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‘Where are my shoes?’   Alana is threading her way through New Year party detritus, coming towards him Wallace tries not to stare at her legs: muscles shifting smoothly over the schematic correctness of tendon and bone    Positively Vitruvian, dah-ling, drawls Sober Cynthia, who is the only version of his ex-wife his Therapized® brain can now produce Probably the representation is inaccurate, though a version of Sober Cynthia did exist off and on, during their long, often painful marriage, mainly coinciding with the times when they tried to get pregnant During these times, Cynthia maintained her own body with the fervour of a racehorse breeder, which in turn, strangely, excited Wallace – the hormone injections, the chart with days marked, temperatures recorded A glimpse into some private, increasingly guarded realm    I never liked that woman, says the Therapization® of Wallace’s mother, Xueling – all that remains after a month’s worth of sessions with the technician, who had unspooled memories from Wallace’s chip, snipping at cortisol spikes Refining them into Memory™ I’m glad she’s out of your life As he watches this version of her in his mind’s eye, its ribcage buckles and a miniature version of his stepfather, Beale, appears, growing from Xueling’s side like a benign tumour The Beale-Therapization® waves, yelling squeakily: Women? Who needs ‘em! An avalanche of potential – that’s what you are, my boy    Hate to disappoint you, Beale, he thinks, but the avalanche has long since rumbled down the hill, taking out some unfortunate skiers Atop Mount Wallace, everything is still and cold Even staring at Alana’s legs – the legs of his best friend David’s wife – that staring’s not even for the right reasons; the classic reasons, shall we say: old perv, sweet young thing, et cetera Instead, in this dim New Year light, her legs seem to embody something more, some awesome untapped reserve of kinetic energy All that life left to her, and she has chosen to let David – only two years younger than Wallace, soon to be 63 – into it    An a-va-lanche, the Beale-part squeaks It’s what he used