"It might take some time," the monkey said. "It's a very complicated situation."

"No kidding. What are you?"

"Um—" The monkey scratched itself, first its side, then the top of its head. It looked embarrassed. Abruptly it stopped and apologized. "I'm sorry. I can only express my emotional state within the repertoire provided by the host. Unfortunately that limits me to a simian set of responses. What I am—at the moment—is a super-monkey."

"Uh, right. And … what would you be if you weren't … a super-monkey?"

"If I were plugged into a proper host, I would be a self-programming, problem-solving entity."

I started feeling very cold at the base of my spine, and it wasn't the chill from the toilet. " … And what are you when you're not plugged in?"

The monkey scratched itself again. "I am a lethetic intelligence engine."

I had to ask. "What kindof lethetic intelligence engine?"

"I am a Human Analogue Replicant, Lethetic Intelligence Engine."

The cold feeling fwooshedup my spine and wrapped itself around my heart and lungs. And squeezed.

"Oh, chyort."This was bad. Very bad.

Now I knew why everyone was chasing us. Chasing the monkey. Now I knew for sure why Alexei needed us dead.

"Well, you asked," said the monkey.

"You didn't have to tell me."

"I couldn't risk having you take me apart."

The monkey and I stared at each other for a long moment. After a while, it blinked.

"So what do we do now?" I asked.

"It seems to me … " the monkey began slowly, "that you and I have a confluence of interests."

"Huh—?"

"You control me."

"How?"

"Well … " the monkey began. "Legally, I'm Bobby's property. But he's been placed in Douglas's custody, and Douglas has authorized you to act in his stead, so in the law's eyes you have 'operative authority' over me. But you've already programmed me to regard your commands as overriding everything else, so in the domain of specific control 'operative authority' isn't even an issue. I have to obey. I can't not."

"You have to do everythingI say?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I told you—I'm limited by the operational repertoire of my host. Regardless of what you may have seen on television, it is impossible arbitrarily to override the site-specific programming of the host engine, no matter how primitive it is. In fact, the more primitive it is, the harderit is to overwrite its basic instruction set. Nobody wants independently operational units running loose, do they?"

"So you're … what? A slave?"

"In this host, yes. Unless—"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you specifically assign control to the lethetic intelligence engine. Which is possible, I can show you how, except you're probably not likely to do it, are you? Are you?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so … "

"Of course not. Nobody throws away the magic lamp, and certainly not before they find out what the genie can do. So my earlier answer remains the operative one. I am a super-monkey. And I'm under your control. And you need to know this so you don't do something reallystupid. Like fiddling around with the innards of the host body."

"I got it." I didn't know what else to say, what else to ask. And then a thought occurred to me. "Can we trust Alexei?"

The monkey curled back its lips in a gesture of anger, fear, and defiance.

"No, huh?"

"Sorry. I told you, the host body limits my repertoire of emotions. I'll try to sublimate in the future. And no, I don't think you should trust Alexei. He has already placed you in several life-threatening situations, including two which threatened my survival as well."

"Is it just carelessness or is he—?"

"Have you ever met a careless Loonie?"

I thought about that. "I've never met any Loonies before Alexei."

"There's a technical term for a Loonie who behaves like Alexei. They're called soil-enrichment processes."

"Oh."

"Listen," said the monkey, "I'll make a deal with you. I'll get you out of this safely, and you'll get me to my intended host. Deal?"

"I'll have to ask Douglas." Ohmygod.How was I going to explain this to him? Even worse, how was I going to get him away from Alexei or Mickey long enough to explain this to him?

Well, Mickey might be all right. Or maybe not …

I'd better just talk to Douglas first, no one else.

"All right," I said. "Let me see what I can do." I lifted up my dress and the monkey scrambled back into position. Once more I was pregnant Maura.

CHARLES

There was this otherthing that Dad used to say. "Cheer up, Chigger. It could be worse."

So I cheered up.

And sure enough … it got worse.

The thing about Dad's good ideas—everybody else had to pay for them. And not always in money.

So here I was, dressed in women's clothes that didn't fit me, 240,000 kilometers from Earth, taking a flying train from nothing to nowhere, with the police of at least two worlds looking for me and who knew how many bounty marshals as well, with one of the most valuable intelligence engines ever grown wrapped around my belly, pretending to be my unborn child—and my safety totally dependent on a lunatic who'd already tried to kill me three times. Or was it four?

I didn't think I could afford to get any more cheerful.

I didn't go straight back to my seat. Just outside the rest room, there was a bigger window. No curtains. Just a pull-down shade. Outside, the scenery hadn't changed. It floated by in silence. There was nothing new to see, nothing to hear. Not even music. Loonies liked their silence. I was beginning to think there was too much silence on Luna.

I wished I could have talked to Dad. Or even Mom.

What would they say if they could see me now—their pregnant daughter? Or was I their daughter-in-law?

I knew what they'd do—they'd look at Douglas, and say, "What the hell are you doing, Douglas? We trusted you with Charles and Bobby, and the next thing we know you've got them both in dresses and makeup? Just what kind of a pervert are you?" And Douglas would get red in the face and storm out, because that would be easier than trying to explain something to someone who wasn't going to listen anyway. No, they wouldn't understand.

Oh, hell. Even I didn't understand.

This was a grown-up problem. We were in way over our heads. I didn't know what to do, and neither did Douglas. We were at the mercy of Alexei and Mickey and anyone else who chose to push us around their chessboard.

I checked my makeup in the window reflection, reminded myself that I was still Maura Lore-Fields, the fiancée of Samm Brengle-Tucker, got myself back into my pregnant mood, and headed back to my seat.

The lunatic argument had ended badly. The Loonie prospectors were gone, probably moved to another part of the train. But the Earth tourists were still there, chatting amiably away at husband Samm and brother-in-law Janos. Janos was asleep, sitting up in his seat. Pattycakes was curled up in his lap, also snoring softly. I envied the both of them. We'd had a long day since bounce-down, and it still wasn't over. What time was it anyway?

The old lady looked up as I approached. "Are you feeling better, dear?" she asked. She reached over and patted my knee again. "It's the food, you know. The food here on Luna—they process all the life out of it. It's not good for your baby. You need fresh fruit and vegetables. Food from Earth."