The Barsoom Project

His fingers closed on warm flesh-and then dissolved. The flesh of his hand ended at the wrist, and two sets of finger bones intertwined.

He gritted his teeth.

The skeleton laughed heartily. “That was priceless,” it said. “Just the expression on your face. Excuse me.”

It turned its head. Alex expected to hear a creak of tortured bone, but what he got instead was that bemused, cultured voice saying, “Izumi. Save program two-eight-internal and mute.”

The air shimmered, and Tom Izumi appeared. He was of medium height, with straight black hair and an incongruously small mouth. For an embarrassing moment, he reminded Griffin of a villain from an old Dick Tracy comic strip, the kind whose physical features mirrored and indicated their criminal tendencies.

“What in the hell was that?” Griffin asked.

“A real-time holographic medical analysis simulator. Utilizes ultrasound projectors built into the walls.”

“Don’t you need lasers to make a hologram?”

“Heavens no. Any form of energy that can be carried by waves: sound, light, microwaves, or X-rays.”

“Whatever happened to ‘turn your head and cough’?”

“There’s a ton of diagnostic devices in here. I’ve been scanned up and down and sideways. We just create a three-dimensional model and project it onto the patient.”

“What kind of… ah, depth? I guess ‘depth’ is the word I’m looking for.”

“Oh, we can adjust it to any level. Izumi, circulation.” His skin disappeared. Alex looked into a coursing network of veins and arteries, with the contracting fist-sized muscle of Izumi’s heart pulsing queasily in stage center. The room behind the missing flesh shimmered as if he was seeing it through a heat mirage.

“Could you disappear entirely?”

“Here, in the room? Sure. Could I play invisible man out in the street? Nobody’s miniaturized the equipment that far, but I suppose it’s possible. The problem would be in reproducing every conceivable angle, so that anyone looking from any direction would see what he expects to see. A little adjustment for focus, maybe…” He became thoughtful. “Come back next month.”

“Great.” A security chief’s worst nightmare, available next month from the gentle lunatics at Research and Development. “Mind turning that off? It’s giving me a headache.”

“Sure.” Izumi smiled toothily, and appeared, fully clothed.

“You’re Alex Griffin,” he said. “Tomisuburo Izumi.”

Alex shook the man’s hand again. It was soft, like a baby’s. There was something curiously childlike about the man. He had that soft round cheekiness, without the angularity which normally intrudes during adolescence. There was no trace of a beard, and the black hair was undisciplined. The eyes didn’t fit in that face. Dark and deep-set, they were fiercely intelligent. “What can I do for you?”

“I don’t feel comfortable in a room with so many scans hooked up to it. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

Izumi thought for a moment. “There’s the party room. Come on.” Izumi carefully locked the door behind them and escorted him down the hall.

“Party room?” Alex asked.

“Yes. Our rotation doesn’t come up until two in the morning. Australia and Canada will keep things going most of the day.”

“What’s the record?”

“Nonstop holo party, thirteen months. With the feeds we’ve got right now, there’s no reason to assume that it will ever stop. We’re at eight months and cruising.”

They stopped in front of a small green door with the legend: “Environmental stress workshop. Please sign in.” Alex stifled a laugh as Izumi thumbed the door open, and they entered.

The room buzzed with activity. People laughed, drank, ate from a buffet table. A couple in the far corner were dancing a rumba. Some of the guests looked a little tired. They raised their glasses as Izumi closed the door, and a male voice said, “Tommy y’old slacker! G’day, ey? Good to see you. Who’s the straight?”

“This is Alex Griffin, Chief of Security here. Griffin, meet Robin Schultz.”

He was short and a bit pudgy, with a magnificent sandy beard. He tilted a bit as he stood up. “Welcome to the party, mate. Shake hands if I could, but you know how it is.”

Alex was overwhelmed with curiosity. “Where are you sending from?”

“University of Melbourne, old love. Plasma physics. We’ve had to shuffle the party around from one lab to the other this week. It’s been hysteric.”

“Why?”

“Rules. Officially, no one’s supposed to know. Unofficially, it’s the biggest open secret on campus, and they queue up waiting for us to drop a line.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, we only have to host for the next twelve hours. Then Canada takes over. Be glad too. Three days ago, I was the only person here for two whole hours. Lonely, of course, but hey! The party must go on!”

“Listen, Robin,” Izumi said, “I need a quiet conversation with Mr. Griffin, and this is the best place here, so we’re going to drop off line for a while.”

“All right, Tommy. Later, hey?”

The room disappeared. They were in a small studio, maybe a third the size of the ballroom, and Alex swallowed his amazement.