“irk isn’t cut from the same cloth as us,” Scott says sadly. “I mean he’s a poet, an authentic poet. He can go for weeks without eating or writing. Me, if I’m hungry, I’ll charge the shit on my overextended credit cards. And write a story about it.”

“Frank and Dirk together would make one real good hypertext novelist,” William mutters softly, beneath his breath. “If we could only combine them. . . .”

“We’d encounter some opposition,” Scott says excitedly, “but who knows, you just may have an idea there. I mean they can clone sheep now. I’d imagine that there are skilled surgeons. . . .”

“Mike knows some people,” William says quietly, “and this is strictly sub rosa, my friend, if this were to get out, it would be bad, very bad. But in Urbana there have been some experiments, funded by the Department of Defense—”

“Experiments like what kind experiments?”

“Let’s just say that Mary Shelly was ahead of her time.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. The trick will be to get them together, in one room. And we’ll need to obtain some ether.”

“that can be arranged.”

“Heh huh.”

“Heh huh heh huh.”

“Ha ha ha ha.”

“Hah hah heh ha ha ha.”

“Hah.”

“Ha.”

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