I try not to boggle openly. I haven't been paying too much attention to my grade, frankly: I get regular yearly pay raises and rung increments, and I knew I was up for promotion sooner or later, and I knew about the Y-path, but it hadn't occurred to me that I might be about to effectively jump three grades.

"I've seen your confidential record, Bob. It's impressive. You get stuff done, and Angleton thinks very highly of you. Angleton. You know what that means, don't you?"

I nod. My mouth is dry and I feel my pulse fluttering. "You didn't infiltrate the Laundry just to get close to me. Did you?"

She chuckles. "No, Bob, we didn't." We. Oh holy fuck. There's more than one cultist infiltrator in the Laundry? I swallow. "But I've been looking for someone like you for a long time. You're on track for executive rank when the stars come right. You lucky, lucky man." Her voice drops to a low croon as she raises the baby's skull and drains it, then holds it out for a refill. "It won't work, of course."

"It won't—excuse me?"

"Everything." She shrugs. The effect is rather fetching, if you have a goth fixation. "Go on, tell me what you think is coming up next."

Oh hell. "This is the point," I say guardedly, "where the evil cultist monologues at the captive agent and tries to convert him to her way of thinking. It never works. Does it?"

Iris shakes her head. "You're probably right, but I ought to give it a go. Okay, here's my pitch. If I thought for a moment that official policy as set forth in CASE NIGHTMARE GREEN stood a chance of success—if it was remotely possible that we, the human species, could stand shoulder-to-shoulder against the elder ones and build a shield against our Dark Emperor, do you think for a split second that I wouldn't go for it?" She looks at me speculatively. "You know just how high the odds are stacked against us. There are just too damned many people—we're damaging the structure of reality by over-observing it! And we can't kill them either, not without releasing a pulse of necromantic energy that will have every brain eater for a thousand lightyears in all directions homing in on us. The latest research"—she bites her lower lip—"it means the breakthrough is inevitable, and soon. The dead things quicken, and the harder we fight against the inevitable, the worse it will be."

She falls silent. Despondent? Or resigned?

"What you're saying is, if rape is inevitable, lie back and try to enjoy it. Right?"