CAPACITY

Helen 3: 2240

Ah, yes. That dress is just about right.” Kevin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Turn around again so that I can see the back.”

Bairn spun slowly in front of the reverse viewing field, her skin showing just a little more tanned than it was in reality, the better to match the color of the dress.

“It’s just about what we want,” Kevin said. “Although, I must say, you don’t seem very happy with it.”

Bairn gazed at herself in the mirror, running her hands over the deep plum dress.

“Oh no, it’s beautiful. It’s just…Kevin, are they going to catch us?”

Kevin smiled lazily. “Catch us?” he said, taking hold of her hair and pulling it up into a chignon. “Only when we want them to.”

The assistant stood off to one side, nervously laying out a selection of cream sweaters. Kevin gave her a withering stare as she fumbled and dropped them.

“I think we’ll try the ivory blouse,” he said after a deliberate pause. “No, not that one. The one with the pearl buttons.”

The young woman scrabbled her way through the selection of blouses on the rail and unhooked the one Kevin had pointed to. He snatched it from her hands and passed it to Bairn.

“Here,” he said. “I thought it might go well with the chocolate skirt, the pleated one.”

Bairn cast a longing look at herself in the plum dress. Kevin was right, she thought, smoothing the material down over her hips. She liked the way it showed off her figure.

“Could I keep this?” she asked.

Kevin smiled again. “Why don’t we try on all the clothes before making a decision?”

Bairn felt like a little girl, embarrassed by her haste. She pulled the plum dress off over her head and slipped into the ivory blouse. The material felt very soft.

“Now this blouse is designed by-” the assistant began, but Kevin silenced her with a stare.

“I think I can make my own decisions without the aid of someone obviously just out of fashion school.”

The assistant flinched. She was very beautiful, Bairn thought: jet black with close-cropped hair, big brown eyes. Bairn felt sorry for her. She tried to distract Kevin.

“What are they doing now?” she asked. Kevin was flicking through another rack of clothes.

“Mmm? Oh, you mean Judy Three and Helen, our digital friends? After their session with Peter Onethirteen, they will have got the EA to run a search on all Onethirteen’s past personal interactions, trying to find the ones with the highest probability of a link to me.”

“Helen was very angry,” Bairn said. “About Peter Onethirteen, I mean. It was like she blamed him for all the things that happened to her.” She looked at herself in the mirror and was gripped by a wave of self-doubt. “Which skirt should I wear with this?”

Kevin tilted his head. “Maybe if you knotted the blouse at your waist and wore just the panties?”

“I don’t know…” she said uncertainly.

“Mmm. Maybe it would be better with a skirt.” He went across to yet another rack of clothes and began to flick through, pointedly ignoring the assistant, who was nervously trying to help him.

“I think Judy was angry, too,” Bairn suggested hesitantly.

“Of course she was. That is a chink in the ice maiden’s armor I have been exploiting for years. And, of course, Judy Three in particular has a lot more in common with me than she would ever admit.” He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. “Sometime soon we might find out just how much in common… No, not those shoes, you incompetent tart.” By now the assistant was visibly shaking with nerves. “The cream ones.”

“But Kevin, they pinch.”

“Don’t you want to look beautiful?” asked Kevin. He suddenly grinned. “You know, I bet they go to Zinman. That self-absorbed fool’s movements have been intertwined with mine for far too long.”

Bairn looked at Kevin, a puzzled expression crossing her face.

“Zinman? Why does that name sound familiar?”

Kevin waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“He used the Private Network quite extensively in the past. A self-important little man to whom I showed a little of his true nature. He rather despises me because of that.” Kevin gave a self-satisfied smile. “He realizes, deep inside, that I epitomize his ideals far better than he does.” He gazed at the ceiling for a moment, lost in thought, then waved a dismissive hand in Bairn’s direction.

“No, I was wrong. The skirt doesn’t suit you. Try that white knitted lambswool dress again-the one with the fern pattern.”

There was a moment’s silence as Bairn and the assistant looked at each other in horror.

Kevin shook his head, eyes closed. “She took it away, didn’t she? Did I say I’d finished with it?”

The assistant picked up a red skirt from a nearby hanger, and then a brown pair of pants, moving on autopilot. “Mr. Smith…” she stuttered, “I’m sorry. I thought…”

Kevin wasn’t even listening. “I hate incompetence.” He gazed directly at Bairn. “The stupid bitch shouldn’t be doing this job. Fashion is not a job for fools. There are plenty of others who would be pleased to have the opportunity. I shall have a word with Ms. Wright.”

“Kevin, don’t make a scene, please. I think the clothes look perfectly lovely.” Bairn gave the stricken assistant a look of desperate apology. “Hey, why don’t we try one of the coats now?”

“No,” Kevin snapped. “We won’t need one on the Shawl. What about the A-line skirt?”

“I think it’s a little plain…”

“I won’t know until I see it on you.”

While Bairn changed into the new skirt, Kevin quickly looked through the other garments on the rack, hangers clacking as he pulled them along, tutting in loud disapproval at the assistant’s choices.

“You know,” he said, “the more I think about it, the more obvious it is that Zinman will put Judy on our trail. I think that it will soon be time to make our move.”

Bairn was turning this way and that, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

“I don’t know. It’s just too dowdy.”

“No, it’s perfect. It’s also, you will note, one of the items that I chose. Yes, I will definitely report the assistant, along with a recommendation that she be dismissed.”

“Oh, Kevin. You don’t mean that,” Bairn cajoled. “You’re just being petty because she didn’t recognize you when you came in. Leave her alone. It’s an overreaction. It’s not fair that a life’s ambition is spoiled because you’ve had half an hour’s bad experience. It doesn’t balance.”

Kevin frowned. “But think how happy the person will be who gets her job instead. It will all even out, Bairn. The equation will balance at zero. I’ve told you this before: we effect local changes only. The net happiness in the universe remains constant.”

Bairn gazed pleadingly at him.

“What have I said?” Kevin asked gently. “Am I right?”

“I suppose so,” said Bairn, looking at the floor.

“Good.” He pulled out his console. “Right, I shall report her immediately. Now. I think we’ll just take the skirt and the blouse. I don’t care for the rest.”

“Couldn’t we take the plum dress?” asked Bairn. “I liked that one.”

“On reflection,” said Kevin, “it didn’t suit you. Now, let’s go.”

They walked from the dressing room into the store beyond. The assistant was rehanging the plum dress, trying not to splash it with tears.

The fashion for nationalism had made a brief resurgence after the Transition. It was fading now, but it held on strongly in countries such as France. Helen and Judy 3 ate in a café that loudly proclaimed its past. Sardines grillées and frites, salade verte and vin blanc. Digital dishes savored by digital mouths. The food tasted just as good, but then again maybe that was all part of the program in the processing space. How would they tell the difference? It was not as if they could step outside and try the atomic version.

There were rooms upstairs for customers who wished to change after lunch, and on realizing that Judy intended to, Helen had followed her upstairs to do the same.

They emerged from the café into a dull grey afternoon. Helen had plaited roses into her hair, red blooms heavy with scent, the petals falling like drops of blood when she shook her head. The cruel pale thorns on the long mahogany stalks were tangled in her blond hair. Her arms and long legs had lost some of their tan so that now they complemented rather than contrasted with her habitual white shift. Judy was still a black-and-white woman, though her style had subtly changed. The sleeves of her kimono seemed shorter; her hair was knotted in a different way.

“Okay,” Helen said. “Where will we find this Zinman?”

“In another processing space,” Judy said, brushing a stray strand of black hair back into place with a white finger. The strand seemed to move as if guided by magnets. “I should warn you, the space we are about to travel to is disturbing. The inhabitants have made it that way deliberately.”

“Why?”

“Because they like to think that they are individuals,” Judy had a note of irritation in her voice. “They call the place Penumbra.”

“Penumbra,” Helen repeated. “Okay. How do we get there?”

“We just call up a door in the air.”

She muttered something for her console to hear. A stone archway appeared directly before them in the street.

“Gothic,” Judy said. “How imaginative.”

Helen’s movement in stepping through the arch seemed to cause ripples in the reality beyond: flickering shapes expanding from where she placed her foot on the insubstantial soil of Penumbra. The landscape was an Impressionist painting of the French countryside from which she had just stepped, but rendered in darker colors and shot through with red and gold. Nothing here was quite at rest: everything was locked in perpetual motion. Dappled trees danced a slow hula amongst hills that literally rose and fell in slow waves; dirty brown farmhouses rode the dull green swell.

“Are those people down there?” Helen asked, staring at an amorphous mass nearby. One moment it resembled a low forested hill, the next, an orgiastic tangle of bodies, heads bobbing back and forth, flesh flowing into flesh.

Judy said nothing. Here in Penumbra Judy’s immobility was in stark contrast to the constant movement of the landscape. Her black eyes flicked towards Helen’s shift. “Watch yourself, Helen.”

Helen looked down at her dress. The patterns of the landscape were drawing themselves across the material. Something brushed the skin of her upper thigh, something cold and prickly…grass. She realized that the landscape wasn’t drawing itself on her shift. It was infecting it.

“What do I do?” she whispered.

“Tell it to stop,” Judy said crisply.

“Stop that!” Helen snapped. Instantly the shift returned to thin cotton, but now of a darker cream color.

“Good,” Judy said, nodding her head slightly, the white curve of her neck showing. “Good work, Helen. Now listen. Every object in this processing space has a public handle to it. Everyone owns everything here, including each other.”

Helen cocked her head at Judy. You don’t like that, do you? It takes away a little of your power.

Judy was watching a huge yellow hand that rose over the horizon, reaching for them.

“Zinman,” she said. “How pretentious. All we need do is step to meet him.”

The world flickered, and they were somewhere else.

“Ah, you must be Judy. The black-and-white woman.”

An elongated giant of a man was looking down at them. Taller than the dilapidated buildings that surrounded the square in which they now stood, he was drawing back his long, long arm from the distant hill where Helen and Judy had just been standing.

“Zinman,” acknowledged Judy, folding her hands into her sleeves. Tall stone buildings of an Italianate design surrounded the litter-strewn square. Doors and windows yawned like entrances to railway tunnels. Rusting iron railings decorated the sills and lower windows. Greasy, slippery paper and rotting vegetable matter lay ankle deep around them, thrown from the surrounding windows; it drifted up against the walls. The sweet smell of decay filled the air.

Zinman was now crouching to bring his poisonous green gaze to bear on Helen.

“Can I do that?” Helen asked, looking at his arm still shrinking back to normal size.

“Of course you can,” Zinman said. “In Penumbra everyone is free to do as they please.”

Judy was looking hard at Helen. Helen ignored her.

“Ella! Ruby! Come and see!” called Zinman. “Helen is here, and she has an open mind.”

The litter scattered at the far side of the square stirred, and two brown shapes oozed out.

“Which one is Helen?” asked the taller of the two, walking forward. “Beautiful roses or monochrome bore?” Shaped like a naked woman, but half made and shiny, she was formed of chocolate. Helen could smell her richness, mixing with the sweet ether odor of the litter. She gazed at Helen and Judy with sightless eyes and gave a sigh of recognition. “Ah, yes, decadent rose. Because this is Judy, standing here.” The chocolate woman’s figure was distorted, as if she had half melted. No, not melted, Helen realized, as she looked at the smoothed-out shapes of the breasts. Licked away. Chocolate nipples sucked to nothing.

“Judy. I wouldn’t have believed that you would turn up here in exactly the same outfit. Are you always to be the black-and-white woman? You haven’t grown at all, have you? Do you remember me?”

“Of course I do, Ella,” Judy replied calmly. “And do you feel that you have grown since our meeting? I see Ruby still follows you everywhere.”

Helen looked at the second figure now, hiding behind the first. She might once have been a chocolate woman, but now she was nothing more than a formless lump.

“She can’t speak,” said Ella. “Her mouth was licked away.”

Zinman’s body was reshaping again.

“You know each other?” he said, looking eagerly at the two women as he became normal size.

“Oh, yes,” Ella said. “Judy tried to ‘cure’ me. She didn’t like my promiscuity.”

Zinman laughed. “Really, Judy?”

Judy ignored him. She spoke directly to the chocolate woman. “You’re emotionally stunted, Ella. You see sex as the only form of validation.”

Ella laughed. “What would you know about sex, Judy? You’re a virgin.”

Ella turned to Helen, melting her own chocolate lips as she licked them with a delicious chocolate tongue. “Do you think she thinks that way about you, too?”

Zinman leaned close to Helen. Green eyes on one side, the smell of chocolate on the other.

“Would you like to be a chocolate woman, Helen?” Zinman whispered. “Feel yourself melt inside?”

Helen looked to Judy for support. All she got was that impassive stare.

“But maybe not chocolate,” Zinman said, touching her forehead with fingers that were soft and warm. They tingled ever so slightly. “I like your hair,” he said. “I like the roses. So dark and bloody. And the thorns-so cruel. But why are they so restrained? Here, allow me.”

Helen gave a start as she felt the roses in her hair come to life, the thorns gently scratching her head as they shifted and stirred like the claws of an animal. Then they were reaching down amid a shower of falling rose petals, brushing her shoulders, rubbing against her breasts, encircling her waist. She gave a gasp and then slowly relaxed as she realized what Zinman had done.

“What a good idea,” she said. A reverse viewing field opened up before her, allowing her to see herself wrapped in a corset of rose thorns that grew down from her hair.

“And the last touch…” Zinman said, and Helen’s white shift disappeared. “Do you like it?” he asked.

“I do,” Helen said.

“Mmmm. This is your first visit to Penumbra, isn’t it?”

“Yes, this place didn’t exist in my time.”

“Ah! You’re an antique PC? I thought as much.” Zinman nodded wisely at Judy. “That explains the way she looks at you.”

They both looked at Judy, who continued to gaze patiently at Zinman. He reached out and gently adjusted one of the thorns that hung over Helen’s eyes.

“You’re how long-seventy years-out of time to her?”

Helen nodded, surprised at the accuracy of his guess. He gave a modest shrug of his elongated body, black hair flopping over his eyes. “Nothing is more embarrassing than the attitudes of the past. It’s as if Judy has met her grandmother in a young woman’s body. The way you dress, the way you act; you’re an anachronism. You’re both the same age, yet you’re separated by seventy years.”

Helen didn’t need to ask Judy; she knew what Zinman was saying was the truth. Zinman knew it, too. He pushed home his point.

“You lived before the time of the Transition, Helen. People back then were more open to new ideas. They weren’t locked into that slavish devotion to Social Care that typifies Judy’s generation.”

Helen turned to Judy, waiting for her to say something. Ella came forward, smiling. “Why don’t we do something for you now, Judy?” she asked

Zinman and the two chocolate women surrounded her. Judy placed her hands on her knees and bent her head to concentrate. Zinman gave a laugh.

“Oh, Judy! You’re such a bore! Your pills don’t work in here; no emotion belongs to one person. Everything is shared, even that body of yours.”

He brushed the dark hair from his lurid green eyes. “Come, be like Helen. Join in. Tell me, how should we dress you? I know…in ice. Yes. Ella, Ruby, would you like to lend a hand…”

He laughed and snapped his fingers. Nothing happened.

“Don’t try your tricks with me, Zinman,” Judy said. Zinman wore a puzzled expression as he snapped his fingers again. “That doesn’t work. Now stop wasting my time. Tell me about Kevin.”

“Kevin? That poseur?” Zinman sounded thoughtful. “No, I don’t think I will. You see, although you have a hold on your form, I still control the context.”

There was a rippling and all of the pieces of litter in the courtyard folded over on themselves, folded over to become golden hands. They took hold of Ruby and Ella.

“Oh, Judy,” said Zinman, “your problem is that you live in a world of order, of right and wrong. Here the boundaries are blurred, if they even exist at all.”

“No one’s body is their own here,” Ella said, looking at Ruby, who was melting in the grip of those golden hands. “Do you understand what that means?”

“I think I do,” Helen breathed. The blank windows that surrounded the square stared down at her. Helen had the impression of them being filled by silent watchers.

“I knew you would understand,” Zinman said. “Seventy years from the past and yet you understand the future. The EA claims that possessions will be abolished. A lie! How can it say that when, in the end, everyone belongs to the EA? Well, here nothing belongs to anyone.” He raised his eyebrows, and Helen felt something slip up between her legs, something slip deep inside her. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Helen admitted.

“I could take your virtual body and mold it into something wonderful. Anyone could. Nothing in this world is immutable. Do you want to hear the big secret? The one she doesn’t want you to know?”

They both looked to Judy, gripped in golden hands.

“There is no reason why the atomic world should not be just as mutable as Penumbra. If the EA wanted to, it could arrange it. Harness the VNMs, set them free to convert all matter in the universe to nanotechs. Wipe out the gross form of the human body and let personality constructs roam free in the foam of a nanotech sea. Just like this.”

The buildings surrounding the courtyard melted away, leaving nothing but golden hands.

“This is the future, Helen,” Zinman said, and now he vanished. The thorn cage that encased Helen’s body became warm; it began to move, to enfold her completely. A voice spoke in her ear. “Imagine that, Helen. Your body there for anyone in this world to use?”

“You’re not paying attention to her, Zinman. That’s not Helen’s fantasy.”

The sound of Judy’s voice broke Helen’s trance. She looked around and saw the dark shape of her friend almost submerged by gripping hands.

“Judy?” Helen said. “I feel…”

Zinman was angry. “What do you know, Judy? What does a virgin know of the pleasure of sharing their body with another? You have divided the universe into yourself and everything else. Even your PC is inviolate.”

Helen frowned. That last sentence was meant for her to hear. Zinman had glanced across at her as he said it.

“Your PC is inviolate? What does that mean, Judy?”

“It means it can’t be copied again, Helen,” snorted Zinman. “Didn’t she tell you? There can only ever be twelve digital Judys? It’s hard-coded into her personality construct.”

“Is that true?”

“Of course,” Judy said calmly. “It is standard practice for all SC operatives in my position. Security.”

Helen felt as if she had been terribly betrayed.

“All that understanding, all those lectures about not hating Peter Onethirteen for what he did to me! I almost believed it. Easy for you to say it when it can’t happen to you, when no one is going to make a copy of you and drop you in a private processing space.”

Zinman had a hand on her shoulder now. “But that’s right. You must have realized, Helen. All Judy ever does is watch.”

“Yes!” Helen shouted. “He’s right, isn’t he, Judy? You never did tell me-why are you a virgin?”

“Pure arrogance,” Zinman scoffed. “To put yourself above everyone else. That’s what Social Care do, isn’t it, Helen? They think they know best.”

The thorns were tighter. They caught Helen’s breasts in an exquisite cage of pinpoints.

Zinman was almost pleading with Helen to understand him. “Hah! How can they say what is best for us? They’re simply doing the will of the Watcher, shaping human minds to its own ends. Making us believe in this heaven; this ideal path to the future that it is laying down, but the Watcher’s heaven is a sterile, soulless thing. What is reality for humans, Helen? Is it following the wishes of machines, or doing what we think is best?”

Helen looked from Zinman to Judy. “Doing what we think is best,” she said.

Zinman smiled widely. “I knew you’d understand. You lived your life pre-Transition. Your thought patterns haven’t been set out for you. You know, Helen, you don’t have to go back with Judy. You could stay here. Would you like to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Helen said, glancing at Ruby. There was nothing now but chocolate smeared across the golden palms.

“It’s okay,” Ella said. “She can come back anytime she likes. Look.”

And now a body reformed amongst the hands: midnight black and beautiful. A young woman smiled up from the golden grasp.

“Hello, Helen,” she said.

“Is there anything else to this world apart from sex?”

It took them a moment to realize that Judy had spoken, her voice was so muffled by the golden hands.

Zinman laughed. “Oh, yes! It’s just that sex is all you see when you are a virgin. Helen, do you want to see something more? Do you like music?”

“Not really…”

The world swirled.

“Distance is such an outdated concept,” said Zinman.

The world reformed as a golden tapestry of color. Golden cloth surrounded them, clothing them in brocade and tapestries in jeweled patterns of yellow and black and red.

“Klimt,” Ruby said, thrusting her head back and closing her eyes as she knelt down. Zinman placed a hand on her cheek, the other in her hair, and made as if to kiss her.

“Ah! The Kiss,” said Ella.

“Mahler,” Zinman said as music surrounded them. “Veni creator spiritus.” He gave a smile. “That’s me. Though I prefer the second movement.”

“Veni creator spiritus. What does that mean?” asked Helen.

“Any fool could ask their console for a translation. Better that your feelings give meaning to the words. Can you feel it, Helen?”

“I feel something.” Helen smiled.

The music changed. A chorus of voices sang out all around. Zinman joined in.

“That’s beautiful,” Helen said.

“It is our creed,” Zinman explained, then he turned to Judy, still being held in the grip of golden hands. He gave a nod and they released her. The black-and-white woman stood up calmly, hands sliding into the sleeves of her kimono.

“Good-bye, Judy. You can go now. Helen will be staying here, I think.”

Judy made a show of regaining her customary stillness in the middle of the ever-changing scene. Once she was sure she had made her point, she spoke in her calmest voice: “Very well, Zinman. I’ve just got one question, though, before I leave.”

“Go on then, Judy. Whatever you want.”

Judy stood very straight, her face at its most impassive.

“Actually, it’s more a question for Ella and Ruby. I just wondered, how often does Zinman go underneath?”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Ella said dismissively.

“I’m sorry, I never really understood this sex talk. What I mean is: I’ve seen that Zinman has turned you to chocolate, that he conducts an invisible choir, and that he controls the golden hands. What I wanted to know was, how often does he take his turn in the submissive role?”

“He doesn’t,” Ruby said.

“See,” Zinman said to Helen. “She really doesn’t understand what’s going on here, does she?”

Helen gave a little moan of pleasure.

“I don’t think I do,” Judy said. “I thought that in this world all PCs have a handle on each other. No one of them is more privileged than another. You’ve argued quite eloquently that this is how things should be. I’m trying to square that with the same Zinman who used to rape women in the Private Network.”

Helen blinked once…twice. She seemed to be trying to remember something. Judy remained perfectly still.

“You raped several of Helen’s PCs, for example. You’re a persuasive man. I notice you’re already imposing your will on her, and Helen is a strong personality. I’m impressed.”

Helen shook her head. “Are you doing something to my mind, Zinman?” she murmured, but Judy just continued speaking, softly, remorselessly.

“You see, Zinman, I don’t think you’re strong enough to handle a relationship of equals. You couldn’t hack it in the regular worlds, so you retreated here where you could live out your power games.”

Zinman laughed, but it had a brittle sound this time. “Just because I choose to live my life my own way, and you can’t understand it…”

“Oh, I can understand it, Zinman. I just don’t think very much of it.”

“He raped me, didn’t he?” said Helen. “Or one of me. He’s one of those bastards who-”

Judy ignored her. “So you come to this place and link up with the likes of Ella, who still hasn’t learned any self-worth despite my best efforts, and with Ruby, who-”

Helen didn’t waste time with words; she simply flung herself at Zinman. He vanished.

“Where did he go?” Helen shouted angrily, looking around.

“Right out of Penumbra,” Judy said. “He can’t sustain the fantasy here anymore.”

For the first time since she had come to Penumbra, Judy showed some expression as her face split in a harsh grin. “Das Ewig-Weibliche ziecht uns hinan.”

“What does that mean?” Helen asked.

“Look it up,” Judy said.

Out of Penumbra, back in one of the EA’s regular processing spaces, Zinman was running towards the entrance of a Lite station, hoping to lose himself in the crowds. A simple rectangular door opened in the air just in front of him and Helen tumbled out, naked and bleeding from where she had torn the thorns from her body. She caught Zinman around the waist and dragged him to the ground.

“Leave him, Helen,” Judy commanded, stepping easily through the doorway behind her. It was a relief to be back in a digital France, under the plain dull sky, to smell the salt air of the sea.

Helen released Zinman and gave him a nasty smile. “Okay, give him the pill, Judy. I’ll take one as well. I want to feel this, too.”

Zinman gave a whimper. Out here, away from the illusions of Penumbra, he was just a thin old man-sunken grey cheeks with three-day stubble, pale green eyes like a fish’s that bulged from hollow sockets. He licked his dry lips with a dry tongue.

“I don’t think so, Helen,” Judy said. “I’m going to hand the correction of this one across to one of my sisters. We haven’t got time to do it ourselves. We came to Zinman because we wanted to find Kevin, remember?”

Helen spat at him, and Zinman flinched. “I want the bastard to suffer,” she growled.

Judy stared at Helen, concentrating.

Helen gave a shout of disbelief as she realized what was happening.

“What? You’re actually trying to correct my behavior?”

“I correct everyone’s behavior,” Judy said. “Zinman, talk to me about Kevin.”

Zinman wiped a white trail of spit from his cheek. “What about him?” he moaned. “It’s years since I met him. He never went into Penumbra. He couldn’t stand the true reality.” He looked thoughtful. “In some ways he’s even more conservative than you, Judy.”

“I’m the most liberal person you will ever meet, Zinman. I’m holding Helen back, aren’t I?”

Zinman gaped at Helen and shivered.

Judy leaned closer to him. “You’re frightened of the wrong person, Zinman,” she whispered. “Tell me. Did Kevin get you into one of his processing spaces?”

Zinman looked down. “He came to me in the atomic world. Back then, he was only an image in a viewing field. I was just the one person then, the atomic Zinman.”

“Why did he come to you?”

“He said he’d read my profile. He claimed to know what it was that I really wanted.”

“And what was that?”

“You know.” Zinman dropped his gaze. “What you said in there.”

“Dominance? Is that what he offered?” Judy tilted her head questioningly.

“Not as such…” Zinman said. “But pleasure, hedonism. The chance to live my dreams.”

The salt wind blew from the sea. Helen hardly noticed that she was shivering; she was too absorbed by the grey wreck of a man kneeling before her.

“ ‘The chance to live my dreams’? Tell me the truth, Zinman.”

“That is the truth!”

“So what were your dreams? Say the words.”

“Dominance,” Zinman said in a small voice. “Rape.”

Judy shot Helen a warning glare, but Helen just stood gazing, her arms firmly wrapped around her breasts, more for warmth than modesty.

“Kevin just seemed to know what I wanted, Judy. No offense, but he left Social Care standing. I didn’t know I had those wishes myself until he reached inside me and drew them out.”

“Zinman…” Judy warned.

“Okay, they were my wishes. I suspected they were there, but it was Kevin who gave me the chance to live them. He kindled the fire. There’s something about Kevin. You wouldn’t know unless you’d met him. He’s not like most people. He’s old-fashioned. Out of time, like he’s not really a man at all. More of a…” He looked at Helen and something awoke in his eyes. “Oh…” he began.

“Is he the one who persuaded you to make a personality construct of yourself?” Judy said quickly.

“Yes, I suppose he was,” Zinman said in some surprise. “I never thought about that before. I used to interface with his processing spaces from the atomic world, but Kevin persuaded me that it would be more satisfying if I was in there with the…clients.”

“Victims, Zinman. Say the word.”

“Victims.” A thought occurred to him, a difficult one. “He had me in his power as soon as I did that, didn’t he?”

“That will be something for you to think about later. Have you met Kevin since you had this PC made?”

“Oh, yes, many times. He used to come to my processing space all the time. Always with his servant in tow.”

“What did he come there for? Recreation?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think he got his kicks on a more mental plane than I did. He liked controlling people without having to touch them. Now there’s power.” He blinked, looking into Judy’s black eyes. “You’ve done something to me, haven’t you? It’s like I’m seeing things clearly for the first time.”

“I’m good at my job,” Judy said.

“You are. But you’re like Kevin, aren’t you? You’re doing to me what he does. You both manipulate people: get them to do what you want. Did the Watcher teach you that?”

“I’ve never met the Watcher.”

“No, but you follow its wishes.” Zinman shook his head. “That’s what I mean, Judy: we have no free will out here. We only do what we are told, whether we are aware of it or not.”

“I asked about Kevin,” Judy said. “If you wanted to, could you summon him?”

“Penumbra is the only place to live.” Zinman’s voice sounded slurred. He looked back and forth, trying to concentrate on something. “Kevin lives in the Shawl. He is made in the factory, over and over again. In the factory. Over and over again. Oh. I think I…Over and over…”

His voice faded away, leaving him staring into space.

“What have you done to him?” Helen asked.

“Nothing.” Judy frowned. “I think that something has been done to-Hold on.” She reached out and took hold of her console. “I’m calling up his VRep.”

She studied the shape that formed in the air before her: a loop of tape clunking round and round between two hemispheres. “But that’s impossible!” she murmured in disbelief. “I thought we cured that years ago.”

“Cured what?” Helen asked nervously.

“Recursion. The White Death. I guess Kevin didn’t want him telling us any more about how to find him. He got a recursive meme into Zinman’s head.” She bit her lip. “We’d better get back up to the Shawl. We’ll take the direct route. I want to talk this over with my sisters. There’s something strange going on here. I’m beginning to wonder about Kevin. I think there is more to this than just the Private Network.”

She stood up and made to go, but was halted by the expression on Helen’s face.

“What’s the matter?”

“Is he dead?” Helen stared at Zinman.

“Not exactly, but his mind is in a loop. I doubt if we can get it out of that.”

“Good,” said Helen. “He deserved it.”

“It’s not for us to say who deserves what,” Judy replied.

“Really. Except you, maybe?”

“No, not even me.”

Helen stared at Judy. “He was playing with my mind, wasn’t he? Literally shaping my thought patterns!”

“Not literally, Helen, but even as a PC your mind is dependent on your virtual body. People like Zinman are experts at warping your hormones and glands and sending your mind curving off down other paths.”

“And you let him do it!” Helen’s voice cracked.

“No, you let him do it. Helen, the next time you go to Penumbra, you won’t have me to look after you. You have to learn to handle these things on your own.”

Helen gazed deeply into Judy’s calm eyes. There was a tiny flicker there, just enough to convince Helen that her suspicions were correct.

“But that’s not all there was to it, is it, Judy? You liked what happened to me in there. You enjoyed watching them take me apart. You knew that you could stop them at any moment, so essentially I was safe, but even so, you let them do it.”

“I took no enjoyment in watching, Helen.”

“Hah! I don’t believe you. Watching is what you do, Judy. Like Zinman said, it’s how all the people in Social Care get their yayas.”

“We always accuse others of what we wish to do ourselves, Helen.”

“But that’s the point, Judy. I’ve done it all. You’re the one who hasn’t. You’re the virgin. You’re the one who gets her kicks by listening in to the illicit memories of others.”

She tore a last piece of rose thorn from her hair and flung it to the ground.

“I’m beginning to understand what Zinman was talking about. The Transition is a huge confidence trick. The Watcher has laid down the path that it wants us all to follow, and you willingly steer us along it saying it is for our own good. Hypocrites! You’re all hypocrites!”