A crowd, chanting, wild and organized in mysterious ways. A bull, undisturbed, at their center. Dead and half-eaten bulls all around. Fiery, phosphorescent torches. Drums, chanting, drums. A machete, in the hand of a masked man. False eyes in great blooming colors on the wooden mask. A sharp thrust of the machete upward at the throat of the passive bull. Blood, efforts at breath, more blood. A rush to gather the meat. An infectious madness in the crowd.

A dark theatre. Flash of light, images of terror, images of murder. A knife, screams and blood. A ritual of release . . . release.

I, Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca, went traveling west on the river. I came to a city of robots. In one street I saw a group of robots gathered around the Perfect Woman. They were taking her cells, one by one, and replacing them with metal, robotic cells. When all her body was metal except for the heart and brain, these fleshy things leapt from her body in fear, grew little claws, and scampered away. These blind organs ran about like giant roaches all over the city.

Heart-and-brain infestation disgusted the robots, who chased the little senseless organs with brooms and rakes whenever they saw them. The sewers were especially rife with live hearts and brains that made their cumbersome way about like crabs at the sea. Every robot politician promised to clean the city of hearts and brains. One robot, it was rumored, was attacked and killed by a swarm of them years ago. The truth was, however, that heart and brain claws were mainly for grasping at food, and could do the robots no real harm. The Perfect Woman's heart and brain, well, those would be an exterminator's ultimate trophy; but as far as I could see, these escaped the robots into dark and small places.

When I was far west of this city, hearts and brains kept me company as I slept in the caves, and provided many a desperate meal.