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The dreamcatcher works so well for Dagmar and Hesse that they buy a mailcatcher, a friendcatcher, a flycatcher and a discussioncatcher too. (The flycatcher is just one of those unrolled sticky things; they call it that for symmetry.)

Life gets a lot smoother. Too smooth, in fact.

“Dag,” says Hesse carefully one day. “Ever get the impression that we can’t actually… talk about those?” He waves toward them.

“Because of the dis–the disc–” She can’t quite name it.


“Um.” She bites her fingernail. “Should we take it down?”

“Mmf mmfff!” agrees Rondo, from the cotton web outside their door.


Rondo dreams that he’s completely on top of the whole Pittsburgh situation: everyone coordinating perfectly, grudges sidelined, signatures of approval piling up in his in-tray. On waking, he’s deeply disappointed that it wasn’t real. This is alleviated by the discovery that he can fly.

Rondo whoops through barrel rolls; he scatters geese and skims the center line down I-95. It’s so easy. There’s no wind noise or bugsplatter, and to accelerate he just bites his lip and squints and tries.

The next night he has a dream about money, and when he wakes up all his teeth fall out.