“The other day you saw me in the doorway of Jiri’s junk shop. You called my name, but I was trying to hide so I got mad at you.”

He shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “I don’t remember that.”

“It’s fine. My mistake.” She rummaged in Anna 53’s pocket for something to give him and came up with a gold U lapel pin. “Want this?”

Shampoo looked at her suspiciously.

“Take it. It’s yours.”

He reached up and grabbed the pin. “Thanks.”

“Wipe your face,” she said, and left the kids to their game.

It was true: Mistletoe was a stranger in this place. It was a little sad knowing this mostly familiar subcanopy world existed without her in it. As she picked her way through the crowded street toward Dita’s shanty-stack, her thoughts began to drift. Was Anna 53 trying desperately to shimmer back into her body? Mistletoe was glad to be out of signal range. She imagined the two of them jockeying for brain space. Being trapped with that girl would be a living hell. But maybe Tan Martin would just let her go. Maybe he had others. In this world she was Anna 53. Did that mean Anna 1 through Anna 52 were alive somewhere?

At the bottom of a narrow path that wound its way up the stack, Mistletoe passed two little girls tossing a bright green conch shell back and forth. When she turned onto Dita’s street, she was so relieved to see the house intact that she almost hugged one of the teardrop shrubs. As she approached the maroon door (it had always been blue), she glanced to where the street dead-ended into the side of the absynthium bar. A poster, its bottom half torn away, said TWO FOR ONE.

She walked up the front step and stood poised to knock, her fist an inch from the door. She wondered what would have happened if she had Friended Anna. What was the next phase of Version 3.0? What, exactly, was she supposed to be beta testing? If she stayed in hiding down here, she may never know her true purpose. She thought about that for a second.

Then she knocked.

16. Sons

16

SONS

MARTIN GAVE the yellow scarf a vicious tug. Dita vanished. The scarf dangled from his hand, then he tossed it to the brown, decaying plant.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Ambrose.”

“Where is she?”

“The real Dita was vaporized several days ago. She succeeded in blowing herself up when my men surrounded her house. This Dita was just a basic A.I. Profile.”

“I mean Mistletoe.”

Martin crossed his arms and stared into the doorway at the data storm. He extended a finger and a Thoughtstream whipped into the office to attach itself to the tip. Martin flicked his wrist and the phrase srsly webbed feet! dripped from his hand and fell to the floor.