something had: I.G. Biochemie had hit the jackpot, an organic artificial intelligence. Then it died, this little bit of flesh, poisoned by a series of metabolic irregularities that IGB desperately wanted to examine. And they would have if Connie hadn't stolen the remains.
"Signing off, babies," Latoh Bernie said. "Let's hear it for Charley, eh? So bring back the brain, whoever you are." Latoh Bernie giggled.
'Christ!" Jerome said. "All off." Wallscreen windows faded to rose.
"David," Connie said. "What are you doing?" She stood backlit in the doorway, wearing baggy pants and a blouse of crushed white cotton.
"Come on in," he said. She sat next to him on the padded floor and leaned back against the wall.
"I've been thinking," she said. "Now that you understand what's going on maybe you want out."
And to himself Jerome said What I want no longer matters; you're what I need.
"We'll see" he said. "If things get too strange I'll tell you. But for the moment no probl