This was not the first time Laurence had heard people talk about their Caddies as if they were jealous gods. He told her about all the odd superstitions—for lack of a better word—that people had about their teardrop-shaped computers. One person might believe his Caddy saved his marriage, and then you’d run into someone else whose Caddy destroyed her marriage, but she later decided it was for the best. People sold their houses and got rid of their cars because their Caddies showed them a simpler way to live. A few people even found God, actual God, thanks to their Caddies. People were attached to them in a way that nobody ever had been to their iPhones or BlackBerries.

“That’s not creepy at all,” said Patricia. She wondered if she should just throw it away.

“On the one hand, it’s finally fulfilling the promise of technology, of making your life easier,” Laurence said. “Simpler, or more full of excitement, depending on what you want. On the other hand, people are outsourcing some crucial life stuff to these things.”

“I notice you don’t have a Caddy.” Patricia’s whiskey glass was empty. She bought another round for herself and Laurence.

“I have three at home,” Laurence said. “I jailbroke one, and now it doesn’t work quite the same. There’s something about the OS that resists any kind of analysis. You can install Wildberry Linux on them and they work just like any other tablet, but nothing fancy.”

They fell into a long silence. The fire crackled and the Steely Dan cover CD reached its triumphant final track, which was predictably “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number.” Patricia felt like she should say something about why she’d been avoiding Laurence, in spite of her Caddy’s attempts to smush them together. She wasn’t sure what to say.

“That promise,” Laurence said out of nowhere. “The one that your friend made me agree to. Not the first one, the one where I go mute forever if I blab, but the other one.”

“Yeah.” Patricia tensed and felt a chill on the inside, in spite of the firelight and whiskey glow.

“It’s riddled with loopholes,” Laurence said. “Even apart from the fact that there’s no penalty for breaking it. I mean, I never should have agreed to it, and I wouldn’t have if I’d been less drunk. It’s not my job to police someone else’s self-esteem, not in any sane world. But in any case, it’s a meaningless promise.”

“How so?”