Could I always do that? Or is my growing brain giving me ever-stronger mental powers?

I really should look at some of the mathematical conundrums and see if I can find proofs of…whatever it is they can’t prove but want to.

Maybe Volescu isn’t so wrong after all. Maybe a whole world full of minds like mine…

Miserable, lonely, untrusting minds like mine. Minds that see death looming over them all the time. Minds that know they’ll never see their children grow up. Minds that let themselves get sidetracked on issues like taking care of a friend’s pension that he’ll probably never need.

Peter is going to be so furious when he finds out that those pension checks aren’t going to him anymore. Should I tell him it was my meddling? Or let him think the I.F. did it on their own?

And what does it say about my character that I am absolutely going to tell him I did it?

Theresa didn’t actually see Peter until noon, when she and John Paul and their illustrious son sat down to a lunch of papaya and cheese and sliced sausage.

“Why do you always drink that stuff?” asked John Paul.

Peter looked surprised. “Guaraná? It’s my duty as an American to never drink Coke or Pepsi in a country that has an indigenous soft drink. Besides which, I like it.”

“It’s a stimulant,” said Theresa. “It fuzzes your brain.”

“It also makes you fart,” said John Paul. “Constantly.”

“Frequently would be the more accurate term,” said Peter. “And it’s sweet of you to care.”

“We’re just looking out for your image,” said Theresa.

“I only fart when I’m alone.”

“Since he does it in front of us,” said John Paul to Theresa, “what exactly does that make us?”

“I meant ‘in private,’” said Peter. “And flatulence from carbonated beverages is odorless.”

“He thinks it doesn’t stink,” said John Paul.

Peter picked up the glass and drained it. “And you wonder why I don’t look forward to these little family get-togethers.”

“Yes,” said Theresa. “Family is so inconvenient for you. Except when you can spend their pension checks.”

Peter looked back and forth between her and John Paul. “You aren’t even on a pension. Either of you. You’re not even fifty yet.”

Theresa just looked at him like he was stupid. She knew that look drove him crazy.

But Peter refused to bite. He simply went back to eating his lunch.

His very incuriosity was proof enough to Theresa that he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“You mind telling me what this is about?” asked John Paul.

“Why, Andrew’s pension,” said Theresa. “Bean thinks that Peter’s been stealing it.”

“So naturally,” said Peter with his mouth full, “Mother believes him.”

“Oh, haven’t you, then?” asked Theresa.

“There’s a difference between investing and stealing.”

“Not when you invest it in Hegemony bonds. Especially when a circle of huts in Amazonas has a higher bond rating than you.”