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planet. As I do at some point nearly every day, I wondered how they could have been so selfish and short-sighted. I wondered how much of it was due to ignorance, and how much of it was down to knowing but not caring. How could anyone have believed the convenience offered by a motor car was more precious than the life of a single humming bird or butterfly?
    Aware I was being watched, I looked up from the book to Paula. Her expression had no trace of the usual know-it-all look I’m used to seeing on the face of Numbers. Quite the opposite—there were a dozen questions in her eyes. Just as I was bewildered by my heritage, I think Paula was bewildered by me, by the way a book could transport me to another time and place.
    Putting the oversized volume back on the shelf, I turned my attention and my camera to the pot plants that sat on every flat surface.
    I hesitated after the first couple of shots. Something wasn’t quite right about the plants, just like something wasn’t right about the body. But, again, I couldn’t put my finger on it.
    I moved to the nearest pot, containing a cheese-plant worth as many pleasure points as I earn in a month, and my unease deepened.
    Aware of my puzzlement, Paula said, “What’s wrong?”
    â€œI don’t know, but something’s not quite right.”
    The arrival of a Community Police officer prevented Paula from quizzing me further.
    The CP are the equivalent of the old FBI. Each haven has a couple of LogiPol wardens like Paula and me, first-responders who handle the-day-to-day law and order issues. But if anything big goes down, the CP usually check it out. Most of them are Paretos. I think Pareto was the name given in the Old Days to some product that was perfect. Whatever, Paretos are ‘perfect people.’ Their flaw is that they have no flaws. No, seriously. Flaws are randomly generated, and because not having flaws is a flaw, occasionally you get a perfect person. If somebody’s perfect you’d think they’d be impossible not to like if you put your jealousy to one side. But, take it from me, they are the biggest pains in the butt imaginable. They have every infuriating trait of your average Number, but to the nth degree (I’m sure they can give you the exact figure rather than having to make do with a superscript letter). Just in case anyone’s in the slightest doubt about how cool and hard they are, they wear black jumpsuits rather than the dark blue of LogiPol. Paretos come in several varieties. This one was the blond male Caucasian model. There are a dozen of that type in our community’s CP. I couldn’t tell which one this was, because they all look identical to me: clean-cut, well-coordinated features; brush-cut hair the colour of white gold; eyes like sapphires; pearly white teeth, and a tight-lipped mouth that’s never learned how to express anything except a sneer.
    From the way Paula looked at this Pareto,
she
knew who he was. I wasn’t sure how she knew, and didn’t want to think about that for too long. My dislike of the Pareto increased exponentially, and with a shock I realized I was jealous. I was used to only feeling unadulterated contempt for Paretos. I wasn’t used to being jealous of them. I had a feeling Paula was mentally undressing him. I’d never had the feeling she was mentally undressing me, which hardly seemed fair since I’d done it so many times to her.
    The Pareto ignored me, which suited me fine, and addressed Paula, which I wasn’t so happy about. “SitRep,” he said.
    So Paula gave him a situation report, if you can call two words and an abbreviation a report: “Suicide by OD.”
    â€œEvidence for?”
    â€œNote and syringe. No sign of struggle. No forced entry. Last authorized entry was by the deceased last night.”
    â€œEvidence against?” the Pareto asked.
    Paula looked at me, like she was daring me to say something.
    I looked