I nodded. I knew that Catholicism had been banned in Aztlan since 2041, but the mutilated statue of the Virgin Mary brought it home to me. I’d never been one for religion—my mother had to literally drag me to church when I was a kid and then threaten to take my toy laser gun and plastic cop badge to make me behave once I was there. After my parents separated, my father stopped going to Mass, and I happily returned to playing cops and runners games on Sundays. But I had fond memories of the serene face of a similar Virgin Mary—although in my parents’ church, she had been a holo. Mary had always seemed so much more approachable than the stern saints and so much less frightening than the mutilated bodies of the martyrs or the tortured corpse of Christ on the cross.