NEAL STEPHENSON

“Bad news. A metavirus,” Juanita says. “It’s the atomic bomb of informational warfare-a virus that causes any system to infect itself with new viruses.”

“And that’s what made Da5id sick?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t I get sick?”

“Too far away. Your eyes couldn’t resolve the bitmap. It has to be right up in your face.”

“I’ll think about that one,” Hiro says. “But I have another question. Raven also distributes another drug-in Reality-called, among other things, Snow Crash. What is it?”

“It’s not a drug,” Juanita says. “They make it look like a drug and feel like a drug so that people will want to take it. It’s laced with cocaine and some other stuff.”

“If it’s not a drug, what is it?”

“It’s chemically processed blood serum taken from people who are infected with the metavirus,” Juanita says. “That is, it’s just another way of spreading the infection.”

“Who’s spreading it?”

“L. Bob Rife’s private church. All of those people are infected.”

Hiro puts his head in his hands. He’s not exactly thinking about this; he’s letting it ricochet around in his skull, waiting for it to come to rest. “Wait a minute, Juanita. Make up your mind. This Snow Crash thingis it a virus, a drug, or a religion?”

Juanita shrugs. “What’s the difference?”

____________ That Juanita is talking this way does not make it any easier for Hiro to get back on his feet in this conversation. “How can you say that? You’re a religious person yourself.”

“Don’t lump all religion together.”

“Sorry.”

“All people have religions. It’s like we have religion receptors built into our brain cells, or something, and we’ll latch onto anything that’ll fill that niche for us. Now, religion used to be essentially viral-a piece of information that replicated inside the human mind, jumping from one person to the next. That’s the way it used to be, and unfortunately, that’s the way it’s headed

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