“I don’t know what point you’re trying to make,” Judy said, glancing across at her.

“And you a Social Care operative, too,” Helen said snidely.

It was cold in this section of the factory. Their breath came in white puffs, cold against the blue light that illuminated the open space.

“You don’t have to come along with me,” Judy reminded her, watching another unattached section of the Shawl spin into view.

“I want to find Kevin. I want to meet the person who did this to me.”

“Why?”

Helen folded her arms and said nothing. She was standing on a thin sheet of plastic, just a few centimeters separating her from hard vacuum and the long fall to Earth. She was at the focus of one of the Watcher’s greatest artifacts, the factory: the region through which materials from around the galaxy were funneled to provide the raw materials for the Shawl. It was the EA’s equivalent of the water and the carbon cycle: a living space that was born and died made up of sections formed of matter from the Earth, from the Enemy Domain, from the farthest reaches of human expansion. The space below made her think of a great melting pot. The spinning, fissioning sections of the Shawl seemed to boil and bubble like soup in a cauldron. All those materials being mixed together, eventually to fall to Earth.

Judy had explained it all to her. What she hadn’t explained was why.

“Hello, Three. Hello, Helen.”

Another Judy was approaching, walking over the slight curve in the transparent lens that looked down on the volume of the Source. Her kimono was black, her face white, and yet there were subtle differences between her and the Judy that Helen had come to know.

“Hello, Helen. Hi, Four. Hi, Three.”

And then another Judy was there, and another. Helen looked around as she found herself in the center of a constricting circle of digital Judys. She counted eight of them. All black-and-white, all subtly different. All of them wore impassive expressions, and yet Helen could feel how they were watching her. She could sense something, a faint disapproval. She got the impression that it wasn’t directed at her. Emotions were stronger at the moment-maybe the aftereffects of the MTPH Judy 3 had let her take earlier. Judy 3. They weren’t sure about Judy 3-that was what they were thinking. Was Judy 3 doing the right thing in letting Helen come along? Helen shivered, feeling unsettled. Why were they all so concerned about her own presence here?

One of the Judys stood forward. It was a bizarre sight. Eight black-and-white women standing on a great transparent lake over the swirl of the Earth. Helen swallowed.

The new Judy spoke: “Eleven asked me to speak on her behalf.”

“Where is Eleven?” asked the Judy standing by Helen.

“I don’t know. Neither do we know where Two and Nine are.”

“The Watcher?”

“The EA?”

The words came from random points in the circle. It wasn’t so much as if they were having a conversation, more as if one person was speaking to herself. Helen looked around, feeling dizzy. Eight immobile black-and-white statues standing on nothing, and her, caught in the middle of the dream.

“The atomic Judy has seen a robot.”

“The Watcher is warning us off.”

“But why be so obscure?”

Not all of this conversation was in words. Helen caught the gestures, the signs made by people who knew each other as well as they knew themselves. How did they stay so constant? Why did the different Judys’ personalities not diverge? And why had they chosen to all stay the same?

“Something happened far off, at the edge of the galaxy.”

“The secret is out.”

“The Watcher can’t stop it spreading now.”

“If it wants to…”

“Eva Rye.”

“Justinian Sibelius.”

“Need to find him…”

“Judy 11.”

“The Private Network.”

“Kevin.”

Helen looked up at that point. All of the Judys but one were gazing at her. Judy 3 was the only one looking down at a fissioning section of the Shawl below.

“What’s the matter?” Helen asked.

“What do you know of Kevin?” It was one of the Judys-the one who spoke on behalf of Eleven.

Helen looked around. She felt annoyed to be spoken to like this, just another pawn in the Judys’ games. More, though, she was driven into a cold fury at the sound of Kevin’s name.

“Kevin? He’s the bastard responsible for the Private Network.”

“Partly responsible.”

“I don’t care. He nearly had me raped.”

“He has had you raped,” said one Judy, face impassive. “Kevin has a particular interest in you, Helen. We’re not sure why.” She looked away. “Maybe you’re right, Three…”

And then they were off again, speaking in broken sentences and that obscure sign language of their own.

“…Justinian died…”

“…Eva Rye insisted…”

“…the Watcher knew…”

“…David Schummel…”

“…atomic Judy is on her way to see him now…”

“…Kevin is here…”

“…long suspected…”

“…find Kevin…”

“…Three…”

“…Eleven…”

“…Three…”

“…Three…”

“…Eleven…”

“…Three…”

And then their conversation ceased. They were all staring at Judy 3-at Helen’s Judy.

“What’s the matter?” Helen said, but Judy 3 spoke without looking at her.

“We’re going to see Kevin. He’s up here. He uses the processing spaces of the factory and the Shawl. There is so much spare processing capacity up here, linked between the different virtual realities, that it is easy for him to escape detection. That’s what we think, anyway. Ten seems to think she’s got him pinpointed.”

“So let’s get him.”

“It’s not that easy, Helen. Kevin is not a normal personality. When he’s cornered, he just commits suicide. We need to stop him from doing that.”

“Well, think of something.”

“We have. It’s an old process. If we can locate his consciousness in the processing space, we can affect it directly, heighten his sense of self-preservation. It’s what Social Care does, Helen. Preserves life.”

Helen felt as if her skull was made of glass. She tried to suppress her thoughts. Everyone present knew what she would do if ever she had Kevin trapped in a processing space.

Judy 3’s look made her feel angry.

“If I do catch him, wouldn’t you want to watch?” Helen asked. A wave of disapproval came from the Judys again. Helen had the impression it was still directed at Three. It began to fade as, one by one, the Judys flickered out of existence. Soon, only Judy 3 remained.

“Come on,” she said, looking chastened.

They stepped between virtual sections of the Shawl via white hexagons painted on the floor.

“Anyone who says the Shawl wasn’t designed to be principally a virtual construct hasn’t tried to traverse it in the atomic world,” said Judy. “It only works when you can do what we’re doing. All that messing about with transit bubbles is inelegant.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Helen said, still sullen. “Trying to get me chatting. Calm me down. Don’t talk to me about anything that isn’t to do with capturing Kevin.”

“Fine,” Judy said. They strode down a long, high corridor lined on both sides with low doors. A fine misty spray constantly rose from the floor to the ceiling, glowing eerily in the green light that suffused the tunnel.

“What is this place?” Helen asked, her face beaded with moisture. “What sort of person wants to live in this environment?”

“That’s nothing to do with capturing Kevin,” Judy replied, “so I won’t waste your time by giving you an answer.”

Helen could see how Judy was watching her from the corner of her eyes, the action giving the lie to her otherwise impassive expression.

“Just watching again, Judy?” she asked.

“It’s what I do. In Social Care we try not to judge. We let the clients judge themselves.”

“I call that moral cowardice. You’re so frightened of making a decision that you won’t even let a man close to you.”