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of dubious stare that muckety-mucks
from the creeds had been giving him his entire life, long before he was
old enough to deserve them. Then she cast a spiteful glance at Horvil's
apartment, which the engineer had carefully arranged in a tableau of
dishevelment: half-eaten sandwiches mingling freely on the floor with
dirty clothes, pieces of broken furniture, and the occasional bio/logic
programming bar. The elderly woman sighed and turned back to
smoothing the wrinkles on her purple suede robe. The state of the robe
seemed more important to her than Horvil's dire warnings of enemy
attack.
    "Creed Elan has contacts in the Defense and Wellness Council,"
she said. "We have people in the Meme Cooperative. If everyone is panicking about Pharisee black code, why haven't we heard about it?"

    "Heck, I don't know. I'm not a Council officer. Who knows how a
wave of rumors like this gets started?"
    "I don't care how a wave of rumors like this gets started," she mimicked
cruelly. "I'm more interested in knowig how you, of all people, end up
on the crest of it."
    The woman's name was Marulana-at least, Horvil thought her
name was Marulana. These rich old crones from Creed Elan were all
interchangeable. They scrapped amongst themselves to be the first to
solicit your donation for their silly charity events, but when it came
time for you to ask a favor of them, they were nowhere to be found. All
Horvil knew for sure was that she was a bigwig in Creed Elan-one of
the handful of minor bodhisattvas that ran the organization. She was
also one of the women his Aunt Berilla frequently had over for lunch
in that gaudy calcified estate of hers on the West End.
    He could have verified her name in a heartbeat on the public directory, but it didn't really matter. Horvil knew this was going to be a
short conversation anyway.
    "You want to know how I heard about this?" Horvil gulped,
looking for a quick way to foist Marulana's suspicions on someone else.
"Natch told me." He gave her a conspiratorial shrug as if to say, Crazy
world. You never know when you're going to get swept up in another rumor or
scandal. But what can you do?
    "Oh, Natch told you," replied the creed official with deepening suspicion. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me." Horvil had no doubt she
would recognize the name. Ever since he had signed on with the fiefcorp, Natch's name had been spreading among the Elanners like a virulent cancer. Aunt Berilla's influence, no doubt. "So you hear that a
major black code attack is imminent, and your first instinct is to contact your spiritual mentors at Creed Elan. Is that it, Horvil?"
    The sarcasm in her voice was palpable, almost a third participant
in the conversation. "Listen, your holy creedfulness," said Horvil. "I
don't expect you to panic every time you hear a strange rumor. But this is me talking! You guys know me. My family's been shelling out credits
to support Creed Elan since the beginning of time." And I haven't paid
any attention to your dumb creed activities since I was a kid. I don't even pretend to understand what kind of morals and values you people teach anymore.
I'm not sure I ever did. "I'd just hate to see your fine customers-er, constituents-get sucked dry because some black code caught them
unaware."

    "I'm certain our devotees will be just fine."
    The engineer lost his patience. "Why do you always have to look
for ulterior motives? Do you think Creed Elan has a-a monopoly on
good intentions?"
    "No," Marulana replied drily. "We simply know from experience
that the only people fiefcorpers care about are themselves." She threw
a vulture-like frown in Horvil's direction. Then her multi connection
winked out without even a goodbye.
    Horvil collapsed back to the couch, frustrated, sending a stack of
grubby pillows to the floor in the process. So much for family connections,
he thought. At least he could be comforted that the state of his apartment would make it back to Aunt