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Nancy snorted back to wakefulness. “Oh, I zoned out, sorry.” She shook her head and brushed shaggy blonde hair back from her forehead. “That was wonderful, Zen. What can I do for you? I mean, is it my turn?”

—this method of reducing high-order derivatives to combinatorics is used extensively in quantum field theory to reduce arbitrary products of creation and annihilation operators to mathematically manageable sums—
Zen blinked away V-net visions to focus on her pretty face, her cheeks rosy with enthusiasm and her azure eyes bright with promise. “Well, that’s the way we do it back home on Bali.”

Nurse Nancy floated up from his lap and reached to tug at his waistband. Zen shifted to help her as she pulled off his cellulose pants, and he flexed blood into his penis for presentation. “Wow,” she said, “that is something! Is that what gravity does? And so wild and unshaven.” She flicked her eyes to his face. “I mean, it’s great, you know. So
natural
.” The stress in her voice sounded hoarse with desire, and Zen felt mutual emergence of passion as she hovered above him with a gaze of adoration. She seemed like a primeval woman, iconic in beauty, and time seemed to slow to a lazy, graceful river of abandon. “Let me show you how we do it where I come from,” she said as slid her buxom body down onto him.

Bubbly fog filled Zen’s brain when he woke. A gnawing hunger coiled in his stomach like a vile and guilty serpent as he struggled to piece together remembrance out of a hazy landscape of drunken bliss. He peered over the armrest of his launch couch to see Nurse Nancy’s bare foot dangling from a couch facing opposite on the mirror side of the double room. He listened to the gentle purr of her sleeping respiration. So that much was true.

Panic welled in his chest as his situation came into stark focus—by all the saints of Kiva! What had he done? What would Simara think? How could he face her after sleeping with another woman? He was supposed to be in a relationship! He was supposed to be pretending marriage! He looked around at the decorative tapestries and trappings of femininity, wondering how he might find his way back to his assigned quarters, feeling adultery like a great weight of pressure.

“Help login,” he said as he touched his pinkie finger to his earlobe. “Help mode. Where am I?”

Level 7, #33, residence of Nancy Stavos—limited precognition in clinical studies—followed by increased humidity throughout the Southern Beach district—a conjecture first proved independently by observing that Laurent polynomials and their constants satisfy strict recursion relations—
all these perplexing voices and strange ideas! Where did they come from? His consciousness seemed to have expanded while he slept. An inner world with vast parameters had grown up around him, borderless realms of information extending out into space itself.

::Can you hear me, Zen?::
Simara’s voice sounded rich in his mind like a pillar of stability in a jungle of background chatter.

“Simara, is that you?”

::Yes, I’m here. Did you get a brain implant?::

“No, just an earbug, but I seem to be having trouble with the filters. Are you okay?”

::I’m locked in a launch couch on the troopship Adam’s Inspiration. We’re boosting for Cromeus in three hours! My stepfather went missing, and they’re trying to pin a murder rap on my ass.::
The blunt energy of her V-net voice was shocking compared to the careful articulation of her spoken words. This was Simara unleashed and angry as hell—surely proof of her innocence!

“I heard some of the details from legal authorities. They threatened me, but haven’t pressed any charges. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Static sounded in his ear, an untranslatable exhalation.
::Probably not. But it’s great to hear your voice. I was worried that we wouldn’t get an opportunity to say goodbye.::
—powerful counter-clockwise rotation in the Aspian Sea is creating a type 2 tropical hurricane with high levels of precipitation along the eastern seaboard north of New Jerusalem—toward understanding the nature of primitive aboriginal religion—simple elegance of the cosmological theory betrays a scarcity of detail—

“I’m coming after you, Simara. I’ll buy a ticket for the flight.”

::No, you won’t. Don’t be silly. We don’t have to pretend partnership any longer. You’ve got all the money from the salvage. Go home and be rich.::
—humidity will reach a low of 20 today across the landlocked basin—of course she never should have looked inside the emerald castle—

Zen choked on a pain of sorrow in his throat. He couldn’t bear the thought that she didn’t want him, that she might refuse him. “I can’t give up on you—on us. You mean too much to me.”

::Don’t lie to yourself, Zen. I know you’re sleeping with Nurse Stavos. You’re looking at her fat ass right now.::
—the theory of celestial guidance for internal chakra has fallen gradually into disrepute—real progress demands a rise above the genetic blueprint, a qualitative leap in genomic architecture—

His spine clamped up like a vice, a steel trap closing on his heart. He looked over at Nancy’s dangling bare foot. Was there any point in denying the truth? “How do you know that?”

::Your earbug has digital positioning, of course. What do you think? Anyway, she was broadcasting her conquest the whole time, the pervy girl. Not on a public channel, but I’m omnidroid, remember? I see everything.::
—an apple a day keeps the doctor away—

Zen closed his eyes and dropped his forehead into his palms. He was such an idiot! “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Give me another chance.”

::A chance for what? I’m not angry with you, Zen. Far from it. You finally lost your virginity, so what the hell, good for you. It’s not like we had any agreement on celibacy. I’m jealous of Ms. Stavos, actually. She really enjoyed herself. All the things she thought about you—whew, pretty hot. But she’s old, she’s twenty-nine. Didn’t you notice? She’s a career woman and a dedicated cultist. She’s not going back to a cave on Bali with you.::

“I’m not going back to Bali,” he said. “I can’t.”

Nancy stirred in her launch couch below and looked up at him. “Are you okay, Zen? Are you online?”

He pushed a warning palm to keep her quiet as she wrapped herself in a pink sari and floated toward him. His heart began to pound with alarm. Two women at once and nowhere to run. Nancy looked mature now and plain without her makeup, and Simara’s voice was like a slashing knife in his brain.
::Only a fool would follow an accused murderer into a mudslide of condemnation. Don’t be that man, Zen, don’t do it. Go home and be safe. You don’t know me. I live in a virtual world, partnered to a machine, you understand? Mothership won’t be able to protect you. She gave me no warning of this conspiracy, and I’m not sure why. Just stay clear until I can figure it out. Goodbye, Zen. Thanks for saving my life.::

“Kiva will help us,” he said in a final weak protest. “We can still be together.”

“I can help you,” Nancy said as she curled into his lap. “Are you having a bad dream?”

::What do I have to say to set you free, Zen? Your silent god is not going to help us. There are a billion galaxies out in space, a hundred billion planets. Do the math. Why would the creator of the universe make his home on a crappy desert planet like Bali? We’re nothing in comparison to eternity. We’re transient configurations of dust and energy. Can’t you see that we’re godforsaken, both of us? Kiva never showed up when my stepfather tried to rape me. He didn’t prevent my stepmother from blowing out into vacuum. He didn’t stop your father from dying.::

“Kiva cares about us,” Zen croaked. “He’s in every drop of rain.”

“Who are you talking to, honey?” His new lover peered with concern into his watery eyes as his new bride shouted in his brain.
::Well, it doesn’t rain in space, Zen. Goodbye.::

“Was that a girlfriend?”

Zen sighed. “We’re separated.”

“Oh.” Nancy’s face wilted with realization. “It’s complicated.”

He shimmied a hand to stall any bad feelings. “No, it’s fine. I guess it’s over.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I can’t really talk about it.”

Nancy bent forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I understand, and I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble. You’re a wonderful man. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

Zen studied her cheerful smile. “Thanks for saying that.” And clearly in a non-possessive tone. Was he off the interpersonal hook with her? “Last night was great.”

“Of course it was. And super healthy. Sex is a great cardiovascular workout.”

Zen paused to analyze his strange predicament, feeling conflicted between the traditional morality of Bali and the natural freedom of his inclinations. “My life is a mess. I’m not sure what to do.”

Nancy placed a palm on his shoulder. “You need to relax and follow your heart. Governor Blackpoll said you were anxious, and I can see tension coming back already. Just let it go. Embrace the chaos and flow with it.”

He winced and tried a smile. “Oh, I’m chaotic all right.”

“No, really,” she said. “You can’t control people. You can’t manipulate your environment. Just embrace it. That’s the Way.”

“Sure,” he said. “No problem.”

She smirked. “Okay, fine, do you want breakfast? Can I interest you in a cube of cheese omelette, or are you going back to goop so quickly?”

“You know, Nancy,” he said with careful charm, “I think I’m partial to the Way.”

“Good, but I have to get to work.” She gave him another quick peck and floated free. “Otherwise I’d have
you
for breakfast, pretty boy.” She let her sari trail behind as she floated back to her couch, exposing bare legs and heart-shaped buttocks with dramatic flair. What a beauty.

Zen felt an immediate stir of sexual desire like an automatic reflex, and blushed with shame. His body acted like a procreative machine, preprogrammed to any passing visual stimulus and ponderous with lust. Why would Kiva make him like this, so predictable and desperate for love? He pulled his gaze away. His wife was in jail. Focus, focus. He touched his signal amp. “Login. Are you online, Genoa?”

A few seconds passed, and he realized how quickly he had become reliant on Governor Blackpoll.
::Zen Valda, I’m here. Are you experimenting with the new appliance? Did you enjoy Nurse Stavos?::

“I’m going after Simara.”

::Really?::
His tone suggested disbelief.

“I need a ticket on
Adam’s Inspiration
.”

::Uh, just a moment . . . that’s the name of a Transolar troopship sailing in three hours. You can’t get onboard without diplomatic credentials.::
—any isolated system spontaneously evolves toward equilibrium—evolution is a hard taskmaster and not mimicked by coddling—

“Now’s the time, Governor. You said you wanted to help me, and this is it. For the memory of my father.”

::Are you sure that’s what Simara wants?::

“She’s distraught. She doesn’t know what she wants, but I know what I want. I’m embracing the chaos.”

“Good boy,” Nancy said as she brought him a food cube and cracked the seal. “I’m going to miss you, Zen Valda. I hope you’ll remember me on the next trade cycle.”

Zen took the proffered bite of cheese omelette and mouthed a thank-you in reply. How could he ever forget her?

::We’ll have to meet in person to discuss this. I’ll see what I can arrange in the next hour. Get down to the docks on Level 1 and we’ll get together. See you there at A3:45.::
—take one tablet every six hours to treat boredom—no power in religion nor efficacy to prayer in the absence of clairvoyance—

“I’m off to work,” Nancy said. “The door will lock when you leave, so you won’t be able to get back in unless we program the sensor with your palm print.” She smiled with intrigue and arched her eyebrows in query.

Still flirting, really? “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Anytime,” Nancy chirped as she flew for the portal.

Zen chewed his omelette with slow deliberation, possibly the last real food he would ever taste. He shuddered at the thought of two weeks on a troopship eating government goop. And Cromeus, the heartland of the Signa solar system—what did he really know about that fabled planet? The capital was New Jerusalem, a metropolis of mass transit and crowded walkways, and a handful of small outposts had sprung up in fertile crescents along the coasts of two major oceans where tourists flocked to frolic on sandy beaches—all of it alien to anything he had ever known as an impoverished bumpkin from Bali. He steeled himself against a feeling of inadequacy. He could do this! Anything for Simara—he owed her abject loyalty now that he had betrayed her trust. She was the only reason he was here—his skyfall princess.

Zen floated his way haltingly through the portal and down the passageway, trying to recall and utilize the fluid motions Nancy Stavos had taught him the previous day, but he could not seem to find a weightless equilibrium. He had lived too long with gravity—he needed it for orientation like a sand lizard in the desert. A jostle of traffic flew around him in both directions, touching him, squirming by in tight quarters. “B’well. B’well.” There was little room in the tunnels, but everyone moved at smooth speed, tapping every surface along the way to manage momentum, dragging with fingertips to curl around a corner or pushing for acceleration in a straightaway. He hugged the right-hand wall like a flatworm trying to stay out of trouble, and followed online directions from Genoa Blackpoll to reach a private meeting area in an austere closet on Level 1 near the spaceport. He found the governor floating in a small vestibule with a hand on the ceiling to steady himself.

Zen grasped a recessed conduit and swung his body to match Genoa’s orientation, face to face with the elder. “Did you arrange my transport?”

Genoa held up a faxslip boarding pass with a grim expression. “You’re not ready for this. Do you have any idea what you’re jumping into?”

Zen shook his head. Another warning? What else could go wrong? “The more I know, the less I understand. Simara mentioned a conspiracy.”

“Everyone seems to have an agenda when it comes to the omnidroids, and you’ve wandered carelessly into the middle of the maelstrom. A whisper campaign has festered for weeks on Cromeus, igniting protest against an alleged omnidroid takeover of the financial system—controlling all banking, taxation, and government spending by virtue of their multifarious interconnectivity, a system too vast to fail and too complex to monitor. And now this business with Simara Ying. I’m not saying there’s a firm connection, but a politician develops an acute sense of smell over the years.” He tucked his chin down in confidence. “I was instructed by the Crown to convince you to return to Bali for your own protection. They offered nothing more than oblique threats, but they want you out of the picture and safely tucked away. I tried to reason with you man to man, and when that didn’t work, I tried to distract you with feminine charm from an expert.” He spread his palms. “I can only do so much.”

“Nancy was working for you?”

“Nothing more than a nudge in token to her religious sensibilities. She seemed like a good match for an attractive boy, but apparently not a permanent interest. You seem to have a death wish for trouble. Why do you persist in following a known criminal into danger, a girl you barely know?”