Realware

"Well, we -- um -- "

"We pretty much did everything in Tonga already," said Yoke.

"Did Phil come back too?" asked Randy.

"Not yet," said Cobb after a quick glance at Yoke.

"I hope you ain't go

"God damn you to hell, Cobb!" Randy picked up the wounded plastic chicken and cradled her to his chest. "Willa Jean's been my special pet since India!"

"She'll live," said Cobb. "You got any more of those xoxxin' leech-DIMs around here?"

Randy sullenly refused to answer, and Yoke got right into his face. "Phil told me you were bragging about leech-DIMs, Randy. If you have any, cough them up. I wasn't going to talk about it, but down in Tonga we saw some shit that--"

"What's all the psychodrama?" asked Babs Mooney, ambling out from the warehouse's colorful, fabric-hung depths. "You sound like a bunch of snap-heads!"

"Did Randy give you any leech-DIMs yet?" asked Yoke.

"Tomorrow Aarbie Kidd is supposed to -- "

"Call it off, Randy," said Cobb. "Or I'll tell Willy to disinherit you without a cent. Frankly, he'd love the excuse."

"Oh, fuck my ass and call me Barbie," said Randy. He sighed and made a voice co

"What excitement," said Babs, sitting down on a sofa. "Tell me what came down in Tonga. The way you two look, it must have been savage."

Yoke so much wanted to pour out her heart. She'd been meaning to uvvy her twin sister Joke on the Moon, but Babs was right here, and she was cozy and easy to talk to. And even Randy, in his oddball way, was comforting too. "Can you really really promise to keep a secret, Babs? Randy? Not tell a single soul outside this room?"

"I'll close the front door if you like," said Babs.

"You should," said Cobb. "If we're going to spill everything. And then you'll understand why I got so upset, Randy. I'm sorry about Willa Jean. I bet we can rig up a safe workaround. You don't need a full leech-DIM to remote-run a chicken, for God's sake. I'll help you design something simpler."

"Okey-doke," said Randy. "Hell, it's just as well not to be startin' up again with Aarbie Kidd."

So for the next two hours Yoke and Cobb told Babs and Randy the whole story of what had happened in Tonga. As they talked they made a supper of what Babs had around her kitchen: half a loaf of bread, a green pepper, jack cheese, old salsa, hibiscus tea, a liter of beer, and a gnawed Hershey bar. Cobb, of course, didn't eat anything, and he decorously held his pores closed so as not to exude an unappetizing smell.

"Show me how you make something with the alla," asked Babs when Yoke finished talking. It was dark outside and the kitchen was lit with candles.

"I don't want to," said Yoke. "Not today. I did it way too much this morning. The cubic meter of gold. Did I mention that I put Andy Warhol's signature on it?" She smiled and yawned, then got out the two sculptures wrapped in Phil's shirt. "These are more the kind of realware I'd like to get into." They looked good to her: the chunk of glass glinting in the candlelight, the ants shiny on the band of metal.

"Those are great, Yoke," said Babs, handling them. But Yoke could tell Babs wasn't all that impressed. Babs only liked art that did things.

"There's so many possibilities," said Yoke, ru

"Realware," said Babs. "I'd love to make some."

"I'd like to meet Shimmer," said Randy thoughtfully. "I bet she escaped the Cappy Janes. Shimmer can give an alla to most anyone she wants to, right? I wonder what I'd make with an alla?" Randy looked at the healed up Willa Jean in his lap and gave a country chuckle. "Maybe a sexier chicken."

"Randy!" said Babs.

"After Tonga, I think the best thing to make would be allas for everyone," said Cobb. "So people don't beg you and hassle you for things."

"Can you make an alla with an alla?" asked Babs.

"Josef said it was possible, but that the Metamartians don't want to tell us how," said Yoke. "And speaking of chickens, they put living things into their preprogrammed alla catalog too. Everything but moldies and people. I want to make a real reef and then try to limpware engineer an imipolex reef to copy it."

"I'm starting to think being a moldie is better than being flesh and blood," said Cobb. "By the way, Randy, you would have gone bananas over Vaana. Did I mention that we fucked?"

"How do moldies actually do it, Cobb?" asked Randy, his voice turning low and husky. "When it's just the two of you, one on one."

"I'm outta here," said Yoke, getting to her feet. "Can I sleep in the same place as before, Babs?"

"Sure. And I'm so sorry about Phil."

"Me too. Thanks." Yoke found her way to a foam mattress on the floor in a corner of the. warehouse, next to a giant red and purple wall-hanging. She took off her clothes and put on Phil's shirt to sleep in. She set Phil's fu

February 24

"Yoke?" "You're going to wake her?" "Shh!" "What's she going to say?" "This feels fine, doesn't it?" "I don't like being small." "Will she help us?" Yoke woke to the sound of mutterings, of squeals and hisses and a few very clear notes of tiny bird-song. Her eyes flickered open. For an instant she flashed back to a Christmas morning when Whitey and Darla had left her and her twin sister's new toys on the floor right by their beds. Today seven tiny live action figures were set out: a woman, a man, a unicorn, a beetle, a snake, a pig, and a mynah bird. Cute.

Yoke sleepily closed her eyes, drifting back toward her dreams.

"Did she see us?" "She's asleep again." "I thought she'd be scared." "I want to get big." "Wake her up!" "Where are we?" "Yoke!"

Yoke opened her eyes again. The seven little figures were still there. The Metamartians?!

"Good morning, Yoke," murmured little Shimmer, half the size of Yoke's thumb. The miniature woman, man, and five animals were crawling around on Phil's bean, which looked somewhat the worse for wear. There was a hole in each of its seven bulging seeds. Evidently the seven little figures had tu

"You stowed away," murmured Yoke.

"I knew you'd keep the bean," said Josef the beetle. Of all the Metamartians, he alone was the same size as before. "I showed the others how to make copies of themselves as small as me. And I copied myself too. We're the copies. We flew to your room and got inside your bean."

"Go away," said Yoke. "I don't want the powerball to eat me too." Wubwub answered. "Aw, we not go

Yoke sat up, fully waking. "I thought the Cappy Janes killed you. Cobb and I saw them burning you on the beach."

"We're copies," said Ptah. "Like Josef said. We left before the Cappy Janes got there. Our original selves died; they let themselves get killed so the Cappy Janes would think they'd won. We're seconds; well, actually, I'm a third. Like I told you when Om ate my first self, Yoke, losing a life isn't a big deal for us. Every day, every minute of my life on Metamars, I saw one of my time-lines end. Letting the Cappy Janes kill versions of us was a small price to pay so that we can observe your people in peace. Do you mind if we settle in here?"