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William, of the New Race. Nevertheless, everything beyond the doors of the master suite was most definitely in public territory.
    Consequently, she returned to the telephone in the bedroom and pressed the ALL-CALL function of those buttons on the keypad dedicated to the intercom system. Her summons would be broadcast to every room.
    “This is Mrs. Helios,” she said. “William is biting off his fingers in the upstairs hall, and I need some assistance.”
    By the time she returned to the hallway, the butler had finished with his left thumb and had begun on the little finger of his right hand.
    “William, this is irrational,” she cautioned. “Victor designed us brilliantly, but we can’t grow things back when we lose them.”
    Her admonition did not give him pause. After spitting out the little finger, he rocked back and forth on his knees: “Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick,
tick, TICK
, TICK !”
    The urgency of his voice triggered connections between implanted associations in Erika’s mind. She said, “William, you sound like the White Rabbit, pocket watch in hand, racing across the meadow, late for tea with the Mad Hatter.”
    She considered seizing the hand that still had four fingers and restraining him as best she could. She wasn’t afraid of him, but she didn’t want to appear forward.
    Her in-the-tank education had included exhaustive input on the finest points of deportment and manners. In any social situation from a dinner party to an audience with the Queen of England, she knew the proper etiquette.
    Victor insisted upon a poised wife with refined manners. Too bad William wasn’t the Queen of England. Or even the Pope.
    Fortunately, Christine, the head housekeeper, must have been nearby. She appeared on the stairs, hurrying upward.
    The housekeeper did not seem to be shocked. Her expression was grim but entirely controlled.
    As she approached, she took a cell phone from a pocket of her uniform and speed-dialed a number with the pressing of one key.
    Christine’s efficiency startled Erika. If there was a number that one called to report a man biting off his fingers, she herself should have known it.
    Perhaps not all the downloaded data had found its way into her brain as it should have done. This was a troubling thought.
    William stopped rocking on his knees and put his right ring finger in his mouth.
    Other members of the household staff appeared on the stairs—three, four, then five of them. They ascended but not as quickly as Christine.
    Every one of them had a haunted look. That is not to say they appeared to be ghosts, but that they looked as if they had
seen
a ghost.
    This made no sense, of course. The New Race were atheists by programming and free of all superstition.
    Into the cell phone, Christine said, “Mr. Helios, this is Christine. We’ve got another Margaret.”
    In her vocabulary, Erika had no definition for
Margaret
, other than that it was a woman’s name.
    “No, sir,” said Christine, “it’s not Mrs. Helios. It’s William. He’s biting off his fingers.”
    Erika was surprised that Victor should think that she herself might be inclined to bite off her fingers. She was certain that she had given him no reason to expect such a thing of her.
    After spitting out his right ring finger, the butler began to rock back and forth again, chanting: “Tick, tock, tick, tock…”
    Christine held the phone close to William, to allow Victor to hear the chant.
    The other five staff members had reached the top of the stairs. They stood in the hallway, silent, solemn, as if bearing witness.
    Into the phone once more, Christine said, “He’s about to start on the eighth, Mr. Helios.” She listened. “Yes, sir.”
    As William stopped chanting and put the middle finger of his right hand in his mouth, Christine grabbed a fistful of his hair, not to stop his self-mutilation, but to steady his head in order to hold the cell phone to his ear.
    After a moment, William stiffened and seemed to listen