Postsingular

"Sometimes they disappear from the tank on their own," said Craigor. "I had a dream that big, slow angels are poaching them. But it's hard to remember my dreams anymore. The kids always wake us up so early." He gave his daughter a kind pat. "Brats."

"Happy morning, it's the crackle of dawn," sang exuberant Bixie, then headed back to the other kids.

"You finally got webeyes too?" said Jil to Nektar. "I love mine. But if I forget to turn them off before falling asleep– ugh. Spammers in my dreams, not angels. I won't let my kids have webeyes yet. Of course for Chu-" She broke off, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

"Webeyes are perfect for Chu," said Nektar. "You know how he loves machines. He and Ond are alike that way. Ond says he was a little autistic too when he was a boy. Asperger's syndrome. Sometimes, as they get older, their brains heal." She blinked and stared off into the distance. "Mainly I got my web-eyes for my job." Now that Chu was getting along pretty well in his school, Nektar had taken a job as a prep cook in Puff, a trendy Valencia Street restaurant. "The main chef talked me into it. Jose. With webeyes, I can see all the orders, and track the supplies while I'm chopping."

"And I showed her how to tap into the feed from Chu's webeyes," said Ond. "You never quite know what Chu will do. He's not hanging over the rail like last time, is he, Nektar?"

"You could watch him yourself," said Nektar with a slight edge in her voice. "If you must know, Chu's checking the coordinates of Craigor's things with his global positioning locator. Momotaro's being the museum guide. And Bixie's hiding and jumping out at them. It must be nice to have kids that don't use digital devices to play." She produced a slender, hand-rolled, nonfilter cigarette from her purse. "As long as the coast is clear, let's have a smoke. I got this from Jose. He said it's genomically tweaked for guiltless euphoria-high nicotine and low carcinogens." Nektar gave a naughty smile. "Jose is so much fun." She lit the illegal tobacco.

"None for me," said Jil. "I quit everything when I got into recovery from sudocoke a few years back. I thought I told you?"

"Yes," said Nektar, exhaling. "Good for you. Did you have a big, dramatic turning point?"

"Absolutely," said Jil. "I was ready to kill myself, and I walked into a church, and I noticed that in the stained glass it said: God. Is. Love. What a concept. I started going to a support group, started believing in love, and I got well."

"And then the reward," said Craigor, winking at Nektar. "She met me. The answer to a maiden's prayer. It is written." Nektar smiled back at Craigor, letting the smoke ooze slowly from her film-star lips.

"I'll have a puff, Nektar," said Ond. "This might be the biggest day for me since three years ago when we reversed the nants."

"You already said that this morning," said Nektar, irritated by her husband. "Are you finally going to tell me what's going on? Or does your own wife have to sign a nondisclosure agreement?"

"Ond's on a secret project for sure," said Jil, trying to smooth things over. "I went to ExaExa to dance for a product-demo gig in their fab this week-I was wearing a transparent bu

"Jil looked sexy," said Ond in a quiet tone.

"What is a fab exactly?" asked Craigor. "I always forget."

"It's where they fabricate those round little biochips that go in computers," said Jil. "Most of the fab building is sealed off, with anything bigger than a carbon dioxide molecule filtered out of the air. All these big hulking tanks of fluid in there growing tiny precise biochips. The gene-manipulation tools can reach all the way down to the molecular level-it's nanotech." She fixed Ond with her bright gaze. "So what exactly are you working on, Ond?"

Ond opened his mouth, but couldn't quite spit out his secret. "I'm go

Bixie came skipping back, her dark straight hair flopping around her face. "Chu made a list of what Craigor moved since last time," she reported. "But I told Chu that my dad can leave his toys wherever he likes." She leaned against Jil, lively as a rubber ball. Jil often thought of Bixie as a small version of herself.

"We await Comptroller Chu's report," said Craigor. He was busy with the coals in a fanciful grill constructed from an oldtimey metal auto fender.

Chu and Momotaro came pounding into the cleared area together.

"A cuttlefish disappeared!" a

"First there were twenty-eight and then there were twenty-seven," said Chu. "I counted them on the way to the rear end of the boat, and I counted them again on the way to the front." He gave each word equal weight, like a robot text-reader.

"Maybe the cuttle flew away," said Momotaro. He put his fingers up by his mouth and wiggled them, imitating a flying cuttlefish.

"Two hundred and seventy tentacles in the tank now," added Chu. "Other news. Craigor's Chinese gong has moved forty-four centimeters aft. Two bowling balls are in the horse trough, one purple and one pearly. The long orange line painted on the deck has seventeen squiggles. The windmill's wire goes to a string of thirty-six crab-shaped Christmas lights that don't work. The exercise bicycle next to Craigor's workshop is-"

"I'm going to put our meat on the grill now," Craigor told Chu. "Want to watch and make sure nothing touches your pork medallions?"

"That goes without saying," said Chu. "But I'm not done listing the, uh-" Bixie, still slouching beside Jil's chair, had just stuck out her tongue at Chu, which made Chu stumble uncertainly to a halt.

"Just e-mail me the list," said Craigor with a wink at Bixie. But then, seeing Chu's crushed expression, he softened. "Oh, go ahead, tell me now. And no more rude faces, Bixie."

"Please don't cook any cuttlefish," said Chu.

"We aren't go

"Yes," said Chu. And then he recited the rest of his list while Craigor finished grilling.

The four adults and three children ate their meal, enjoying the red and gold sunset. "So how is the cuttlefish biz?" Ond asked as they worked through the pan of satsuma tiramisu that Nektar had brought for dessert.

"The license thing is coming to a head," said Jil. "Those electronic forms we were talking about. I've been trying to do them myself, but the feds' sites are all buggy and crashing and losing our inputs. It's like they want us to fail."

"I used to think the feds micromanaged independent fishermen like me so that they could tell the public they're doing something about invasive species," said Craigor. "But now I think they want to drive me out of business so they can sell my license to a big company that makes campaign contributions."