Sturm hesitated slightly before he answered. He looked almost sad, as though constantly perplexed by the depths of corporate perfidy.

"Well, Bones, the truth is that there never will be any report. It's like our friend in the pit said. They bought the government."

A medium shot of the pit going ape was followed by a close-up of Renfield starting to inflate.

"That's slander."

Sturm treated Renfield to a look of total contempt. "So sue me. You know damn well that nobody in CM gives a two-cent damn about the long-term effects of the feelies. What do you call the people that you've sold feelies to? Stiffs. Am I right? That's how you refer to your valued clients, isn't it?" He turned to the mob. Sturm was a master at reducing even complex problems down to bite-sized dramatic pieces. "There are two categories. Tempstiffs, the short-term contracts, and permastiffs, the ones who've gone in for life. Stiffs. Think about it."

He addressed the camera directly. "How can anything be of social benefit when it takes perfectly good minds and reduces them to dreaming zombies? That's worse than any kind of dope you can get on the street. All I can say is thank God it's the rich folks that are getting fucked up for a change."

The pit was howling. A kid tried to scale the wall to get to Renfield, but Bones's security moved in and pushed him back. Bones's security was made up of big steroid types. They wore white T-shirts and black pants. The words DON'T FUCK WITH MR. ZERO were printed across their T-shirts. There was a new weird slogan for each show. Kids in the street copied them onto their own shirts.

Sturm pointed an accusing finger. "All these bastards at CM want to know about is their goddamn profits." He looked to the mob and produced a sheaf of papers. "You want me to read a bit from their annual report?"

Renfield struggled to be heard. "Since when was it a crime in this country to make a profit? We have worked in full cooperation with the unions to insure-"

He was howled down.

At that point, Mallory came out of the bedroom. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Dustin looked up, almost guiltily. "Just watching TV."

"My God, Dustin, you're watching Bones Bolt and Mark Sturm. The next thing, you'll be watching 'Wildest Dreams.' Have you gone crazy? Do you realize how this makes me feel?"

Dustin sighed and thumbed the power off. If he didn't go to bed, he would never hear the last of it. As he stood up, he wondered what it would be like to just sink into a feelie and not have to deal with the rest of the world.

"YOU REALIZE THAT WE AIN'T SEEN Artie in something like three days?"

Sam squinted into the far distance of the vault, as though he expected Artie suddenly to appear because he'd noticed his absence. Ralph shrugged and picked up his broom.

"His goofing off will get him fired, one of these days."

"The union won't let him get fired, will they, Ralph?" Sam looked mildly concerned for Artie.

Ralph leaned on his broom. "The union won't do nothing for him if they find out he's missing off the job more times than he shows up. He'll be out on his ass, and nobody'll say a word."

Sam scratched his armpit with a perplexed air. "That'd be too bad."

Ralph blinked. "Huh?"

"It'd be a shame if they fired Artie."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" Sam appeared to be shocked. "I mean, he's our partner. We work with him. I'd miss him if he got fired."

"But we never see him. How the hell can you miss a guy you don't ever see, for Christ's sake?"

"I'd miss not knowing if he was around somewhere. I guess you could say I'd miss not seeing him."

"You know something, Sam?"

"What, Ralph?"

"You ain't fucking normal, Sam. You ain't normal at all." Ralph pushed his broom idly under one of the feelie cabinets.

Sam stood staring at him. "Wouldn't you miss Artie if he got fired?"

"Like hell I would. He's a fucking psycho and he gives me the creeps, prowling around here, out of sight. God knows what he does out there."

"You think he does all those things he tells us about? You think he's really interfering with the women?!!"

Ralph shrugged. "I don't know if he's raping the stiffs or not. I've never seen any signs of it."

"You never move more than a couple of rows from here. He could be doing all kinds of weird shit in other parts of the vault."

Ralph smiled. "You have just had a very profound thought, Sam."

Sam looked pleased and embarrassed. "I did, Ralph?"

"You forgot something, though."

Sam's face sagged. "I did?"

"If he was messing with the stiffs, they'd monitor something upstairs. He'd have to be pretty smart to unseal the cabinet, open the body bag, and fuck the stiff without unhooking some of the tubes or wires. He'd even have to put the body bag back on and seal the cabinet again. He'd have to be pretty smart."

"Artie's quite smart."

"He couldn't go on fucking stiff after stiff without messing something up."

"Even if he did, they might not notice."

"Sure they'd notice. You know they monitor every stiff."

"They didn't notice that stiff that died on us."

Ralph looked quite shocked. "How come you're so fucking smart today?''

"I don't know. Think I ought to take something?"

Ralph was at a loss for words. He wasn't sure he liked this particular version of Sam. Before he could think about it, the phone on the wall rang. At least Sam didn't move toward the phone. Talking to the upstairs was traditionally Ralph's job. Ralph picked it up.

"Bringing down a new client."

"Right now?"

The voice took on a sarcastic edge. "You busy or something?"

Ralph scowled into the phone. "Anytime you like."

"They're on their way."

The connection clicked off, and Ralph hung up. He looked at Sam, who seemed to have come out in a puzzled expression.

"New stiff."

"What?"

"They're bringing down a new stiff from the upstairs."

"A lifer?"

"What else would it be in this section?"

Sam looked around and scratched his head. "I don't see where they're going to put it."

"They'll put it in the cabinet they just took the dead one out of.''

"But they didn't do anything to the cabinet. It could be faulty."

"So who gives a fuck?"

"But if the last one died, so could this one."

"You're really being profound today."

Sam looked scared. "I gotta take a Serenax."

He fumbled in his overalls. Ralph leaned on his broom and stared into space. Sam gulped down his pill. Ralph began to hurt for a drink, but he couldn't risk it right now. If the installation crew showed up and caught him with a bottle, it would be him out on his ass instead of Artie. He wasn't quite at the point where he didn't care.

When Sam finally broke the silence his voice was slurred. "I wonder what it'll be like."

Ralph was too busy wondering when Sam would finally take an overdose to hear the remark. "Huh?"

"I said I wonder what it'll be like."

"What what will be like?"

"What the new stiff will be like."

"You interested?"

Sam hesitated. "Yeah… sure I am."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on. You've got to know. What's so fucking interesting about a stiff? Huh?"

Sam twisted about uncomfortably. "I…"

"Yeah?"

"I suppose I like to think about what they've given up."

Ralph's face curled into a bullying sneer. "You sure you ain't getting the same itch as your good buddy Artie?"

Sam became indignant. "I ain't sure I like that, Ralph."

Ralph let loose all his needing-a-drink spite on Sam. "Want to get in and fool around with them cold ladies, do you, Sam?"

Sam went bright red. "You got a foul mouth, Ralph."