City of Night

transition module. Father Duchaine would like to offer his holy counsel to poor Werner.”
    The nearest door purred, sighed with the breaking of a seal, and swung open.
    On the screens, the Werner thing, having been racing around the walls in a frenzy, suddenly went still, alert.
    “Cycle open the farther door?” Annunciata asked.
    She received no reply.
    “He’s in the air lock,” she said.
    Then she corrected herself: “It’s not an air lock.”
    The Werner thing was now singular in appearance and so unearthly in its form that an entire college of biologists, anthropologists, entomologists, herpetologists, and their ilk could have spent years studying it without determining the meaning of its body language and its facial expressions (to the extent that it had a face). Yet on the screens, as viewed from different angles, most laymen would have said that it looked eager.
    “Thank you, Mr. Helios. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Helios. Helios. Helios.”
     
    Bucky Guitreau, the current district attorney of the city of New Orleans and a replicant, was at work at the desk in his home office when his wife, Janet, also a replicant, stepped in from the hallway and said, “Bucky, I think lines of code in my base programming are dropping out.”
    “We all have days we feel that way,” he assured her.
    “No,” she said. “I must have lost a significant chunk of stuff. Did you hear the doorbell ring a few minutes ago?”
    “I did, yeah.”
    “It was a pizza-delivery guy.”
    “Did we order a pizza?”
    “No. It was for the Bennets, next door. Instead of just setting the pizza guy straight, I killed him.”
    “What do you mean—killed him?”
    “I dragged him into the foyer and strangled him to death.”
    Alarmed, Bucky got up from his desk. “Show me.”
    He followed her out to the foyer. A twenty-something man lay dead on the floor.
    “The pizza’s in the kitchen if you want some,” Janet said.
    Bucky said, “You’re awfully calm about this.”
    “I am, aren’t I? It was really fun. I’ve never felt so good.”
    Although he should have been wary of her, afraid for himself, and concerned about the effect of this on their maker’s master plan, Bucky was instead in awe of her. And envious.
    “You’ve definitely dropped some lines of program,” he said. “I didn’t know that was possible. What’re you going to do now?”
    “I think I’m going to go next door and kill the Bennets. What are you going to do?”
    “What I should do is report you for termination,” Bucky said.
    “Are you going to?”
    “Maybe there’s something wrong with me, too.”
    “You’re not going to turn me in?”
    “I don’t really feel like it,” he said.
    “Do you want to come with me and help kill the Bennets?”
    “We’re forbidden to kill until ordered.”
    “They’re Old Race. I’ve hated them for so long.”
    “Well, I have, too,” he said. “But still…”
    “I’m so horny just talking about it,” Janet said, “I’ve got to go over there right now .”
    “I’ll go with you,” Bucky said. “I don’t think I could kill anybody. But it’s funny… I think I could watch.”
     
    After a while the naked albino dwarf came across the dark lawn to the big porch window directly in front of Erika, and peered in at her.
    Dwarf wasn’t the correct word for it. She didn’t think a right word existed, but troll seemed more accurately descriptive than dwarf .
    Although the thing in the glass case had scared her, she had no concern about this creature. Her lack of fear puzzled her.
    The troll had large, unusually expressive eyes. They were both eerie and beautiful.
    She felt an inexplicable sympathy for it, a connection.
    The troll leaned its forehead against the glass and said quite distinctly, in a raspy voice, “Harker.”
    Erika considered this for a moment. “Harker?”
    “Harker,” the troll repeated.
    If she understood it correctly, the required reply was the one she gave: “Erika.”
    “Erika,” said the troll.
    “Harker,” she said.
    The troll smiled. Its smile proved to be an ugly wound in its face, but she didn’t flinch.
    Part of her duties was to be the perfect hostess. The perfect hostess receives every guest with equal graciousness.
    She sipped her cognac, and for a minute they enjoyed staring at each other through the window.
    Then the troll said, “Hate him.”
    Erika considered this statement. She decided that if she asked to whom the troll referred, the answer