
“I wish I hadn’t seen that,” said Babs quietly. “Is Ma all right?”
“We just need to get home and kick,” said Stahn. “I wonder if there’s any chance of a rickshaw or a streetcar. Oh good, it looks like Wendy’s calling one.” Wendy was gesturing broadly, and the dragonfly hopped off its perch and circled as if searching for a ride.
“It’ll be here soon,” said Wendy, smiling crookedly. “And, kids, I’m sorry about freaking in the restaurant, but it’s for true. I’m about to shed.”
She didn’t elaborate, and nobody knew what to say, so for a half minute the four of them just stood there among the people and the moldies passing by. A streetcar ground past, going the wrong way. A sudden breeze swept up from the Bay, startlingly strong and chilly. Stahn turned his back against it, wishing he’d worn a thicker coat. Wendy and the kids were facing him, and for a moment he thought the kids were teasing when they began to scream.
“Here’s our ride, Stahn!” whooped Wendy.
The wet frigid air whirled like a tornado, and a huge blue pterodactyl shape swooped down toward them. Its wingspan was so large that it could barely fit in between the buildings. It would have to break through the streetcar wires if it wanted to reach them; they might have time to escape!
“Run!” yelled Stahn. “Back in the restaurant!”
But before he could move, Wendy’s Happy Cloak lifted off and flapped toward Stahn like a pair of ragged bat wings. Stahn was too slowed by drink and too distracted by the sight of Wendy’s body falling to the ground to stop the ‘Cloak from wrapping itself around him. Quickly the ‘Cloak sank its tendrils into Stahn’s neck and froze him in place. Stahn stood there staring at his children trying to tend their mother’s imbecilic limp body—and then the great pterodactyl pecked down in between the wires, pecked up Stahn and swallowed him and Wendy’s Happy Cloak whole.