NEAL STEPHENSON

his intellect, but he’s known for years that this is the last of her worries. At Black Sun Systems, he figured that it was just typical female guardedness-Juanita was afraid he was trying to get her into the sack. But this, too, is pretty much out of the question.

At this late date in his romantic career, he is j-~st canny enough to come up with a new theory: She’s being careful because she likes him. She likes him in spite of herself. He is exactly the kind of tempting but utterly wrong romantic choice that a smart girl like Juanita must learn to avoid.

That’s definitely it. There’s something to be said for getting older.

By way of answering his question, she says, “I have an associate I’d like you to meet. A gentleman and a scholar named Lagos. He’s a fascinating guy to talk to.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

She thinks this one over rather than lashing out instantaneously. “My behavior at The Black Sun to the contrary, I don’t fuck every male I work with. And even if I did, Lagos is out of the question.”

“Not your type?”

“Not by a long shot.”

“What is your type, anyway?”

“Old, rich, unimaginative blonds with steady careers.”

This one almost slips by him. Then he catches it. “Well, I could dye my hair. And I’ll get old eventually.”

She actually laughs. It’s a tension-releasing kind of outburst. “Believe me, Him, I’m the last person you want to be involved with at this point.”

“Is this part of your church thing?” he asks. Juanita has been using her excess money to start her own branch of the Catholic church-she considers herself a missionary to the intelligent atheists of the world.

“Don’t be condescending,” she says. “That’s exactly the attitude I’m fighting. Religion is not for simpletons.”

“Sorry. This is unfair, you know-you can read every expression on my face, and I’m looking at you through a fucking blizzard.”

“It’s definitely related to religion,” she says. “But this is so