It was the first time MOMO had spoken to Doctus in a few weeks, since before the operation. Doctus hadn't been among the Scientia agents who remained with the AMN Committee on the Dämmerung, and had left citing other obligations elsewhere.

"Well, you're quite the sophisticated young lady," Doctus said when she answered the call. Until she mentioned it, MOMO forgot that Doctus hadn't seen her new frame yet.

MOMO felt herself blushing. "I'm still getting used to it. I just came back from Vector the other day."

"So I heard. I know it's a bit late, but happy birthday. I have something for you, though I'm afraid it's not a very good present. You may have some difficulty opening it."

"That's okay," said MOMO. "It's the data you got from Ziggy, isn't it? Mommy said you might need my help."

"Oh, she told you. Well, we ran into a little trouble when we tried to decode it, but we thought if you could figure it out, you might be able to use it to analyze the network they've been hiding behind our backs all this time. Did your mother also tell you about that?"

MOMO shook her head. "So there really is a shadow network? She mentioned it before, but she didn't tell me you found evidence."

"What we have here is practically a smoking gun," said Doctus. "From what I can tell, it appears they've built a network that operates entirely in the imaginary domain, like the old UMN. But the programming is different from both the former UMN protocols and the new ones we developed to operate the AMN. We were hoping that, since you wrote a significant part of the AMN operating system, you might be able to shed some light on the way this other network functions."

"I'd be glad to take a look at it. Although if it's written in a completely different code, I'm not sure how well I'll be able to understand it."

"I know." Doctus smiled grimly. "That's what I expected. Just do your best."

MOMO nodded. "I will."

When the conversation ended she headed back down the hall to the lab. She thought about going right in, but decided her mother and Ziggy probably needed some privacy, so she waited on a bench in the hallway until they emerged a few minutes later.

"Oh, were you waiting very long?" said Juli.

"Not too long." MOMO started up from the bench. "Just a few minutes." She looked over at Ziggy. He seemed a little calmer now than when he first woke up, and at least he no longer appeared to be trying to conceal his distress. She wondered if he knew that she could sense it, and not just because of her observational functions; she could tell intuitively when he was upset, although she rarely mentioned it to him because he didn't seem to want anyone else to know. The last time she had seen him this distraught was on Michtam two years ago, but she had kept quiet then too, even after Jr. remarked on it.

And there was something else, something she had noticed while taking care of his maintenance earlier today, that troubled her even more. She had intended to ask him about it when he recovered consciousness, but then Juli had arrived, and MOMO didn't want to bring it up in front of her. Somehow she suspected her mother knew already anyway, and the thought that they might have kept it secret from MOMO upset her nearly as much as finding out about it herself.

The next time they had some time alone, in the apartment that evening, she asked him.

They were in the kitchen, MOMO chopping vegetables at the counter near the stove while Ziggy stood by the doorway opposite. Most nights he kept her company while she made dinner, although his main contribution consisted in staying as far as possible from the official proceedings without physically leaving the room. On the rare occasions when MOMO had invited him to help and he had reluctantly agreed, MOMO and Juli ended up having a laugh about the results and ordering take-out. But at least she enjoyed his companionship while she worked, and sometimes she liked when it was just the two of them together; it reminded her of the time they had spent on the Elsa. On most nights, as on this one, Juli had other matters to attend to, and she retreated into her private office from the time they got home until Ziggy or MOMO called on her for dinner.

"Ziggy, is everything all right?" MOMO set aside the knife and stepped back from the counter, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Cutting up onions always interfered with her sensors. "You haven't said much since we got home."

He looked up as if startled out of a trance. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

"Oh ... I didn't mean to bother you."

"It's all right," said Ziggy. "I've had a lot on my mind."

"I understand." Something nudged her ankle and she glanced down to find Alby sniffing at the floor around her feet. She frowned. "Alby, you're getting in the way." The dog ignored her until he encountered a slice of onion that had fallen from the cutting board, and then he backed off, bristling, as if it had bitten him in the nose.

MOMO giggled, momentarily forgetting her concern. Picking up the knife again, she scraped the onions into a pan on the stove. The faded image of a white rabbit beamed up at her, making her smile in spite of herself. chaos had bought her the frying pan during a shopping expedition to the Kukai Foundation, and MOMO had used it so often in the last two years that the picture of Bunnie had nearly worn off.

She almost pulled a chair over to reach the spice cabinet, then remembered she didn't have to do that anymore. Pulling down a few containers, she measured out the contents as Shion had demonstrated for her in the Elsa's kitchen, the night before the expedition to Lost Jerusalem was set to depart. It was the last time they had all sat together in the ship's diner, Jr. and Shion and Allen and the Elsa crew and the others, everyone who had returned from Michtam, the absent places at the table standing in for those who hadn't. In honor of the occasion, Shion had made her favorite curry, and MOMO had volunteered to help.

"See, now," Shion had said as they stirred in the last few ingredients together, "you'll always remember how to do it, so you can make it all by yourself. By the time we meet again you'll be a pro at it."

And she was right, at least about the first part. MOMO still remembered her instructions clearly, along with everything else from that evening--the laughter and good-natured insults and toasts to the success of the Elsa's mission and the AMN project--and the following morning, when they all stood in the warm light in the docking area inside the Dämmerung to exchange their goodbyes, and MOMO had leaned over the railing to wave as the Elsa took off and kept waving even when she couldn't see the ship anymore, because she knew that if she stopped she would have to accept that they were really gone--

MOMO swallowed hard, suddenly glad her back was turned. In the pan on the stove the onions had turned clear and yellowish from the curry seasoning. She stirred them again and leaned over to check on the rice.

"MOMO. If you don't mind my asking, is there something on your mind as well?"

She dropped the lid on the pot of rice and turned around quickly. "Well, um ... I just thought ... I mean, if you wanted to talk to me about anything, of course I wouldn't mind ... that is ...." She paused to wipe her eyes on her sleeve; the onions were still irritating her sensors. "It's just that when I was doing your maintenance, I noticed ... um ... and well, I was just wondering, are you thinking of undergoing life extension again?"

That wasn't how she had wanted to say it, but she didn't know how else to phrase the question without admitting to herself what she wasn't prepared to admit.

She guessed the answer when he didn't respond right away. "Oh," she murmured, staring at the floor. "Is that why you said you wanted me to know how to protect myself?"

"I've always wanted you to be able to protect yourself. And I know you're more than capable, I just ...."

"It's okay," she said. "You don't have to explain. I sort of knew already anyway."

Ziggy shook his head as if he had wanted to say more. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. Your mother and I have been aware of it, but we didn't--"

"--want me to worry. I know," she said, feeling hurt. "I wish you'd told me. How much longer do you think you'll ...." She could hardly say the words; she had to ask, but she didn't really want to know.

"We estimate a few more years at least. With proper maintenance, it could be even more than that. Don't worry," he added, walking over and placing a hand on her arm, "I don't plan on going anywhere yet. I may be getting older, but this body is still in pretty good condition."

MOMO nodded without raising her head. She wanted to look at him, but she didn't want him to see the hurt and disappointment in her eyes. An inner voice scolded her for getting so upset; she was an adult now, and she should know better. So why didn't she feel any different?

"MOMO, the ... uh ...." He pointed helplessly at the stove.

"Oh no!" She turned around, grabbing for the pan handle, and yanked the burning onions off the heat. "This smells awful. I hope I didn't ruin it."

"If so, we can just tell your mother it was my fault again."

MOMO started to laugh in spite of herself, her throat already stinging from the smoke. She looked up, wiping her streaming eyes. "Stupid onions," she said, and tried to smile.

"I don't think Alby approves of them either." Ziggy nodded toward the dog, who seemed to be trying to cover his eyes and nose simultaneously with his forepaws; finally Alby got up and trotted out of the room, looking affronted.

"Is something burning?" called Juli from the opposite end of the apartment.

"It's okay, Mommy," MOMO shouted back. "We're getting take-out."

"Again? Oh, all right." A few moments later she appeared in the doorway, wincing and trying hard not to laugh. "Honestly, Jan, your presence in the kitchen should be classified as a fire hazard. MOMO, why do you encourage him?"

"But he didn't--" MOMO began, then shook her head. After yesterday, she just wanted to believe that everything would go back to normal again.

∞

Later that night she lay in her bed listening to the distant noise of the city. Her window was open in an attempt to chase out the last of the burnt-onion smell, and the breeze felt cold on her forehead. Sometimes when the wind changed direction, it brought the sharp earthy scent of the flower beds in the yard and the sound of her mother and Ziggy talking in hushed voices. MOMO tried not to listen too closely, but she caught an occasional word or phrase, not enough to make sense of the entire conversation.

"--only asking if you would consider it," said Juli. "I don't want to pressure you, but I hope you'll give it some thought."

MOMO wondered if they were talking about having his consciousness transferred into a carbon-based Realian body for temporary use when he wasn't on a mission. If he had a Realian frame, he could go on living even after his original body ceased to function. Juli had proposed it once or twice before, but each time Ziggy had insisted, patiently but firmly, that he wasn't interested. Lately Juli seemed to have dropped the matter, and now that MOMO had seen his maintenance results, she thought she knew why. Maybe Juli had accepted his intentions, or maybe she had just given up trying to change his mind. At any rate, that didn't seem to be what they were discussing now; Ziggy was saying something about his memories that MOMO didn't quite catch.

"I know you don't want to relive them," said Juli, "and I don't blame you. But if we managed to link them up somehow ...."

Then they started talking about the incident in Patmos, and MOMO wondered what Ziggy's memory had to do with the recent attacks. Was that why he had seemed so upset before? She made up her mind to ask Juli about it tomorrow; there was no reason for them to keep hiding things from her.

She tuned out the rest of the conversation, feeling bad enough already for listening to any of it. The room had grown cold, so she got up to shut the window before she went to sleep. Her mother and Ziggy still stood in the courtyard, their outlines hazy in the distant light of the city and the soft glow from inside the apartment. Seeing them together made her feel relieved and lonely at the same time. She wondered where the Elsa was, what Jr. and the others were doing now.

Two years had passed since the last time she had seen him, and she wondered if he had changed as much as she had. But maybe she hadn't changed at all, except on the surface. Even after her operation, she didn't feel any different from before. She didn't know what growing up was supposed to feel like. Maybe it wasn't the same for Realians.

Restless, she walked to the mirror. In the half-light from the window, her reflection was a separate person, a stranger. She raised a hand, and the girl in the mirror did the same--a friendly, conciliatory gesture, but when she brought her fingertips to the surface she touched only cold smooth glass. Her heart raced, and for a moment she didn't know where she was, which one of her was the reflection, or whether she was even here at all. Maybe MOMO was the sleeping child they had put to rest in the storage capsule on the Dämmerung after her operation. And if so, then who was here in this stranger's body, thinking these thoughts?

At Vector they had warned her to expect brief episodes of dissociation in the beginning, until her personality layer reconfigured to her new self-image, but she had never experienced the feeling so intensely. She recoiled from the mirror and sat down on the floor beside her bed with her knees gathered to her chest and her head burrowed in her arms, but she couldn't make herself small enough, not anymore, not small enough to disappear.

This is normal, she thought, insistent over the hammering in her ears. To reassure herself, she tried to recall what the Third Division personnel had told her during her adjustment sessions. The 100 series units were designed to look and act like children; their operating systems were programmed to run inside a childlike frame, with no provisions built in for upgrades. You're the prototype, so you'll set an example for the rest of them. You'll be the first to know what it's like to grow up. When she agreed to the operation she had been eager to find out, and if she had considered at all the responsibilities involved, she had dismissed them without much thought. After all, hadn't she proven herself more than capable of handling responsibility when she took a leading role in the AMN project? Wasn't she already grown up on the inside, as Juli had said?

But now she wasn't sure she wanted to be an adult. She didn't want time to move any faster, away from this moment and everything that was familiar and dear to her--away from Ziggy and her mother and her friends and the world she knew. She didn't want to have to protect herself, and she didn't want to take on any more responsibilities, any more secrets, any more burdens. And she was ashamed of herself for having doubts. If she admitted them, even to herself, did that mean the operation had been a failure?

She got up and looked out the window again. The courtyard was empty, and no light came from the adjacent room. She hadn't noticed when Juli and Ziggy went inside, but she could detect their signals now, at rest in separate rooms across the hallway, and the steady pulse of their life signs reassured her.

Still too restless to sleep, she sat down at her desk and roused her computer out of standby mode. She called up the files she had received from Doctus and set her analytical programs to work on them, hoping the problem of interpreting the foreign code would distract her from her lingering worries. After a while, driven by a growing sense of urgency, she sneaked out to the kitchen, made herself a cup of tea--her mother's favorite kind, a preference MOMO had acquired from living with her--and returned to her room to continue the analysis.

About an hour later, she returned to the kitchen to refill her cup and heat up the leftovers from dinner, since she was starting to feel hungry again and had abandoned the prospect of getting any sleep. Staying up all night to work on a difficult problem was another habit she had learned from Juli.