They refused her, saying she was no kin of theirs. Their interest in her did not extend past the fact, and the moment, of her birth. Porter's parents were already deceased, and at the time the human DNA donor of the sheep woman was unknown. The baby girl was declared an orphan and placed in the care of Ron and Alma, who were never told the full sordid story of the birth of their adopted daughter, and therefore were never able to tell her anything meaningful about her past. Robin Baker had no idea she was anything but fully human.

"That's some fucked-up shit, Harry," Brian said, as he passed along the information. "And I believe 'Fucked-Up Shit is indeed the technical term, here."

"I'm suddenly reminded that you were eighteen when you had that brain scan," Creek said.

"You have a better way of describing it, then," Brian said.

"No," Creek admitted. "You've pretty much hit the nail on the head."

"What are you going to do now?" Brian asked.

"I don't know," Creek said. "Finding our lost sheep has suddenly become a little more complicated. I have to think."

"Think quick," Brian said. "You have an incoming call."

"Who is it?" Creek asked.

"Just you wait," Brian said, and put the call through.

"Hi," Robin said. "It's Robin. Find your sheep?"

"Funny you should ask," Creek said. "Listen, Robin—"

"Would you like to go out on a date?" Robin asked.

"What?" Creek said.

"A date," Robin said. "You know. Two people go out and eat food and make small talk and wonder what each other look like naked. You have dated before?"

"Yes," Creek said.

"Okay, so you know how it goes," Robin said. "What do you think? I'm thinking tonight would be good."

"It's kind of sudden," Creek said.

"No time like the present," Robin said. "You're cute and I did a search on your name and came up with no outstanding warrants for your arrest. That's good enough for dinner in a public place."

Creek grinned. "All right," he said. "Where would you like to meet?"

"Arlington Mall," Robin said.

"You want to eat in the mall?" Creek said.

"Oh, no," Robin said. "I'm a cheap date, but not food court cheap. But there's something there I'd like to try out. Actually, you should try it out with me. Ever play basketball?"

"Sure," Creek said.

"No bum knees?" Robin asked.

"Not yet," Creek said.

"Perfect," Robin said, "Meet me at the west entrance, then. Ground floor, seven o'clock. Dress casual. Bye." She clicked off.

"That's going to be an interesting date," Brian said.

"I need you to connect me with Ben," Creek said.

" 'Ben' as in my brother Ben," Brian said.

"That's the one," Creek said.

"Interesting," Brian said. "I don't suppose he knows about me."

"I have to tell him that the sheep we're looking for is a woman who runs a pet store," Creek said. "I think telling him his younger brother's been resurrected as a computer program might be a little much for one day."

Archie almost missed the connection between Robin and the sheep. The Rod-ordered background check offered nothing of interest; a long-term scan of her business records showed her ordering a sheep only once in the history of her store, and it was a common breed, not something genetically modified. Archie kept going back in Robin's history, past the point of boredom, until he was presented with an electronic version of the very first document of Robin's life: Her birth certificate. It listed "Jane Doe" as the mother and Zach Porter as the father.

Archie moved to close out all the documents, then hesitated. Somewhere in the back of his head the name "Zach Porter" fired up some neurons. Archie decided this would be a good time for a break.

"I'm going to get a snack," he said, to the room. "Anybody want anything?" Ed, the other guy, barely looked up from his show and shook his head; Takk was still out of it.

Rod and his crew were camped out in a shitty apartment in a shitty complex in a shitty part of town. Rod's "apartment" was jacked up with some serious equipment which Archie would have suspected to be mighty tempting to the local scum. But he also noticed, on his couple other times out, that the local population gave the door of Rod's apartment a wide berth. Being a scary motherfucker meant no one messed with your shit.

The vending machine was at the end of the hall, next to the stairs; the sticker in the top right corner of the display case read "Ross Vending, Inc." Inside the display case was a truly interesting assortment of vendables, from small cartons of LSL Milk (irradiated for a six-month shelf life) to three-packs of Whisper brand condoms, with patented Electro-Ecstatic™ molecule-binding technology to make the condom membrane as thin yet impermeable as possible. Archie had never tried that particular brand; something about the combination of an electric charge and his genitals just didn't seem appealing. Slot B4 held a small bag of white chocolate M&Ms. Archie smiled; those were in fact pretty tasty. He slipped in his credit card and pressed the button.

It felt like someone had stabbed him directly in both eyeballs. Archie crumpled, banging his head on the vending machine on the way down. As his forehead jammed against the vending machine Plexiglas, the rattle of the impact dislodged information about Zach Porter; Archie finally remembered why he remembered that name. He spent a couple more minutes on the ground, gathering his strength, before he wobbled back up and headed back towards the apartment. About three-quarters of the way there, he realized he'd forgotten his snack. He went back to get it.

Back at the computer, Archie pulled up news stories relating to Zach Porter, and there it was: Porter involved in a murder-suicide involving Arthur Montgomery. Of course, Archie knew the name Arthur Montgomery very well. If a religious organization as laid-back and nebulous as the Church of the Evolved Lamb could be said to have an apostate member, Montgomery would have been it. In one of the few real church scandals on record, Montgomery had joined the Church, worked his way into the top ranks of the church's genetic hybridization concern on Brisbane colony, and then snuck off back to Earth to form ZooGen, using Church genetic techniques.

Montgomery had gambled that the Church would back off rather than sue him and have its entire genetics organization and its goals hauled into court and into the papers. The gamble paid off. The Church's genetics program was not a high-priority enterprise in a commercial sense—its goals were esoteric and long-term—and the Ironists who ran Hayter-Ross didn't want anything to rock the business end of their organization. And in any event one of Dwellirt's more maddeningly vague prophecies suggested that something like mis was supposed to happen. The Church officially let it go, although it suggested to its individual members that they might consider investing in ZooGen stock, since Montgomery had stolen some very advanced and likely profitable techniques.

So in one of those nice little ironies, Church members soon comprised the single largest voting bloc of shareholders. After Montgomery's murder, they worked quietly to install a Church-vetted executive as the new CEO. Several years later, ZooGen's executives and board voted to be acquired by Hayter-Ross. This was quickly approved by the shareholders and by the FTC, which saw no conflict as, outside of livestock, Hayter-Ross had been to that point a marginal player at best in the bioengineering field.

Like many Church members, Archie was aware of the scandal that led to Montgomery's murder, and how he'd tried to blackmail Porter; the sheep-woman Montgomery had hybridized had been a horrifying use of genetic engineering. But with all the documents laid out in front of him, Archie began to suspect for the first time what the connection between the pet shop lady and sheep was. Archie called up Robin's insurance records to get the name of her provider, snuck into their system to grab her DNA map, and ran it through the processor.