“Hi, Whitney.”

It was Dr. Kriss.

I tried not to sound any different as I greeted her, but hearing her voice made me realize how much had changed since we’d last seen each other.

The reception in the room was spotty, so I opened the door to the little balcony and nearly planted my foot on a dead anole. Ants flowed over the lizard’s body, a brown trail leading over the edge.

Dr. Kriss said, “Are you in New York?”

“No, I’m on vacation, actually.”

“Whereabouts?”

For some reason, the first lie that occurred to me involved the ranch in Arizona where Mom vacationed with her friends.

“Sounds nice,” said Dr. Kriss. “It’s pretty early in Arizona, isn’t it?”

“I’m still on New York time.”

“Makes sense. Does that mean you finished the story?”

I found it reassuring that she didn’t still have a ghost reading over my shoulder, that she didn’t know anything about my progress.

“I’ve shown a draft to my editor,” I said.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

It almost looked as if the anole were still alive, the ants animating its body, twisting the tail around.

“Any idea when you might be publishing?”

I told her the December/January double issue was within reach.

“I’d love to have a look,” she said.

“The Bystander will contact you for comment before it goes to press.”

“They call it fact-check, right?”

“Right.”

“So I’ll get a call from your fact-checker?”

Finally the tail broke off and I watched it float along on the current of ants. I said yes, she would.

“How about you?” I said. “How’s the trial?”

“We’ve wrapped up Retreat and Mimico. Soon we’ll be done here in Arcade.” I recalled Baker Watt saying they’d discharge the last subjects there on Friday. “Then it’s just a matter of submitting all our data to Inland.”

I offered my congratulations, but I guess something wavered in my tone, because she said, “Are you okay?”

“Why?”

“You just sound a little, I’m not sure—distracted?”

Now the ants were working on the head.

I said, “Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“What is it?” said Dr. Kriss, and in the following second of silence I saw the dogs in Ray’s experiments, pink growths pushing out their eyes.

“Well, like I mentioned, my editor read a draft.”

“Yes.”

“He wants to know if I can see where you manufacture the solution. It’s in Arcade, right? He thinks it would be good to have more details about exactly what’s in it, you know, and how it’s made.”

Dr. Kriss sighed impatiently and said, “I’ve told you a dozen times, I’d love to just open everything up for you, but it’s impossible. Rubicon will never allow it. The solution is private property, it’s that simple.”