«Ah, my dear fellow,» Jaybush said, «you and Sister Sue being old friends, I was beginning to feel left out! So there will be some feminine company for myself, too—and since there's so much of me, heh heh heh, I get two girls.»

Rivas's instant suspicion was confirmed when he looked beyond the grinning Messiah. A bigger gondola was being sculled toward Jaybush's dining raft, and the two women passengers were Sister Windchime and—though he had to squint and wait until it got closer to be sure—Urania Barrows. Uri had obviously been weeping recently; Sister Windchime looked paler and more drawn than she had when she and Rivas had ridden together to the Regroup Tent, but her mouth was a firm, straight line.

»Ah, but I see you know these young ladies also! You do get around, don't you, sir?» Jaybush leaned back and indulged in a fit of laughter that set his corpulent body jiggling like a rack of carne asada on a windy day in the meat market.

«Why are they here,» Rivas asked in a voice he managed to keep even.

«Simply to brighten the conversation,» said Jaybush, spreading his palms ingenuously, «and to serve as examples and illustrations in a story or two I might tell.»

When their gondola stopped beside the raft the gondolier whispered to the two women, and Sister Windchime climbed across and settled into one of the vacant holes, but Uri shook her head and fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

«Please,» she said brokenly, «couldn't I just go back to the—»

The boatman touched the back of her neck, and she gasped in sudden pain and then climbed obediently onto the raft and, with a splash that wetted her four raft mates, seated herself.

Rivas's left hand had gone to his right sleeve before he remembered that he'd transferred his knife to the improvised pocket under his collar; and now the boatman was poling his craft away and all Rivas could do was clench his jaws together very hard.

«There we are,» said Jaybush fondly. He picked up his menu and then glanced around with raised eyebrows, so the others, even Uri, did the same.

Rivas was not surprised to see, when he glanced at the menu, that Deviant's Palace specialized in the more outre forms of Venetian dining.

«I think,» said Jaybush to the waiter, who had been holding his little boat steady since presenting the menus, «that I'll have the sport bass livers in film-darkening sauce. Though,» he added genially to the others, «I don't think I'd recommend such hot food for the rest of you.» He turned to Sister Sue.

»Un plato de legumbres ,» she said, handing her menu to the waiter.

Sister Windchime had been studying the menu, and Rivas realized that she could read—like her horseback riding, it was not a common skill. «Y para mi la gallena en mole, por favor,» she said.

Uri was blinking around unhappily. Clearly she hadn't recognized Rivas. «I don't know,» she quavered; «I guess a couple of tacos. Soft shell, and with extra cheese but no salsa.» And it occured to Rivas that he couldn't remember whether Uri knew how to read or not.

It was his turn. May as well get something good, he thought, since it's probably my last meal. «Let's see,» he said, raising one eyebrow like an actor trying to look judicious. The incongruity of the whole scene—the possibly naked fat man in front of him, the underwater chairs, the handsomely printed menus, the formal clothes and tinfoil hats of the diners on the other rafts, the prospect of eating poisonous food with the finest spices and sauces—made him want to giggle hysterically. «I'd like the camarones al diablo, please.»

«Ah, sir,» said the waiter with a regretful smile, «that is available only with sport shrimp.» He held up his hands to show how big the sport shrimp were.

«Fine,» said Rivas with an airy wave. «And with that, a couple of bottles of Dos Equis.»

«And a bottle of Santa Barbara Riesling for the ladies,» added Jaybush, «and for myself and the gentleman a bottle of tequila and a pitcher of sangrita .»

The man nodded, collected the rest of the menus and poled the gondola away.

«Though I didn't know what it was at the time,» remarked Jaybush to Rivas, «I could feel you participating in my memories when you used agony to clarify and disarm your inadvertent dose of Blood.» He pointed his finger at a couple of guests in turn, his thumb vertical and bending as he said, «Bang, bang.» Turning back to Rivas he went on, «So I think you'll understand what I'm about to say. I have found knowledge in this place—technology—which, though presently neglected and disordered, leads me to believe that the shedding of the host body and the expenditure of personal energy involved in . . . leaving a place, can be avoided. You see? I'm convinced that it's possible to preserve the body, to construct a machine to shelter it and carry it to . . . the next place.»

Rivas just managed to restrain himself from saying, Space travel! Instead he just nodded.

«You understand what I mean,» said Jaybush with an approving nod. «And if you happened to glance southeast during your trek through the Holy City's back yard, you probably saw my Cape Canaveral. Bang! Bang! Bang! And I know you've had conversations with one of the inadvertent castings known as . . . well, you know what I mean. And you know the healing and recuperative powers it has, through me. So you see what I'm offering you, dear boy, is immortality, and unimaginable travel, and more knowledge than any entity other than myself has ever had!»

Rivas took another sip of his drink, and shook his head more in wonder than refusal. «Perhaps I,» he said slowly, «withdraw the 'impossible.' Let's look at the 'insincere.' Why me? What's in it for you?»

«Well! As far as what's in it for me, I'll tell you frankly that I'm spread just a bit thin at the moment, a trifle overextended; like a farmer with vast fields of ripe crop but no field hands or horses and only a couple of bushel baskets. And, too, ten years ago I foolishly indulged in the, uh, extravagance that left the Holy City paved in glass. Bang! Bang!»

Rivas nodded, remembering Jaybush's memory of the sudden unexpected white flash.

«So,» the Messiah went on, «I'd find it useful to have a full partner, rather than just a lot of uninformed employees, who could travel back and forth between here and Irvine– bang!—and make sure everything's proceeding efficiently, and perhaps give me useful advice from the point of view of an intelligent and informed native. We could present you as a sort of latter-day Saint Paul—once a merciless scourge of the true faith, but now, enlightened and forgiven, one of its stoutest pillars! I like it. Greg, Greg, why do you persecute me?» He chuckled hugely.

«And,» he said, «as to the question of why you —my dear fellow, you underestimate yourself! I learned something about you, too, during our brief psychic linking. Why, in all my travels, I swear to you, never have I encountered such a fellow soul! Confess, confess—you too find other entities interesting only to the extent that they might give you pleasure or hindrance. Like me you consume with greedy haste everything you can get from them, and are indifferent to what may become of them afterward; you are in fact sickened by the sight of them afterward, like being forced to linger over the chilling, congealing remains of a dinner! And, like me, your real focus of attention, shorn of peripheral poses and pretences, is the one thing, the only thing, worth an eternity of regarding—yourself. You and I understand each other perfectly, boy. We could, without having to simulate any affection for each other, help each other considerably. We don't merge with anyone, boy. We consume. You and I are always distinct, undiluted, individual. Quanta rather than arbitrary segments of a continuum.» Jaybush laughed harshly. «We're two of a kind.»