Glasshouse

"But the rules—"

"They're discretionary," says Vhora. "To prod the subjects toward behaving in character, they get points for behaving in ways in keeping with what we know about dark ages society, and they lose points for behaving wildly out of character. Points are convertible into extra bonus money when the experiment ends. That's all."

I stare at the meso. "How do you know that?" I ask.

"I read the protocol." Vhora manages an impish smirk. "They want to make people cooperate and behave consistently without being prescriptive. After all, in every society people transgress whatever rules there are, don't they? It's a matter of balancing costs with benefits."

"But it's just a points system," I say.

"Yes. So you can tell if you're doing well or badly, I suppose."

"That's a relief," Kay murmurs. She holds me tight. The afternoon sunlight in the forest glade is soft and yellow, and while there's a buzzing and rasping of insects in the background, the biome leaves us alone. Li

"Yes, I think so." I help her to her feet, and she in turn helps me up.

"Nice of you to visit," purrs Vhora, shivering visibly as Li

"Thank you for the offer, but no," Kay says carefully, "I have a therapy appointment in a kilosec. Maybe some other time."

"Goodbye then," says Li

"Too bad about the therapy session," I say, once we're through the first gate and round the first corner. I hold my hand out, and she takes it. "I was hoping we could spend some time together."

Kay squeezes my hand. "What kind of therapy did you have in mind?"

"You mean you—"

"Hush, silly. Of course I lied! Did you think I was going to share you with ponygirl back there?"

I turn and back her against the wall, and suddenly she's all around me, greedy hands grasping and stroking and squeezing. Her mouth tastes of Kay and lunchtime spices, indescribable and exotic.

SOMETIME later we surface in a privacy bower in a restery neither of us knows, somewhere in the Green Maze, sweaty and naked and tired and elated. I've had sex with Kay in her private naked orthobody before, but this is different. She can do things with those four cu

Afterward, she rolls away from me, and I cradle her in my arms.

"They don't take couples," she says quietly.

"You said I need to go."

"That's true." She sounds tranquil about it. I don't know, I haven't asked—but is this simply an extended fling?

"I don't have to go."

"If you're in danger, I'd rather you were safe."

I cup her breast, one-handed. She shivers.

"I'd rather I was safe, too. But with you."

"We'd be in different bodies," she murmurs. "We probably wouldn't even recognize each other."

"Would you be all right like that?" I ask anxiously. "If you're shy—"

"I can pretend it's an extended disguise. I've done it before, remember."

Oh. "We'd have to lie." It slips out without my willing it.

"Why?" she asks. "We aren't actually a couple"—my heart skips a beat—"not yet."

"Are you mono? Or poly?" I ask.

"Both." Her nipple tightens under my fingertips. "It's easier to handle the emotional balance with just one partner, though." I feel her back tense slightly. "Do you get jealous?"

I have to think hard about it. "I don't think so, but I'm not certain. I don't remember enough to be sure. But . . . back there, when Li

"Good." She begins to roll over toward me, then pushes herself up on all her arms and climbs across me until she's on top, hanging there like the spider goddess of earthly delights. "Then we won't be lying, exactly, if we tell them we aren't in a long-term relationship. Promise you'll look me up when we get inside? Or afterward, if you can't find me? Or if you end up not going inside after all?"

I stare into her eyes from a distance of millimeters, seeing hunger and desire and insecurity mirrored there. "Yes," I say, "I promise."

The spider goddess approves; she descends to reward her mate, holding him spread-eagled with four arms as she goes to work on him with her mouthparts and remaining limbs. While for his part, the male wonders if this is going to be their last time together.

AS I make my solitary way home from our assignation, someone tries to murder me.

I still haven't taken a backup, despite what I told Piccolo-47. It seems a somewhat irrevocable step, signifying my acceptance of my new state. Backing up your identity adds baggage, just as much as memory excision sheds it. In my case, however, it seems that I really should take a backup as soon as I get back to my room. It would probably hurt Kay if I were to die now and revert to the state I was in before we became involved, and not causing her pain has become important to me.

Maybe that's why I survive.

After we leave the restery we split up, with a shy wave and a glistening look for each other. Kay has a genuine therapy session to go to, and I am trying to hold myself to a routine of reading and research that demands I put in at least ten more kilosecs this diurn. We take our leave reluctantly, raw with new sensibilities. I'm still not sure how I feel, and the thought of going into the experimental polity worries me (will she recognize me? Will I recognize her? Will we care for each other in our assigned new forms and point-scoring roles?), but still, we're both mature adults. We have independent lives to lead. We can say goodbye if we want to.

I don't want company right now (apart from Kay's), so I tell my netlink to anonymize me as I head home via the graph of T-gates that co

But not recognizing people is not the same as not knowing somebody is there, and you have to be able to dodge passersby even if you can't tell who they are. About halfway home I realize that one of the fogpillars is following me, usually a gate or two behind. How interesting, I tell myself as reflexes I didn't know I had kick in. They're clearly aware that I've got anonymity switched on, and it seems to be giving them a false sense of security. I tell my netlink to tag the fogpillar with a bright red stain and keep my positional sense updated with it. You can do this without breaking anonymity—it's one of the oldest tricks in the track and trail book. I carry on, taking pains to give no hint that I've recognized my shadow.

Rather than retracing the route we took through the Green Maze, I head directly toward my apartment's corridor. The fogpillar follows me, and I casually ease my left hand into the big hip pocket on my jacket, feeling my way through the spongy manifold of T-gates inside it until I find the right opening.

I'm walking along the nave of altars in the temple of the skeletal giants when my tail makes its move. There's nobody else about right now, which is probably why they pick this particular moment. They lunge toward me, thinking I can't see them, but the tag my netlink has added to their fogpillar gives them away—I've got a ru