The Sex Sphere by Rudy Rucker

almost immediately. Soon they all felt a little better. The sun shone, casting living color-shadows from their drinks onto the clean linen tablecloth.
    “Where is Daddy now?” Tom asked, sucking up a last strand of spaghetti. “I didn’t understand what the man said.”
    Sybil washed down a forkful of flaky tuna and dark-purple anchovy with a gulp of wine. This was a good salad. She ate a leaf of lettuce before starting her answer.
    “Apparently some gangsters stole Daddy last night. They thought he might be rich, and that we could pay a lot of money to get him back.”
    “Aren’t we rich?”
    In a way, this was a reasonable question. Here they were spending Easter in Rome. But, on the other hand, home right now was a two-room subsidized apartment in Heidelberg.
    “Rich? Are you kidding? Those gangsters would have wanted more money than Daddy makes in ten years.”
    “What will dey do if we can’t buy him back?” Ida asked anxiously. Her upper lip was bright orange from the soft drink.
    “Well, now it’s different,” Sybil explained. “Some other people stole Daddy from the gangsters. Some bad people who want him to make an atomic bomb. It’s thanks to stupid Mr. Membrane that they got that idea.” She poured more wine and soda and sopped a piece of bread in the juices of her salad. Funny how she could go on eating like nothing had happened. She must be in shock.
    “Bad silly men,” said Ida.
    “What if they light off Daddy’s bomb? We should go far away!” Tom’s round forehead was asterisked with worry.
    “Don’t worry, Tom. Daddy wouldn’t let a bomb go off with us still here. Let’s go to the newspaper office and see if they can help us.” She folded the Herald Tribune open to the editorial page and scanned the list of offices. Rome: 73 Viale Giulio Cesare, Susan Spangle, Ed .
    “Susan Spangle,” Sybil said out loud.
    “Who’s she?”
    “Maybe she can help.”
    She paid the check and hailed a cab. Julius Caesar Street was halfway across the city. They went through a park and across a huge square with an Egyptian obelisk. Sybil wished they had time to stop and look at the hieroglyphs. But no. She began to feel a certain irritation towards Alwin. If he hadn’t been out staggering around at two in the morning, none of this would have happened. Shit, shit, shit!
    The Herald Tribune office was at a corner near the river, upstairs from a big dress shop. There were about fifteen people working there, and Sybil had to talk to most of them before getting to the boss.
    Susan Spangle’s assistant was a fatherly fat Italian named Signor Atti. He even had suspenders and a mustache with waxed ends. He cheerfully agreed to keep an eye on the children while Sybil talked to the boss.
    Susan Spangle turned out to be a smooth-voiced black woman with long straight hair and small features. She wore a black coral necklace with matching earrings. Her dress was a practical-looking pale blue, with buttons up the front and a little collar. Preppy, almost. Her eyes were yellow and older looking than her face. Forty-five, maybe. A tough career woman.
    “Your husband was involved in the killing at the Colosseum this morning?”
    “I hadn’t realized there was a killing.”
    “Yes…are you sure your husband was kidnapped?”
    Sybil told the story of her meeting with Vice-Consul Membrane. Spangle listened carefully, staring at the ceiling with calculating eyes.
    “Is your husband able to build a bomb or not?” she asked finally.
    Just then the kids came charging into the office, Signor Atti hot on their trail.
    “His fat ate a pencil!” Tom shouted excitedly.
    Signor Atti’s shirt was untucked. He’d been showing off his stomach.
    “His fat gone eat ME!” squealed Ida, half believing it.
    “Do we have anything on the Green Death group?” Spangle asked him.
    Atti groaned in thought, tucking his shirt in. “Yeeees. They were in Mestre, and then I dunno. Let me go call Magnani.”
    Tom and Ida came