"Seventeen items on high priority," said the workstation as his feet hit the floor. "Four broadcast, twelve net, one phone. Broadcast and phone items are clean. Net items were disinfected on entry, with a forty percent chance that encrypted bugs slipped through."

"Up the disinfectant," Scanlon said.

"That will destroy any encrypted bugs, but might also destroy up to five percent of the legitimate data. I could just dump the risky files."

"Disinfect them. What's on midlist?"

"Eight hundred and sixty three items. Three hundred twenty seven broad—"

"Dump it all." Scanlon headed for the bathroom, stopped. "Wait a minute. Play the phone call."

"This is Patricia Rowan," the station said in a cold, clipped voice. "We may be encountering some personnel problems with the deep-sea geothermal program. I'd like to discuss them with you. I'll have your return call routed direct."

Shit. Rowan was one of the top corpses on the west coast. She'd barely even acknowledged him since he'd been hired on at the GA. "Is there a priority on that call?" Scanlon asked.

"Important but not urgent," the workstation replied

He could have breakfast first, maybe go through his mail. He could ignore all those reflexes urging him to drop everything and jump like a trained seal to immediate attention. They needed him for something. About time. About goddamned time.

"I'm taking a shower," he told the workstation, hesitantly defiant. "Don't bother me until I come out."

His reflexes, though, didn't like it at all.

* * *

"—that 'curing' victims of multiple personality disorder is actually tantamount to serial murder. The issue has remained controversial in the wake of recent findings that the human brain can potentially contain up to one hundred forty fully-sentient personalities without significant sensory/motor impairment. The tribunal will also consider whether encouraging a multiple personality to reintegrate voluntarily — again, a traditionally therapeutic act — should be redefined as assisted suicide. Crosslinked to next item under cognition and legal."

The workstation fell silent.

Rowan wants to see me. The VP in charge of the GA's whole Northwest franchise wants to see me. Me.

He was thinking into sudden silence. Scanlon realised the workstation had stopped talking. "Next," he said.

"Fundamentalist acquitted of murder in the destruction of a smart gel," the station recited. "Tagged to—"

Didn't she say I'd be working with her, though? Wasn't that the deal when I first came on?

"—AI, cognition, and legal."

Yeah. That's what they said. Ten years ago.

"Ahh— summary, nontechnical," Scanlon told the machine.

"Victim was a smart gel on temporary loan to the Ontario Science Center as part of a public exhibit on artificial intelligence. Accused admitted to the act, stating that neuron cultures" —the workstation changed voices, neatly inserting a sound bite— "desecrate the human soul.