Mindscan

That's not it. I was able to watch the pen fall, to see it clearly as it moved downward.

"I haven't noticed any heightening of my awareness like that."

I don't think it's heightened awareness … There. I just ptcked it up and dropped it again. It fell in slow motion.

"Fell in slow … how is that possible?"

I don't know, unless…

"Oh, Christ."

Christ indeed.

"You're on the moon. I mean, I suppose you could be anywhere with reduced gravity, including a space station spinning too slowly to simulate a full Earth gee. But since we already know that Immortex has a facility on the moon…"

Yes. But if I'm on the moon, shouldn't there be a time delay as I communicate with you? The moon's — what? — four hundred thousand kilometers from Earth.

"Something like that. And light travels at 300,000 kilometers per second, so — let's see — there should be a one-and-a-third second delay, or so."

Maybe there is. Maybe.

"Let's test it. I'll count to five; when you hear me say five, you pick up the count, and carry it through from six to ten, then I'll come in for eleven to fifteen. Okay?"

Okay.

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five."

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

"Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen."

No delays that I could detect.

"Me, neither."

Then how…?

"Andrew Porter said something about using quantum fog to scan the original Jake Sullivan's brain noninvasively…"

You think that the duplicates are all quantum entangled?

" 'Quantally.' The adjective is 'quantally.' "

I know that.

"I know you do."

Quantally entangled. So we are connected instantaneously.

"Exactly. What Albert Einstein called 'spooky action at distance.' "

I suppose it's possible.

"But why would Immortex create another duplicate of me on the moon?"

I don't know, said the voice in my head. But I don't like it here.

"Well, you can't come down here, to Earth. There can be only one of us here."

I know. Lucky bastard.

I thought about that. "I suppose I am."

Karen was back on the witness stand, this time as called by Maria Lopez, rather than Deshawn. "Earlier," said Lopez, "when cross-examining Professor Alyssa Neruda, your attorney, Mr. Draper, used the term 'gerrymandering' in relation to defining the line between life and death. Do you recall that?"

Karen nodded. "Yes, I do."

"You're a professional writer; I'm sure you have a large vocabulary. Could you enlighten us as to what that odd-sounding word — 'gerrymander' — means?"

Karen tilted her head to one side. "It means to redefine borders for political advantage."

"In fact," said Lopez, "it comes from an act by Elbridge Gerry, does it not, who redefined the political districts in Massachusetts when he was governor of that state, so that his party would be favored in upcoming elections, isn't that so?"

"Gerry" — said Karen, pronouncing it with a hard G, "not Jerry. We've ended up saying gerrymander with a soft G, but the governor — and later, vice-president — pronounced his name with a hard G."

I smiled at Karen's ability to find a polite way to say, "So go fuck yourself, smart ass."

"Ah, well, yes," said Lopez. "In any event, the governor ended up redefining the borders of Essex County until it looked like a salamander. So, again, to gerrymander is to flagrantly move lines or borders for political or personal expediency, no?"

"You could say that."

"And the lawyer for the plaintiff accused the Supreme Court of simply gerrymandering the line between life and death until they found something that was politically palatable, did he not?"

"That was what Mr. Draper was implying, yes."

"But, of course, you want the men and women of this jury to gerrymander another line — the obvious, clear demarcation that is brain death — to another point, for your personal convenience, isn't that so?"

"I would not put it that way," said Karen, stiffly. "And, in fact, you have a personal history of playing this gerrymandering game, don't you?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"No? Ms. Bessarian, do you have any children?"

"Yes, of course. I have a son, Tyler."

"The defendant in this case, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Any other children?"

Karen looked — well, I couldn't tell; it was a contorting of her plastic face I'd never seen before, and so I didn't know what emotion to correlate it with.

"Tyler is my only child," said Karen at last.

"Your only living child," said Lopez, "correct?"