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to say to you, and you should give her the chance to say them, even if you don’t want to hear them. Maybe you’ll find some peace that way.” Rob felt his dad’s hand on the back of his neck. “Even if it doesn’t, I think it’s still the right thing to do.”
    Rob had no answer. “I know you’re right.” But even if it was the right thing to do, it still wasn’t possible. There had just been something on the macrofeeds about protests outside bridesicle centers. Visiting bridesicle places was crazy expensive, to discourage people who couldn’t actually afford to repair any of the women from visiting, so it had an exclusive feel, no relatives sitting around sobbing. It cost something like six times as much to visit a bridesicle as it did a relative frozen in the main facility. Not that most people could even afford to visit their relatives.
    Rob called up the local bridesicle site, which was in Yonkers, and located a fee list. Yeah, crazy expensive.
    “I can’t afford it, though. Even if I drained all of my savings, I wouldn’t have anywhere near enough.”
    His father patted his shoulder. “I’ll loan you the rest. Whatever you need.”
    “Dad, no, five minutes is like nine thousand. I have less than two, and I know you don’t have seven.”
    His dad shushed him like he was six again. “We’ll get it.”

5
Mira
    Mira dreamed she was running on a trail in the woods. The trail sloped upward, growing steeper and steeper until she was running up big steps. Then the steps entered a flimsy plywood tower and wound up, up. It was dark, and she could barely see, but it felt so good to run; it had been such a long time that she didn’t care how steep it was. She climbed higher, considered turning back, but she wanted to make it to the top after having gone so far. Finally she reached the top, and there was a window where she could see a vast river, and a lovely college campus set along it. She hurried over to the window for a better view, and as she did, the tower leaned under her shifting weight, and began to fall forward. The tower built speed, hurtled toward the buildings.
This is it
, she thought, her stomach flip-flopping.
This is the moment of my death.
    Mira jolted awake before she hit the ground.
    An old man—likely in his eighties—squinted down at her. “You’re not my type,” he grumbled, reaching over her head.

6
Veronika
    As the front door whooshed closed, Veronika dropped her groceries on the counter and immediately activated
Wings of Fire
. Normally she would first dress in something to fit her part, maybe break out some pretzels, but last night she’d intentionally discontinued at a good part, and had spent all day anticipating.
    She pulled on her extensions as the living room transformed into Peytr’s dance studio, the program adapting each piece of furniture into some functional aspect of the set so she wouldn’t bump into it. Peytr materialized, filling Veronika with a warm, comfortable glow of longing. It was embarrassing, how engrossed she was in this show. Well, not in the show itself as much as in Peytr Sidorov. For Veronika, it was always about the male lead. She fell for Peytr the moment she saw the preview for
Wings of Fire
.
    “Are you sure you want to do this?” Peytr asked, picking up where they’d left off last night. “If we cross this line… if we act on what’s in our hearts, there’s no going back.” Hewas slick with sweat from dancing, his musky scent magnified by the exertion.
    Veronika’s heart was pounding with anticipation. If she told Peytr she wanted to go through with it, as she planned to, she was fairly sure Peytr’s wife, Anya, was going to walk in and discover them. All day Veronika had been planning what she’d say to Anya, trying to anticipate Anya’s reply. She’d grown to despise Anya in a manner that was entirely too real.
    In answer to Peytr’s question, Veronika reached out and stroked Peytr’s virtual shoulder, feeling his slick skin