“I don’t remember him,” I said after a while. “What, the other Siri? Pre-Pod Siri?” I nodded. “Nothing at all?” I thought back. “Well, he was wracked by convulsions all the time, right? There’d be constant pain. I don’t remember any pain.” My glass was almost empty; I sipped to make it last. “I—I dream about him sometimes, though. About … being him.” “What’s it like?” “It was—colorful. Everything was more saturated, you know? Sounds, smells. Richer than life.” “And now?” I looked at him. “You said it was colorful. What changed?” “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. I just— I don’t actually remember the dreams when I wake up anymore.” “So how do you know you still have them?” Pag asked. Fuck it, I thought, and tipped back the last of my pint in a single gulp. “I know.” “How?” I frowned, taken aback. I had to think for a few moments before I remembered. “I wake up smiling,” I said.