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’
'
What
about
?
’
She
sat
.
Case
felt
the
blades
move
,
very
slightly
,
beneath
her
nails
.
'
Whatever
comes
to
mind
.
My
mind
.
It
’
s
my
party
.
The
cores
woke
me
.
Twenty
hours
ago
.
Something
was
afoot
,
they
said
,
and
I
was
needed
.
Were
you
the
something
Molly
?
Surely
they
didn
’
t
need
me
to
handle
you
,
no
.
Something
else
.
.
.
but
I
’
d
been
dreaming
,
you
see
.
For
thirty
years
.
You
weren
’
t
born
,
when
last
I
lay
me
down
to
sleep
.
They
told
us
we
wouldn
’
t
dream
,
in
that
cold
.
They
told
us
we
’
d
never
feel
cold
,
either
.
Madness
,
Molly
.
Lies
.
Of
course
I
dreamed
.
The
cold
let
the
outside
in
,
that
was
it
.
The
outside
.
All
the
night
I
built
this
to
hide
us
from
.
Just
a
drop
,
at
first
,
one
grain
of
night
seeping
in
,
drawn
by
the
cold
.
.
.
Others
following
it
,
filling
my
head
the
way
rain
fills
an
empty
pool
.
Calla
lilies
.
I
remember
.
The
pools
were
terracotta
,
nursemaids
all
of
chrome
,
how
the
limbs
went
winking
through
the
gardens
at
sunset
.
.
.
I
’
m
old
,
Molly
.
Over
two
hundred
years
,
if
you
count
the
cold
.
The
cold
.
’
The
barrel
of
the
pistol
snapped
up
suddenly
,
quivering
.
The
tendons
in
her
thighs
were
drawn
tight
as
wires
now
.
'
You
can
get
freezerburn
,
’
she
said
carefully
.
'
Nothing
burns
there
,
’
he
said
impatiently
,
lowering
the
gun
.
His
few
movements
were
increasingly
sclerotic
.
His
head
nodded
.
It
cost
him
an
effort
to
stop
it
.
'
Nothing
burns
.
I
remember
now
.
The
cores
told
me
our
intelligences
are
mad
.
And
all
the
billions
we
paid
,
so
long
ago
.
When
artificial
intelligences
were
rather
a
racy
concept
.
I
told
the
cores
I
’
d
deal
with
it
.
Bad
timing
,
really
,
with
8Jean
down
in
Melbourne
and
only
our
sweet
3Jane
minding
the
store
.
Or
very
good
timing
,
perhaps
.
Would
you
know
,
Molly
?
’
The
gun
rose
again
.
'
There
are
some
odd
things
afoot
now
,
in
the
Villa
Straylight
.
’
'
Boss
,
’
she
asked
him
,
'
you
know
Wintermute
?
’
'
A
name
.
Yes
.
To
conjure
with
,
perhaps
.
A
lord
of
hell
,
surely
.
In
my
time
,
dear
Molly
,
I
have
known
many
lords
.
And
not
a
few
ladies
.
Why
,
a
queen
of
Spain
,
once
,
in
that
very
bed
.
.
.
But
I
wander
.
’
He
coughed
wetly
,
the
muzzle
of
the
pistol
jerking
as
he
convulsed
.
He
spat
on
the
carpet
near
his
one
bare
foot
.
'
How
I
do
wander
.
Through
the
cold
.
But
soon
no
more
.
I
’
d
ordered
a
Jane
thawed
,
when
I
woke
.
Strange
,
to
lie
every
few
decades
with
what
legally
amounts
to
one
’
s
own
daughter
.
’
His
gaze
swept
past
her
,
to
the
rack
of
blank
monitors
.
He
seemed
to
shiver
.
'
Marie
-
France
’
s
eyes
,
’
he
said
,
faintly
,
and
smiled
.
'
We
cause
the
brain
to
become
allergic
to
certain
of
its
own
neurotransmitters
,
resulting
in
a
peculiarly
pliable
imitation
of
autism
.
’
His
head
swayed
sideways
,
recovered
.
'
I
understand
that
the
effect
is
now
more
easily
obtained
with
an
embedded
microchip
.
’
The
pistol
slid
from
his
fingers
,
bounced
on
the
carpet
.
'
The
dreams
grow
like
slow
ice
,
’
he
said
.
His
face
was
tinged
with
blue
.
His
head
sank
back
into
the
waiting
leather
and
he
began
to
snore
.
