Realware

The streetcar with its moldie conductor came clanking up then. Cobb and the five young people got aboard. Phil ended up between Yoke and Cobb.

"Do you think I smell bad?" Cobb asked Phil.

"Of course," said Phil. "That's the way moldies are."

"Well then, that's another problem I want to work on," said Cobb. "Besides more housing. I want to make moldies smell good. I bet a little biotech research could do it. The moldies just haven't bothered to fix their smell before because they don't care. What if the moldies made themselves smell good and built a whole lot of free housing!"

"Maybe Cobb should run for mayor of San Francisco," said Yoke. "He's friends with ex-Senator Mooney, you know. Babs's and Saint's dad."

"I've got a new life and I want to help people," said Cobb. "A moldie run for an election?" exclaimed Phil. "You'd get all the moldie votes, but that's ten percent of the city at best. What human would vote for a moldie? Even if you did used to be a person. And you've only been in San Francisco for, what, two days? Talk about a carpetbagger!"

"Well, it would be very popular to help people find housing," said Babs. "That's like the biggest problem. Cobb could win a lot of votes by fixing up abandoned warehouses."

"Are you rich, Cobb?" asked Onar.

"I don't actually own much of anything," said Cobb. "My estate was divvied up a long time ago. My grandson Willy is wealthy, though I doubt he'd be much interested in this issue. But even without money, I have a very high recognition factor. As a politician I could act as a 'facilitator.' " Cobb smirked a little at the bogus word. "How about this?" he added, and started up a series of impressions, changing his voice and features to resemble half-remembered images of dead Presidents. "The last four letters of 'American' are 'I can.' Mo' folks, mo' better. Ask not--"

"Stow it, Cobb," said Yoke, cutting him off. "Presidents suck." They got off the streetcar a block from Babs's warehouse, and the five humans ran there, with Cobb bouncing along next to them, hitting every puddle on the way. The i

Cobb sat quietly on the couch, taking everything in. He'd tightened up his body so that he was dense and practically odorless.

Onar found a great sheet of piezoplastic in Babs's supplies and flopped it out onto an open space on the floor. With a deft move of his long fingers, Onar pinched off a bit of his own uvvy to make a receiver-DIM which he affixed to the big sheet of plastic. Now the imipolex came alive with colors and shapes: some abstract, some like cartoon images and blurred photographs, all coming directly from Onar's brain. Saint put on his uvvy and got in on the act too, moving around playing air guitar and sending thought-sounds to the blanket of piezoplastic. The great sheet began to buzz and vibrate like a giant speaker, its rapid undulations sending out Saint's brain-made music. It sounded like spacey horns with cymbals and heavy-metal guitars. Everyone watched and listened in fascination, everyone except Phil, who kept worrying about how to get Yoke's attention.

Finally, Phil distracted Yoke by getting Babs to show off her old worm-farm, which was a big layer of humus between two transparent plastic walls. If you shone lights against a wall, the lavender, red-banded worms would appear, writhing up against the plastic.

"I have some smart imipolex worms mixed in," said Babs. "There goes one." A gold flicker went writhing past. "You can actually uvvy into them to get a worm's eye view if you like."

Now Babs went to get a beer, and Phil took the opportunity to get Yoke to step outside alone with him. It had stopped raining and there was some dramatic moonlight in the clouds. "If you're interested, Yoke," said Phil, "we could take a little walk and I could show you where I live. It's not far from here. My housemate Calla has a big fabricant DNA sculpture, and Derek makes machines that do things with colored air. I have some toy blimps I made in my room. Would you like to come look at them?"

"What will Kevvie say?" asked Yoke.

"I don't think she's home," said Phil. "She was going to do something with Klara Bio tonight."

"Her friend the sex worker!" said Yoke. "I remember."

"Kevvie and I aren't totally linked or anything," said Phil, feeling himself blush. "We just happen to --

"Live with each other," said Yoke. "Like an old married couple. Babs said you've been together for over a year. I was asking her about you."

"I'd leave Kevvie for you in a minute, Yoke," blurted Phil. "I can't stop thinking about you." There was something about Yoke -- her smell, her voice, the way she moved, the things she said--she fit into Phil's heart like a key in a lock.

Yoke widened her eyes and arched her eyebrows. She slipped her hand into Phil's.

"So show me where you live."

It was a beautiful night. The moon floated out from behind the drifting clouds; it was nearly full. "Where exactly on the Moon are you from?" asked Phil.

"I was talking to Terri about that yesterday," said Yoke. "She was showing me how you mudders think there's a face in the Moon. And for everyone it's different. To me it looks like a girl. And if you see it that way, then Einstein would be just at the bottom of her left eye. Which is the Sea of Tranquility."

"I've always thought the Moon looked like a smiling pig," said Phil. "With a snaggle snout."

They walked a block and turned a corner. It was dark and quiet, with calm puddles staring up at the night sky. "I feel like my father's up there," said Phil. "Hanging in the sky like an ornament. His face looking down."

"I can feel Ma like that too," said Yoke. "Dear, loud Darla. I feel kind of weird about my pop's plan to bring her back. That's not really, truly going to be Darla. I mean, don't you think there's such a thing as a soul?" Yoke sighed and looked at the sky. "The dead are kind. They want us to live. You have to believe that."

"I want to. The last time I saw my father, I fought with him. He always wanted me to be a scientist instead of a cook. He was needling me. I lost it. I told him I hated him for leaving my mother, and that his work was stupid. And then, bam, he started crying. I couldn't deal. I left. And that was the last time I ever saw him. I need to feel like he forgives me."

"Then you have to forgive him. Forgive him so you can forgive yourself." Silently, Phil tried the notion on. He let forgiveness fill him; and it felt like unwrapping a rusty wire from around his heart. "This is good, Yoke, this helps." It was wonderful to be with this girl. Nobody had ever understood him so well before.

Yoke stood quietly next to him, her face turned up toward the sky--or toward him. Phil decided to try and kiss her. But just then a high ecstatic yodeling caught Yoke's attention and made her draw away.

"What is that?" she asked. "It's coming from those colored lights way down at the end of the block. Is that a ship?"

"It's an abandoned ship that's stuck in the mud at a slip right across from my warehouse," said Phil. "The Snooks family lives there. A big nest of moldies. They're betty-lifters, cheeseball whores, camote dealers, way xoxxy. If old Cobb wonders why most people don't like moldies, he should get to know the Snookses."