It seemed like I slept for the next thirty hours, although I remember various combinations of my Toxic Co-workers turning up a few times to get in a little perfectly casual debriefing. Boyle reminded me a few times that everything I’d learned in AD 664 was the property of the Warren Corporation. I’d gotten cranky and Marena’d tried, with only some success, to act as the peacemaker. Lindsay checked in and Marena and I both talked with him on speakerphone. I was a little surprised that she didn’t want to talk with him privately. He smarmed on about how great it was to have me back. Then he asked whether I’d seen any Hebrews there. Marena and I rolled our eyes. It’s a Mormon thing.

I said, “No, you over me, I saw none.”

“Well, they must have been there someplace.”

We sat down with two double espressos after that.

“Can you tell me about Tony Sic now?”

Marena said, “I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“Try.”

“He had serious financial problems. Like the suicide bombers, his large family has been amply taken care of.”

“Why do I get, like, almost none of him? I got a lot of Chacal.”

“Because, you know, with Sic the CTP team was working directly with the two brains on the table, at the same time. With Chacal there was physical distance, there was a, a humongous time distance-”

“Okay, I know, I know,” I said. It’s true, I was just whining. The thing was, in spite of the video, Sic’s motivation in sacrificing himself was still something of a mystery to me. Maybe I’m just too much of a jerk to ever understand.

It was the thirty-first, around eight P.M. Halloween Night. Max wasn’t going out trick-or-treating. I guess that was one of those things that, now, seemed like giving the kids realistic toy guns. He was going to a midnight Harry Potter party, though, and he was in his Dementor outfit, minus the face hood.

“So, you don’t like the Domino’s theory?” Marena asked us. I think she meant the pizza. Maybe she’d asked me about it before and I didn’t remember.

“Anything’s fine,” I said.

Max made his two index fingers take a halt-step, the left one after the right one. It was the ASL sign for lame.

“Okay,” Marena said. She floofed down between Max and me on the Chickly Shabby sofa. She was in blue Skele-Toes and a sort of fire-orange triangular shirtwaist. “Well, we could just order from Silk Thai.”

“Is that the place with the fried water?” Max asked.

“No, that’s the one with the Ho Mok, you know, the fish curry?”

“Oh, yeah, right-what’s that thing, like, million-year-old eggs?”

She finger-scrolled down on her tablet. “Uh, that’s, that’s Khai Yiao Ma Phat Kraphao Krop.”

“And what’s that yellow spread stuff?”

“Uh, that’s Nam Prik Kaeng,” she said, a bit suspiciously.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s get that, and, uh, one Mok Yak Prik-”

“Maxie, don’t even start.”

“Or Uncle Jed might enjoy the Dum Ho Poon.”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Hey, do they make that, uh, Dark Drab Krap?”

“Oh, sure,” he said. “And the Nip Suk Dik is very nice-”

“Hey, Maximilian,” Marena said. “I’m serious.”

“And they do a fine Pak Man Kum,” he said, “very high-protein-”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s a bit umami for my palate,” I said. “But if they have an Ai Kyu Gap, or, uh, Sik Phat Phuk, then-”

“You guys, I’m not kidding,” Marena said. “If you don’t knock it off I’m going to text Seoul Train and order some Bibimbap and that’ll be it. And there’s nothing else in the house.”

“No, no, okay,” Max said. “Sorry. So, we agree on two bowls of Pak Man Kum, and my Mom’ll have a Kwik Rim Job, and, uh-”

“And one Gook Lik Kok,” I said.

“Hey!” she went.

I said sorry.

“Listen, Max,” she said. “ Serieusement. Do you think you could just order a family-style vegetarian selection and do the order like a responsible adult?”

“Sure. “

“Okay.”

“No Bung Plug Krak.”

“Max!”

“Okay, okay, jeez.”

“You want to call them on the MasterCard phone?”

“Yeah, where is it?”

“It’s on Kitchen Island. In the Drawer of Many Things.”

He Sleeked off.

Damn, I can’t believe how domesticated I am, I thought. Well, believe it. The deal is, after two and a half days, anything seems normal. If I’d woken up with the head of a chicken, the tail of a beaver, the eyes of a gigantic insect, and the body of Megan Fox, it’d seem normal. Or the body of a chicken and the beaver of-I mean, anything. Being in yet another different body was one of those things like scuba diving or flying that for a long, long time people tried to imagine what it would be like to do, and then when they finally do it, it seems natural. It’s not that it’s so different from what at least a few of them had imagined, but since they’d imagined it in so many different ways, and some people had such high and varying hopes for it, there’s always a touch of disappointment. And there was always that feeling of something in back of my mind, something small but still a deal breaker, like a mosquito in the room.

“Marena, seriously,” I said when Max was out of earshot. “I want to meet Jed-Sub-One early.”

“Let’s stick to the schedule,” she said. She still hadn’t told Jed 1 anything about me. At least, she’d sworn up and down that she hadn’t. The idea was that I should have my own head totally in order first, because of course he’d want to meet me and if he saw me all messed up then he’d get upset. But I also figured that they had some other, more serious reason.

“We still need to satisfy Lance on the debriefing.” she said. “Then we can do whatevs.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

“What did Dr. Lisuarte say?” I asked. Marena’d just been on the picture conference thingy with her.

“Well-look. I have to let you know, the readings indicate that there’s a lot you’re not telling us.”

“There was a lot that went on back there.”

“I know, but you’ll have to force yourself,” she said.

I was about to say I didn’t have to do anything, and then I didn’t, and just made a puffing sound. There was still that mosquitoish thought back there someplace. Or maybe it was more of a feeling like you’re falling asleep in a house in the country and you start wondering whether you locked the door. You decide to forget about it and nearly drift off and then you get this picture of a door that’s just a little bit ajar, and you’re like, Forget it, forget it (ajar). Good night (ajar, ajar).

“Look,” I said. “Why don’t we call-”

There was an A-flat and F chime. Doorbell. Automatically-it must have been Sic’s body memory, because normally I just lie there like a two-toed sloth-I got up. “Wait, let the Gurg get it,” Marena said.

“No, I’ve got it,” I said. I got into the front room about fifteen steps ahead of Gurgle-maybe he wasn’t that on the ball after all-and opened it just as whoever it was started to knock again. I opened my mouth to say hi Whoa. Me. I mean, it was me. There was my gangly body and corny expectant smile, wiggling a bit in the video-friendly porch light.

“Hey, Tony,” he said. “Hi.”

“… Uh, hi,” I said. “Hi, Jed.”

I motioned him inside and made a feeble gesture at the coatrack. I don’t know what I was thinking because of course, like me, he’d want to keep his coat in this icebox.

“I’m in the orifice,” Marena’s voice called. I was pretty sure she was watching us-it seemed like she had cameras in every other Robie sconce-but she sounded casual, not at all worried that I was out here with her gentleman caller. Impotently, I followed protocol and pointed Jed 1 toward the door to the living room, and watched as Marena swept across the room and planted-is that the right word? — her lips on his. Max Sleeked through the hall and vaulted over the desk. Marena gave me a funny look, held up a wait-one-minute finger, and closed the door in my face. I guess I hadn’t changed that much, after all. Big tough Jed, back from Mayaland.