Maria said, "I think I've finally got some work. If I didn't dream the whole thing."

"That's great! Who for?"

She described her meeting with Durham. The commission, the seed.

Aden said, "So you don't even know what he gets out of this -- except not-quite-proving some obscure intellectual point about evolution?" He laughed, incredulous. "How will you know if you've not-quite-proved it well enough? And what if Durham disagrees?"

"The contract is all in my favor. He pays the money into a trust fund before I even start. All I have to do is make a genuine effort to complete the project within six months -- and if there's any dispute, he's legally bound to accept an independent adjudicator's decision on what constitutes a 'genuine effort.' The expert system I hired gave the contract a triple-A rating."

Aden still looked skeptical. "You should get a second opinion; half the time those things don't even agree with each other -- let alone predict what would happen in court. Anyway, if it all goes smoothly, what do you end up with?"

"Thirty thousand dollars. Not bad, for six months' work. Plus computing time up to another thirty thousand -- billed directly to him."

"Yeah? How can he afford all this?"

"He's an insurance salesman. If he's good, he could be making, I don't know . . . two hundred grand a year?"

"Which is one hundred and twenty, after tax. And he's paying out sixty on this shit?"

"Yes. You have a problem with that? It doesn't exactly leave him poverty-stricken. And he could be earning twice as much, for all I know. Not to mention savings, investments . . . tax dodges. His personal finances are none of my business; once the money's in the trust fund, he can go bankrupt for all I care. I still get paid if I finish the job. That's good enough for me."

Aden shook his head. "I just can't see why he thinks it's worth it. There are God-knows-how-many-thousand Copies in existence, right now -- running half the biggest corporations in the world, in case you hadn't noticed -- and this man wants to spend sixty thousand dollars proving that artificial life can go beyond bacteria?"

Maria groaned. "We've been through this before. The Autoverse is not Virtual Reality. Copies are not the human equivalent of A. lamberti. They're a cheat, they're a mess. They do what they're meant to do, very efficiently. But there's no . . . underlying logic to them. Every part of their body obeys a different set of ad hoc rules. Okay, it would be insane to try to model an entire human body on a molecular level -- but if you're interested in the way fundamental physics affects biology, Copies are irrelevant, because they have no fundamental physics. The behavior of a Copy's neurons doesn't arise from any deeper laws, it's just a matter of Some "rules for neurons" which are based directly on what's known about neurons in the human body. But in the human body, that behavior is a consequence of the laws of physics, acting on billions of molecules. With Copies, we've cheated, for the sake of efficiency. There are no molecules, and no laws of physics; we've just put in the net results -- the biology -- by hand."

"And that offends your aesthetic sensibilities?"

"That's not the point. Copies have their place -- and when the time comes, I'd rather be a software mongrel than dead. All I'm saying is, they're useless for telling you what kind of physics can support what kind of life."

"A burning question of our time."

Maria felt herself flush with anger, but she said evenly, "Maybe not. I just happen to find it interesting. And apparently Paul Durham does too. And maybe it's too abstract a question to qualify as science . . . maybe working in the Autoverse is nothing but pure mathematics. Or philosophy. Or art. But you don't seem to have any qualms about spending a year in Seoul, practicing your own useless artform at the Korean taxpayers' expense."

"It's a private university."

"Korean students' expense, then."

"I never said there was anything wrong with you taking the job -- I just don't want to see you get screwed if this man turns out to be lying."

"What could he possibly have to gain by lying?"

"I don't know -- but I still don't see what he has to gain if he's telling the truth." He shrugged. "But if you're happy, I'm happy. Maybe it'll all be okay. And I know, the way things are going, you can't afford to be picky."

Picky? Maria started laughing. Discussing this on Aden's terms was ridiculous. Durham wasn't stringing her along, wasting her time; he was absolutely serious -- his notes proved that. Three hundred pages -- months of work. He'd taken the plan as far as he could, short of learning the intricacies of the Autoverse himself.

And maybe she still didn't understand his motives -- but maybe there was nothing to be "understood." When she'd been immersed in his notes, there'd been no mystery at all. On its own terms, Durham's plan was . . . natural, obvious. An end in itself, requiring no dreary explanation rooted in the world of academic glory and monetary gain.

Aden said, "What's so funny?"

"Never mind."

He shifted in the chair, and looked at her oddly. "Well, at least you won't have to spend all your time in Seoul looking for work, now. That would have been a bore."

"I'm not going to Seoul."

"You're joking."

She shook her head.

"What's the problem? You can do this job anywhere, can't you?"

"Probably. Yes. I just --"

Maria felt a twinge of uncertainty. He seemed genuinely hurt. He'd made it clear that he'd go without her, if he had to -- but that was understandable. Composer-in-residence was his perfect job -- and she had nothing to weigh against that, nothing to lose by accompanying him. He might have put his position more diplomatically, instead of making her feel like optional baggage -- but that was neither proof that he was trying to drive her away, nor an unforgivable crime in itself. He was tactless sometimes. She could live with that.

"What's wrong with you? You'd love it in Seoul. You know you would."

She said, "I'd love it too much. There'd be too many distractions. This project is going to be hard work, the hardest thing I've ever done, and if I can't give it all my attention, it's going to be impossible." It had started as an ad lib excuse, but it was true. She had six months, if not to build a world, at least to sketch one; if she didn't eat, sleep and breathe it, it would never come together, it would never come to life.

Aden snorted. "That's ludicrous! You don't even have to write a program that runs. You said yourself, as long as you make a reasonable effort, whatever you hand over will be good enough. What's Durham going to say? 'Sorry, but I don't think this slime mould would ever invent the wheel'?"

"Getting it right matters to me."

Aden said nothing. Then, "If you want to stay behind because of your mother, why can't you just say so?"

Maria was startled. "Because it's not true."

He stared at her angrily. "You know, I was going to offer to stay here with you. But you didn't want to talk about it."

Maria untangled that. "That's what you came here to tell me? That if I planned to stay in Sydney because of Francesca, you'd turn down the job in Seoul?"

"Yes." He said it as if it should have been obvious to her all along. "She's dying. Do you think I'd walk off and leave you to cope with that alone? What kind of shit do you think I am?"

She's not dying; she's going to be scanned.

But she didn't say that. "Francesca doesn't care if I go or stay. I offered to move in with her, but she doesn't want to be looked after by anyone. Let alone by me."

"Then come to Seoul."

"Why, exactly? So you won't feel bad about leaving me? That's what it all comes down to, isn't it? Your peace of mind."