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"
What
’
s
a
Catholic
?
"
"
Tell
you
later
.
You
got
any
cigarettes
?
"
"
Cigarettes
?
What
happened
to
your
arm
?
"
I
break
the
spiral
of
non
sequiturs
and
stare
down
at
my
arm
.
Jimmy
’
s
got
a
point
.
The
scars
on
my
forearm
have
turned
into
a
fresh
wound
,
blood
welling
up
and
trickling
down
into
my
hand
.
So
of
course
…
I
reach
up
to
my
left
eye
and
find
the
wetness
below
it
.
My
fingers
come
away
bloody
.
"
Lucky
one
,
"
says
Jimmy
de
Soto
judicially
.
"
They
missed
the
socket
.
"
He
should
know
.
His
own
left
socket
is
a
glutted
well
of
gore
,
all
that
was
left
at
Innenin
when
he
dug
the
eyeball
out
with
his
fingers
.
No
one
ever
found
out
what
he
was
hallucinating
at
the
time
.
By
the
time
they
got
Jimmy
and
the
rest
of
the
Innenin
beachhead
d
.
h
.
’
d
for
psychosurgery
,
the
defenders
’
virus
had
scrambled
their
minds
beyond
retrieval
.
The
program
was
so
virulent
that
at
the
time
the
clinic
didn
’
t
even
dare
keep
what
was
left
on
stack
for
study
.
The
remains
of
Jimmy
de
Soto
are
on
a
sealed
disc
with
red
DATA
CONTAMINANT
decals
somewhere
in
a
basement
at
Envoy
Corps
HQ
.
"
I
’
ve
got
to
do
something
about
this
,
"
I
say
,
a
little
desperately
.
The
sounds
awoken
from
the
walls
by
my
pursuer
are
growing
dangerously
close
.
The
last
of
the
sun
is
slipping
behind
the
hills
.
Blood
spills
down
my
arm
and
face
.
"
Smell
that
?
"
Jimmy
asks
,
lifting
his
man
face
to
the
chilly
air
around
us
.
"
They
’
re
changing
it
.
"
