And we just got him online only moments before you arrived!” Dr. Geneva put his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “What do you think?”
Billy Hinman said, “He’s real.”
Dr. Geneva coughed out a condescendingly fake laugh and said, “Of course he’s real, William! As real as anything ever was, since, in effect, our collective notion of reality is merely at best an assumption of what reality actually is. And here he is! Ha ha ha!”
When Dr. Geneva said “reality,” he made his hands shape like brackets in the air, and his eyes got very large, like he was talking to an uncomprehending idiot, or maybe a poodle.
Jeffrie said, “Who is he?”
And even if there were only five human beings left alive anywhere in the universe, Jeffrie Cutler would still have been just about the only person who did not recognize the cog who’d just been made by other cogs on the Tennessee, who stood before them smiling, extending a hand to shake Billy’s.
Billy said, “Mooney. The robot. From the TV show.”
Jeffrie shook her head and shrugged. “Never saw it.”
And Mooney said, “Glad to meet you, Billy! Would you like me to sing a song for you? Cheepa Yeep, by the way! Ha ha ha!”
“I—I’m not . . .”
Billy took Mooney’s hand. Nothing else mattered at that point, because the bits of Rabbit & Robot that had already wormed their way inside Billy Hinman’s brain when he saw the show on our transpod, and from the videos and songs on the Tennessee, began to whisper stories to him about another world entirely.
Add Action,
Add Action.
Execute switch void ever never,
Execute switch satisfaction.
Billy was unaware he’d been standing, openmouthed, eyes glazed, staring at Mooney.
Jeffrie grabbed his arm and shook him. “Hey. Hey, Billy.”
And Mooney dropped to one knee with his arms out, like an old-time vaudevillian, and finished the song in his booming, goofy voice:
And no one cares about haves and have-nots,
We love you all, our rabbits and robots!
Dr. Geneva clapped his hands wildly. “He’s magnificent! Magnificent! William, have I ever told you about the history of mind coding, and how it came to be developed in the first half of this century, coincidental to the discovery of the chief agents of neural reconfiguration brought about by the sustained ingestion of Woz? It’s a fascinating study, which dates back to one of the first wars fought between the United States and Norway, where Woz was originally . . .”
Billy Hinman was confused. He shook his head.
Jeffrie said, “Shut the fuck up, Dr. Geneva.”
“We should be friends, Billy!” Mooney started singing again. “What do you think you’ll be? A bonk like Rabbit? Or a robot like me?”
And Jeffrie said, “Look. Billy. Listen to me. If Queen Dot is out to get these machines, she’s for sure done something horrible. We should probably get the fuck out of this place, before we all get burned.”
Dr. Geneva had been gabbling on and on and on about Norwegian history as though nothing else mattered at all. He started in the thirteenth century.
Behind them, somewhere on the floor in a puddle of what looked like runny mayonnaise and semen, Reverend Bingo screeched, “I should have bought the blue car! I should have bought the blue car!”
“I’m so happy! I’m so happy, I could poop myself, but my butt’s down in the arrivals hall somewhere! Wheee!” Officer Dennis’s head bellowed.
And Mooney said, “We should be friends, Billy! Maybe we could go shoot some monkeys together, ha ha! Or we could go to Rabbit & Robot World and ride the terror coaster! Or, wait! I know what we could do!”
And then Mooney dug his hand down inside his pocket. He opened his palm in front of Billy’s chin, and all up through the fake flesh of his fake and mechanized hand wriggled excited little blue worms, slithering in oily slime.
“Ha ha! It’s Woz, Billy! My own special kind! Want to try some with me? I bet your pal Cager would!”
Mooney held the wriggling mass that glinted like diamonds.