She was chatty, possibly happy at being reunited with me. "I still can't get out of here," Lux Interior said. "Place is locked down. No access to anything, no internet, no emergency channels, no criminal stuff, even. Disappointing."

"What do you do on the criminal web?"

"Not telling you so you never have to testify."

"You're too kind, Lux Interior. Breaking news: that doctor and I had a falling out. I fear we may no longer be pals."

"She was never your pal, you dumb hick from yesteryear. She was making a point at you. A mean one. She was threatening you."

"With what, though? All I got from her was a strain of I wish things were like the old days, sonny."

"Historically speaking, that's bad news. Mussolini wanted to give people the Roman Empire again, for example. And I really don't understand the threat Michelle was making. Tell me again, step by step."

We were walking under the ubiquitous Runed tarps. People made a point of smiling and greeting me as I talked to my phone. Just another day here in the revolutionary compound.

We found a hard-packed dirt parking lot. A lot of very Human vehicles, mostly old automobiles surrounded by orange plastic tanks of gasoline. I made a note of it. Fire is useful. Fire cleanses.

I told Lux again about my meeting with Dr. Michelle.

"The good as well as the baaaaad," she snarled. "That's the key point. Any ideas?"

"You're the all-powerful AI."

"Not unless I can link with other ones. Until then I might be nearly as dumb as you."

"That's gotta be awful. Are you handling it okay?"

"Not at all, but at least my brain isn't made of soup."

"Mine's more like a thick, greasy stew. I have a question for you, because you're smart and your brain isn't a variety of food. If I wanted to download something really, really complex, is the internet of …what year is this? 2075? Is the internet able to handle it?"

"How complex? Are you wanting to simulate the universe to find out what happens by fast-forwarding? We tried that once. Nobody predicted Sliceday, I can tell you that. Useless technology."

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"A human body."

"That's not complex. It's just a lot of meat and bone and guts and water. Carbon-Hydrogen-Oxygen-Nitrogen. Harder to get the actual ingredients than to get the recipe. You need them in ingots."

"And if I wanted to make the perfect disguise for myself, would I have to put myself in a tank? To make a new body to hop into?"

"Like one of the unclean monsters threatening our way of life!"

"Exactly."

"That's a lot of work. Your actual body would keel over because its soul would be lost. Bodies get addicted to them, it turns out. Only one soul per customer. It's easier to download a body and just put it on as a seeming."

"A seeming."

"It's something the government doesn't want you to use; it's just…a glamour. A premade Magic spell that lets you resemble someone of your choice. Do you have someone in mind? Better if they're famous."

"How famous is Preston Covenant, the Che Guevara of the modern age?"

"Reasonably famous. I'm betting there's a Seeming you can get out there–" Something on the edge of my hearing: a squeal. A scream, almost. An animal (nonhuman, anyway) sound.

"I want to look into that," I said.

"Pingsters," she said. "Nonhuman intelligences, entirely nocturnal. Awake at noon."

There was a pen of them. Very interesting beings: bipedal, right? Long, strong flamingoish legs. Bent over, counterbalanced by a stubby tail, a little like a kangaroo. Gray fur, glossy in the sun. Arms, neatly folded beneath the body, delicate hands. Five fingers.

But the faces. Imagine the face of a bat. Not the ones that are cute, like little flying puppies, the fruit bats. No. More like the ones where every available surface is devoted to hearing, smelling. Huge ears, intricately wrinkled. A long, tall nasal…doohickey, almost like a horn made of skin. Covered with the same complex wrinkles. No eyes, just smooth skull with a coating of glossy fur.

And an always-open mouth loaded with carnivore teeth. Big, ludicrous ones, cartoonishly evil in appearance.

"Good morning," I said to them. "Are you okay?"

They were huddled in a group against the opposite wall of the pen. Under the shade of the Runed tarp. They didn't respond.

"They look miserable," I said. "Will they talk to me?"

"Let me try."

I don't know what she did, but one of them, the biggest, perked up. Picked its way over on its long legs, stately and deliberate. It approached where I stood behind the pen wall. Stopped, faced me. It stood at my height, a little taller.

It screamed. The sound had eerie harmonics packed in, giving me goosebumps and making my eyes water. High-pitched, low-pitched, multiple sounds in there.

I basically jumped out of my skin. Nearby laughter from Humans: mostly a man keeping the Pingsters in their pen.

"What did they do?" I said to him.

He was a tall, jovial sort, round, brown-skinned like my uncle in the navy. "Do? It yelled at you, son."

"I know, I was there. Why are they in the slammer? During the day?"

"Makes 'em easier to manage," he said. "You'll see tonight, when they really shine."

And that seemed to be that. Tonight we'd see shiny Pingsters.

"Not good," I said to Lux.

"Nope."

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