“Fire Jose,” Nektar told them, desperately hanging onto her narrative. “Make me the head chef. Look how many hits my orphids are getting. I’m a star. It’s me that brings the customers in.”

Beetle Xandro lifted the shiny cover off a silver salver, his chitinous leg hooking the metal handle. Beetle Beatriz leaned over the naked boy on the platter and fired up a blowtorch. “I cook tableside,” she twittered, blistering Chu’s face. “Else make Too Dibbs ad now.”

Groaning, Nektar twisted away and found herself in last week’s bed with Craigor. He was handsome and well-endowed, but not Nektar’s idea of a great lover. She’d only continued sleeping with him because the affair had given such a nice boost to the hitcounts of her Founders show. Acting out the bedroom memory, Nektar ran a flirtatious finger down Craigor’s bare chest. He split open like a pupa and Craigor’s wife Jil crawled out: moist, throbbing, luminous, in tears. “I was your best friend, Nektar. How could you? Craigor was my man. I’m scared I’m going to relapse.”

“I’m sorry,” said Nektar. “I’m so sorry.”

“Make the ad,” said the beetle shaped like Jil. “Then I forgive. Vote for Dick Too Dibbs. You say just once.”

“Hey, Nektar!” A fresh voice, a real voice in her bedroom.

She fluttered her eyes open. Two men and two women were here, colorful, street-hardened kids in their early twenties, ten years younger than Nektar. One of them leaned close. His eyes were soft and intelligent beneath his green cap; he wore a T-shirt and a suit jacket with a wild hand-drawn skull on the jacket’s back. An iridescent shoon was perched on his shoulder. The rain had stopped; the sun was breaking through.

“I’m Jayjay,” the boy told Nektar. “Aka Jorge Jimenez. We’re the Big Pig Posse. Let me into your head, Nektar. Give me full access. I can kill those beetles by fixing your filter dogs.” He flexed his fingers in intricate gamer moves.

“Yes,” said Nektar with a weak smile, and opened a mental door for him. In the orphidnet, Jayjay got busy. The other Posse members were in the orphidnet watching, as well: a stocky girl with a blue tattoo, a boy with spiky hair, a Vietnamese girl with high pigtails.

“Yeek yeek,” murmured the first boy—Jayjay—swinging from bough to vine in the jungle of Nektar’s mind, landing beside her filter dog kennel, and scattering luminous blue fleas. Instants later, Nektar’s flea-bitten dogs had trashed the beetles.

“All good now, Nektar,” said Jayjay, pulling back into his real body.

Nektar sat up, holding her sheet to her breasts, free at last.