Karen smiled. "Really? Okay, I've got a joke for you. Do you know the one about Werner Heisenberg being pulled over by a traffic cop?"

I shook my head.

"Well," said Karen, "the cop says, 'Do you know how fast you were going?' And, without missing a beat, Heisenberg replies, 'No, but I know where I am!' "

I burst out laughing. "That's terrific! Wait, wait * I've got one. Do you know the one about Einstein on the train?"

It was Karen's turn to shake her head.

"A passenger goes up to him and says, 'Excuse me, Dr. Einstein, but does New York stop at this train?' "

Karen laughed out loud. "You and I are going to get along just fine," she said. "Are you a professional physicist?"

"Nah. I was never good enough at math to make it. I did a couple of years at the University of Toronto, though."

"And?"

I lifted my shoulders a bit. "Have you been to Canada often?"

"Over the years, from time to time."

"And do you drink beer?"

"When I was younger," said Karen. "I can't anymore. I mean, I couldn't, even in my old body a not for a decade or more."

"Have you heard of Sullivan's Select? Or Old Sully's Special Dark?"

"Sure. They * oh! Oh, my! Your name is Jacob Sullivan, right? Is that your family?"

I nodded.

"Well, well, well," said Karen. "So I'm not the only one with a secret identity."

I smiled wanly. "Karen Bessarian earned her fortune. I just inherited mine."

"Still," said Karen, "it must have been nice. When I was young, I was always worrying about money. Even had to go to the food bank now and then. It must have been relaxing knowing you'd never have problems in that area."

I shrugged a bit. "It was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, when I went to university, I could study whatever I wanted, without worrying about whether it was going to lead to a job. I was probably the only guy on campus who took Quantum Physics, History of Drama, and Intro to the Pre-Socratics."

Karen laughed politely.

"Yeah," I said. "It was fun * a little of this, a little of that. But the downside of having all that money was that I just wasn't inclined to be treated like garbage. U of T's got a great graduate reputation, but it's an absolute factory at the undergrad level. Put it this way: if you walk every day by the Sullivan Library and your last name is Sullivan, you're not inclined to be pushed around."

"I suppose," said Karen. "I never like to use the word 'rich' in relation to myself; it sounds like bragging. But. well, all of Immortex's clients are rich, so I guess it doesn't matter. But, of course, I never thought I was going to be wealthy. I mean, most writers aren't; it's a very tough life, and I've been very, very lucky." She paused, and there was that twinkle in her artificial eye again. "In fact, you know what the difference is between a large pepperoni pizza and most full-time writers?"

"What?"

"A large pepperoni pizza can feed a family of four."

I laughed, and so did she. "Anyway," she said, "I didn't begin to get rich until I was in my late forties. That's when my books started to take off."

I shrugged a little. "If I'd had to wait until my late forties to be rich, I wouldn't be here. I'm only forty-four now." Only. Christ, I'd never thought of it as only before.

"I * please don't take this the wrong way * but in retrospect, I'm glad I started poor," said Karen.

"I suppose it builds character," I said. "But I didn't ask to be rich. In fact, there were times I hated it, and everything my family stood for. Beer! Christ, where's the social conscience in making beer?"

"But your family donated that library to the university, you said."

"Sure. Buying immortality. It's*"

I paused, and Karen looked at me expectantly.

After a moment, I shrugged again. "It's exactly what I've just done, isn't it?" I shook my head. "Ah, well. Anyway, it goes to your head sometimes, having all that money when you're young. I, um, I was not the best person early on."

"Paris the Heiress," said Karen.

"Who?"

"Paris Hilton, granddaughter of the hotel magnate. You would have been just a toddler when she was briefly famous. She * well, I guess she was like you: inherited a fortune, had billions in her twenties. She lived what we writers call a dissipated life."

" 'Paris the heiress,' " I repeated. "Cute."

"And you were Jake the Rake."

I laughed. "Yeah, I suppose I was. Lots of parties, lots of girls. Buta"

"What?"

"Well, it's pretty hard to know if a girl really likes you for you, when you're rich."

"Tell me about it. My third husband was like that."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Thank God for pre-nups." Her tone was light. If she'd been bitter once, enough time had apparently passed to let her now joke about it. "You'll have to only date women who are rich in their own right."

"I suppose. But, you know, even*" Damn it, I hadn't meant to say that aloud.

"What?"

"Well, you never know about people * know what they're really thinking. Even before I was rich, I * there was this girl named Trista, and I thought she a I thought we a"

Karen raised her artificial eyebrows, but said nothing. It was clear I could go on, or not, as I wished.

And, to my great surprise, I did wish. "She seemed to really like me. And I was totally in love with her. This was, like, when I was sixteen. But when I asked her out, she laughed. She actually laughed in my face."

Karen's hand briefly touched my forearm. "You poor thing," she said. "Are you married now?"

"No."

"Ever been?"

"No."

"Never found the right person?"

"It's, um, not exactly like that."

"Oh?"

Again, to my surprise, I went on. "I mean, there was * there is * this woman.

Rebecca Chong. But, you know, with my condition, Ia"

Karen nodded sympathetically. But then I guess she decided to lighten the tone.

"Still," she said, "you don't necessarily have to wait for the right person to come along. If I'd done that I'd have missed out on my first three husbands."

I wasn't sure if my artificial eyebrows rose spontaneously in surprise; certainly, if I'd still been in my old body, my natural ones would have. "How many times have you been married?"

"Four. My last husband, Ryan, passed away two years ago."

"I'm sorry."

Her voice was full of sadness. "Me, too."

"Do you have any kids?"

"Um*" She paused. "Just one." Another pause. "Just one who lived."

"I'm so sorry," I said.

She nodded, accepting that. "I take it you don't have any children?"

I shook my head and indicated my artificial body. "No, and I guess I never will."

Karen smiled. "I'm sure you would have made a good father."

"We'll never*" Damn these new bodies! I'd thought the obvious, self-pitying thought, but had never intended to actually say it aloud. As before, I didn't manage to kill it until a couple of words were already spoken. "Thanks," I said. "Thank you."

A pair of Immortex employees entered the lounge * a white woman and an Asian man. They looked surprised to see us there.

"Don't let us disturb you," Karen said to them as she stood up. "We were just leaving." She held out a hand to help me get up. I took it without thinking, and was on my feet in a matter of seconds, Karen effortlessly pulling me up. "It's been a long day," Karen said to me. "I'm sure you want to go back to your room." She paused, as if realizing that, of course, I couldn't possibly be tired, then added, "You know, so you can change out of that robe, and so on."

There it was * a perfect out; the escape that I'd been looking for earlier, the polite way to beg off that my lack of the need for sleep or food had denied me. But I didn't want it anymore. "Actually," I said, looking at her, "I'd like to do some more walking practice, if, ah, you're willing to help me."

Karen smiled so broadly it surely would have hurt had her face been flesh. "I'd love to," she said.

"Great," I replied, as we headed out of the lounge. "It'll give us a chance to talk some more."

9.

The spaceplane was still climbing. I'd thought the constant acceleration would be uncomfortable, but it wasn't. Out the window, I could see sunlight glinting off the Atlantic ocean far below. I turned my head to face inside, and the presumably redheaded man sitting next to me seized his chance. "So," he said, "what's your job?"

I looked at him. I didn't really have a job, but I did have a true-enough answer. "I'm in wealth management."

But that caused his freckled forehead to crease. "Immortex wants wealth managers on the moon?"

I realized the source of his confusion. "I'm not an Immortex employee," I said. "I'm a customer."

His light-colored eyes went wide. "Oh. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," I said.

"It's just that you're the youngest customer I've ever seen."

I smiled a smile that hopefully wasn't an invitation to more questions. "I've always been an early adopter."

"Ah," said the man. He stuck out a hand that was as freckled as his face. "Quentin Ashburn," he said.

I shook his hand. "Jake Sullivan." I didn't really want to continue talking about me, so I added, "What do you do, Quentin?"

"Moonbus maintenance."

"Moonbus?"

"It's a long-distance surface vehicle," Quentin said. "Well, actually, it flies just above the surface. Best way to cover a lot of lunar territory fast. You'll be riding in one when we get to the moon; the ship from Earth will only take us to Nearside."

"Right," I said. "I read about that."

"Oh, moonbuses are fascinating," said Quentin.

"I'm sure they are," I said.

"See, you can't use airplanes on the moon, because*"

"Because there's no air," I said.

Quentin looked a bit miffed at having his thunder stolen, but he went on. "So you need a different kind of vehicle to get from point A to point B."

"So I'd imagine," I said.