Rebekka brought the knife close but then hesitated. Wavy fingers and wavy carrots looked much the same through the water welling in her eyes. She blinked. The tears splashed onto the cutting board and her cheeks. Cursing the physiology that brought crying when what she wanted was steely-eyed determination, she set the knife down and reached for the towel she always hung on the oven’s handle. It wasn’t there.

Then she remembered: She’d left the laundry in the foyer when the service delivered. Had opened the door on her way to the lab to find the young man in the hall, mailbox open. They’d both startled, then shared a smile as he handed the packages to her, and she dropped them in the foyer, eager to get to work on her new subject. The tears threatened again when she thought of it.

Pallen.

The turd.

He’d been instrumental in getting the Board to dismiss the Overlay upgrade last year. Why wouldn’t he continue to thwart her now? He was, after all, in charge of assigning subjects for research. The irony that a lack of test subjects was ultimately Overlay’s undoing had not escaped her, and there had even been those on the board that noticed that obvious incongruity, too, but so far, she’d been unable to prove he was deliberately undermining the study, or that he continued to do so with Five Layer, for that matter, since none of the researchers she had interviewed seemed to get what they needed from him. Turned out he was an equal opportunity turd.

But this really did take the cake. Karan had been so excited on the comm, practically squealing when she announced the new one was young! Well, younger than most (who were so old that even ‘hancing couldn’t keep their recall degeneration at bay: not terribly helpful when one was testing memory retrieval.) And Rebekka had been just as excited to get him prepped for Processing, so the laundry was set aside, and she’d continued down to the lab.

Then laundry had been the last thing on her mind.

A brain-damaged subject? What was a memory study supposed to do with a subject who had no capacity to store memories?

At least she had him on this one, though. This she could take to the board. They had to agree that he was either malicious in his intent or downright inept at his job.

She wiped at her eyes with her forearms but accomplished little more than a smear of wet and makeup over her face and arms. With a sigh, she headed to the foyer.

This really would never do. Ibrahim had enough problems without her own adding to them. She didn’t want him worrying as soon as he walked in the door, and if she couldn’t get it together, he would.

She tore at the paper bales until she found the towels and pulled one to dry herself, then gathered the bundles and headed to the hall. Just as she turned the corner, she heard the first strains of the “breaking news” theme on the display and rushed to dump the parcels on the bed. At least she’d remembered to turn it on when she got in, she thought. If the display was dark, he really would have been suspicious. She had a trace set, of course, but if home, she always watched live. It was an old-fashioned form -- there were much easier, more efficient and more complete means of getting the news -- but she rather liked the old-style channel.

At the mention of MIN, Rebekka’s ears perked and she hustled back to get a view of the display. The anchorwoman, Teri Knowles, a visage of concern on her perfectly made-up face, was alone in front of a still of MIN Square. It could have been any of them, but this show was the local, so Rebekka knew it was hers.

“…striking five, killing one and mortally wounding another.” Finding she still held a towel, Rebekka worked it over her arms without looking, her eyes fixed on Teri. “The injured were taken to Our Lady of Great Sorrow. Three are in surgery. No names have been released pending notification. Agents of the MIN, whose main doors were mere feet from the impact site, collected the mangled bodies as their Medicals rushed to aid the injured. For more on this terrible event, we go live to Tricia Takanawa.”

“Thank you, Teri,” the street reporter said off camera, as a panoramic view of MIN Square, not more than a hundred people visible, appeared on the panel. “MIN Square is virtually empty at this time as only merchants gather to share their accounts and speculate on how and why this horrific incident has occurred.” The panoramic spun and the street reporter came into view, an equally concerned look on her own perfectly made-up face. “News on Nine has learned that emergency services first received notice from a motorist, who said he saw the body exit the clouds above. Locals wonder if the fallen was leaning against an observation deck shield at the moment of the freak power outage suffered by the MIN’s upper floors. But if so, why did no one from the observation deck call in? Was she a victim of foul play?”

Rebecca hadn’t heard of a power outage, but then, an hour ago she’d been across the square. And she didn’t know how high was considered to be on the "upper floors," anyway. She certainly considered their new level the upper floors, but she’d also considered their old level the upper floors, and she had no idea what the general population would regard as such.

“More on the power outage later in the show,” Teri interjected and the image switched to a split screen of the two women. “So the fallen was a woman, Tricia?”

“A female, Teri. Witness accounts make her to be either a young girl or a genned--.” Tricia stopped and put her finger to her ear. Teri looked off to the right of her camera before the view switched -- Tricia gone -- and the anchor spun in her chair to replace her usual Urban backdrop with a giant News on Nine logo.

“News on Nine has been able to procure exclusive EyeWitness Captures detailing the moment of impact. These images are graphic and may be disturbing to some viewers. If you do not wish to see these videos, look away now.”

The towel dropped and Rebekka quickly stooped to pick it up, absentmindedly folding it as she walked toward the display, to get a closer look. She was almost surprised to find her sofa blocking the way. The view changed to a jumpy, blurry image which then focused upward and caught a ragdoll falling in the sky. A roar of screams sounded and the Eye followed the ragdoll as it plummeted into the crowd fifty feet away. Rebekka jerked and closed her eyes at the moment of impact, which sounded a muffled boom, over the roar of growing screams. She opened her eyes as the screams shifted to crying and broken conversations before the video looped back to the blurry image again and the 3-second Capture was played once more. Rebekka watched, intent on the body as it fell, but she again closed her eyes at the moment of impact, almost against her will. She cursed under her breath. The video looped once more.

“House, call Ibrahim.” she said aloud.

“Calling Ibrahim,” replied the house. The body crashed again. An open line sounded briefly before it was replaced with ringing.

A different blurry, spinning image came on the screen as gasps and shouts of “look!” and “watch out!” were heard, then the blur shifted left suddenly and blacked out, accompanied by crescendoed screams and the muffled boom. The Eye finally came to focus on the carnage, not ten feet away. The hairs on Rebekka’s neck stood up as she looked at the little girl’s twisted body lying among the equally twisted, shrieking bodies on which she’d fallen. The line picked up. The video looped.

“You’ve reached Ibrahim Heinemann.” The gasps and shouts and shift left. “I’m unable to come to the phone…” The black and the screams and the boom.

“End call,” Rebekka announced, and the Capture settled again. Her husband’s voice disappeared. On the display, the Eye gathered the horrible scene once more before the video looped again to the spinning, jumping blur, but Rebekka wasn’t watching anymore. She was already out the door, labcoat in hand.

#############

No one noticed the ancient man. No one noticed much of anything, caught as they all were in their own worries, so he had no reason to expect otherwise. Still, training caused him to watch for any who might watch him, even as he wove his way in and out of the throng, screaming his experience and ease amongst the crush, moving much too quickly for his apparent age.

Normally, he would have slowed his pace, maybe limped a little - or a lot - paused at the illogical veins of cross-current travel, a bit of confusion and exasperation on his face for good measure, allowed the veins to veer him off course, escaped to a stallway, pretended to catch his breath, before plunging back into the swarm. But so many things were not as they seemed here. So many things had been altered and enhanced and simply rearranged that the incongruity of an antiquated man moving like someone half his age would, at most, bring a second glance. If that. And speed was more important at the moment.

Likely, no one would notice at all.

Neither would they notice when he approached a tent at the very edge of the desert and spoke to the man sitting at the entrance in a whispered language thought long dead. Lost to the millennia. Even before the Build. Likely, only those who were meant to notice, would.

The sitting man bowed his head slightly and mumbled his response as the ancient one pushed aside the tent flap, his stride unbroken, until the gatekeeper did more than simply respond, and questioned.

“Bring you news of the Savior, Anunaki?” the man asked. Proof that Ahera hear all, and secrets are a dream unless kept only to oneself. He paused.

“I do,” he finally responded, turning toward the man, whose face had broken into a grin at the admission. The man’s teeth, stark white against the darkly tanned, declaratory skin of a nomad only served to bitter the old man’s already sour mood.

He’d meant to leave the guard with the simple, cryptic disclosure, but the man’s joy was too unlike his own feelings - and so wrong in current circumstance - to let it remain. “Our Savior is dead,” he spat and took much pleasure in the shock that smeared that smile before the tent flap fell.

And that, he thought as he crossed the smoky, pillowed room, is proof that a secret kept only to oneself is also a dream, since they rarely stay that way.

#############

“Did you get her?” Rebekka asked as the door slid open.

Ibrahim was at his station, back to the door, preparing the next First. He scrambled to hit the button that would cloud his display -- and the windows to Holding -- as he stood to meet her. The fogging caused a slight hitch in Rebekka’s headlong march to the windows, and she rolled her eyes and sighed at its appearance, but she continued on. He’d expected her, of course. Just not so soon. How had she learned of it so soon? he wondered. “Bekka, you can’t be here right now.”

“Did she First?” And why would she think that? Why would anyone think that?

“She did, but--”

“I knew it!” She cupped her hands against the glass and pressed her face against the cup. Like that would work. “I saw her fall. Land. On the news.” Well that explains that, Ibe thought. If anyone could figure it out from seeing her for, what? A second and a half? Rebekka could. “Can I have her?”

“What?” he asked, not because he didn’t hear her, but because he couldn’t believe she had the audacity to ask it. “Of course not.” Damn her. “Seriously, Rebekka…”

“Seriously, Ibe. She’s perfect for me.” She stepped back from the window and moved to peruse the cryo console, clasping her hands behind her back. She did that for me, Ibe thought, so I wouldn’t worry she’d touch anything while she checked my settings. I’m not an idiot, Bek. It’s only three. He moved to join her.

“She’s also the subject of an investigation.” Ibe knew that wouldn’t be the end of it, but he had to get her out of the Lab. “And you can’t be here right--”

“But--”

“Davidson is coming,” he announced. Get it out there. Stop her from talking. Her head turned sharply to him, making her curls bounce.

“He’s coming here?” she asked. Ibe grinned and nodded. “Oh, Ibe! That’s great!” she gushed, throwing herself at him in a big hug. He wrapped his arms around her tiny waist. Her hair tickled his cheek. It smelled of juniper. She pulled away then, but he stopped her and slid his hands inside her labcoat to rest them on her hips. He liked feeling the curve there. She didn’t resist and kept her hands on his shoulders. She was wearing a thin shift; he could feel the edge of her underwear through it. He liked that, too. “Did they tell you why?”

Ibe shrugged. “Kept in the loop, I guess. He’s taking this one kind of personal, I think, since it was a Director, you know? But more’s the better for me.”

“And me,” she added, nearly bouncing with the words. “You could suggest--” He dropped his hands and stepped away, shocked that she would even propose it. Damn her. She stopped bouncing.

“I can’t do that,” he said flatly.

“Oh, come on!” She stomped her foot.

“No, Bekka, you come on! I’m finally getting his attention! I can’t blow it now by, by…”

“By suggesting you use a superior product?”

“An untried product! I have the Board to answer to! We went over this last year, Bek--”

“Yes, we did, Ibe. And he’s at it again. He gave me a subject with half a head, Ibe. Half a head!”

“What?”

“Just today. I get notice that a new subject is coming over who fits my sweetspot parameters – right down the middle! – and when he arrives? The upper half of his head is missing!”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not! How am I supposed to get any useful advancement if I can’t get useful subjects, Ibe?”

“Oh, Bek. I’m really sorry. And I’ll help you write the complaint, but—“

“Right now, you have this.”

“And he’s coming.”

“You could kill two birds, Ibe!”

“I can’t!”

“You can! Like the Board has any idea what Processing can do. Could do. All they care about is case turnover – like it’s only good for Regulating - and they were too short sighted to see how much more Overlay would help.” Ibe looked quickly around. (Habit, really. He knew there were no Ears here. He had it swept twice weekly, and more when needed. Like today.) “All because the Tract took longer? Of course it took longer! They’d cut off their nose to spite their face.

And you went along with it!” He winced at that, and couldn’t hold her glare. “You said this was going to be different, Deputy Director,” she said, the sarcasm dripping from his title. “You said this was going to make a difference.”

“And it will. I will. Just… I have to establish myself first.”

She rolled her eyes again and turned away with a snort. He loved that little snort. Had to hide his glee at hearing it. She was upset and certainly wouldn’t appreciate his pointing it out. The equivalent of ‘you’re so cute when you’re mad,’ he thought.

“At this rate, they’ll be Processing me before you establish yourself.”

“Hey, now!” he yelled. “That was uncalled for!” She startled at the force of it, but stood her ground, fists for hands, chin raised, thin wisps of her hair dancing in the breeze of the negative pressure. God, she was beautiful. Damn her. “Who knows where I’d be -– we’d be –- if not for the Overlay Proposal.”

“So now your inability to step up is my fault?”

“You shouldn’t have told me it was ready.”

“It was ready! Is ready! And so much better than anything you have, Ibe! You know I didn’t have a full sample because Pallen wouldn’t give me the subjects!”

“Which made it experimental.”

“In name only!”

“That was enough for them.”

“But it shouldn’t have been for you, Ibrahim!” Her arms flailed toward him, expounding the point, and he felt the prick of it as surely as if it were made of steel. It must have shown on his face; she softened as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “People like us, Ibe,” she nearly whispered, “we have to keep pushing. Stay on the edge. Find the joy and the marvel, remember? And show it to everyone else, even if – especially if – it’s not the defined “right way.” That’s where the edge is.” That’s what we did with ToD.”

“You’re right, Bek.” Of course, she was right. Nothing advances if it stays behind predetermined lines. The edge was the only way forward. But he had no misconceptions as to which of them was on that edge and always had been. The Deputy Directorship was his chance to do something. To show the Chairman that he wasn’t just the Y-chromosomed mouthpiece for an intellect that had the bad luck to be born without one. And he didn’t need this right now. Didn’t have time for it. He had to get the Tracts set up. He had to deal with the Chairman. “You’re right.”

“But?”

“Davidson is on his way, and I have so much yet to do.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll go.” She turned to the door, but then turned back. Almost a spin, it was so quick. Her hair flew out around her. “You know…” she mused, “I could just quickly run my series before you.” He gasped at the suggestion. At the nerve. She continued quickly. “It’s all I need, really. Just one Tract with my series. To get the raw data.”

“Bekka!”

“They wouldn’t even have to know!” He caught himself glancing around again. What does she think she’s doing? he thought. That could get them both arrested, and then what? How much difference could anyone make from the DownUnder? Rebekka continued her inducement. “Not like they’d be able to tell! You know my series won’t reduce the model like--.”

“It’s illegal!” He bellowed. She startled again, and fell silent, fighting to hold the threatened tears shining in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if they were from disappointment or anger, or fear, but it didn’t really matter. He could never stand up to her tears. “It’s illegal, Bek,” he stated. Her head bowed as her shoulders drooped, hair falling forward to cover her face.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped. “It’s just…” She caught a sob in her throat. Defeated. He moved to her. She didn’t resist when he wrapped his arms around her. “It’s just the frustration talking,” he said, louder than he needed to. Hear that, Ears, he thought. And then it occurred to him: there were six shrouds in his Holding right now. “Look, you could probably have one, maybe two, of my others.” Her eyes met his, expectant.

“Before?” she asked. He nodded, then smiled to see the same emerging on her face as she wiped at her face with her hands. “And her?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Second. I’ll give you second,” he offered. It would be bucking the system, but she was right. Sometimes you had to work outside the organism to bring real change. He expected the overture to brighten her mood further, but instead the smile wilted and she took a step back.

“Oh, Hon--” She cleared her throat, began again. “Honey, thank you. Thank you, really.” She took his hands in hers. They were so tiny in his. So soft. “But you know…“ She searched his eyes. “You have to know… She’ll be dead, Ibe. There’ll be nothing left.”

He stepped fully away at that, sure the hurt was writ across his face and not caring. What a cruel thing that was. “You know,” he croaked. He had to turn away to compose himself, but turned back to face her, accusing. “I’m not a trained monkey playing at puzzles, Bek. I do know a little about what I’m doing.” She looked sufficiently contrite.

“I’m so sorry, Ibe. I didn’t mean to--”

“You never do, Bek. And we don’t always kill them.” Even to him, it was a weak argument.

“But she will degrade. A lot.”

“I’ll keep her in Cryo for the Tract.”

“You know that doesn’t really help!” Rebekka threw up her hands in exasperation. “Never mind my proofs; the original paper is so flawed a grad student could see it! You can’t send that kind of haphazard power through a mind and hope to have anything left, Ibe!”

“That haphazard power got us a medal, Bek.”

“I know, I know. But we’re so far beyond it now!” She began to pace, arms and hands punctuating her words. “And all that data will be gone! Gone! And why? Because Cooper has the power, and he knows if you were allowed to come ahead, well, some of that power would be gone, wouldn’t it? This should be about more than politics, Ibrahim. This one, especially. She is a miracle. No one should be Processable from that height - barely from a tenth that height - but she is! Such an opportunity! And do you honestly think your series is going to get anywhere near the level of detail or depth mine would? You’ll be lucky to get deep enough to even see if she was pushed. You know that. And you know my series can. Hell, even Overlay could do it. But Five Layer? Effortlessly. You’ve seen the data on my subjects. There’s no telling how far back it can go on a child.”

While she talked, he felt her frustration. It was an easy thing, really. Not so long ago, it had been his, too. He wasn’t sure when he’d lost sight of it, so caught up with the drudgery of being a Director, on top of a caseload that seemed to grow exponentially. But he had.

He needed to become the solution he’d wanted to be when he took this position. She was right. He needed to find the joy and the marvel in his work again. The joy had always been in the inquiring, the peek over the edge. The marvel had always been in the finding. Now he was up against it. He had his chance to get back there. But he still had to get her out of the lab.

“And this new string?” she continued. “The Emotive quotient? If it works--”

“You’ve got me, Bekka,” he interrupted. She stopped. Froze, really. One arm hung in the air, mid-sweep. “I’ll see what I can do.” She collected herself.

“Really, Ibe?” She didn’t sound convinced.

“Yes, really.” He moved to stand in front of her again, slipped his hands to her hips inside her labcoat again. She didn’t stop him, but she didn’t offer in kind, either. “It may not seem like it sometimes, and I might need to be pulled out of my own ass sometimes.” She smiled at that, her lips all full and red from her ire. “But I am always for you, Bek. We’re in this together. Always together. Please know that.” She reached up and pulled him in. It felt so good. Warmth along the length of her, pressed against him… but not now. “He’s coming,” he said, not sure whether he was reminding her or himself. “Any minute. You really have to go. And I’m burning brain cells.”

“But--”

“I’ll ask.”

“Ask,” she sneered. She snorted again and turned her head away. He ducked to find her eyes with his.

“Yes, ask. I’ll ask him today.”

She jumped and clasped her hands together behind his neck again. Actually jumped. Then she found his mouth with hers.

“I love you, Ibrahim.”

“And I love you, Rebekka,” he replied.

“You won’t be home for dinner, I suppose,” she offered.

“Not likely.”

“Then I’ll just wish you good luck and wait for your call.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, but I will ask. I promise.”

“I know you will.” She kissed him again, quick, before heading for the door. He’d just started to turn back to his station when he caught site of her veering toward the Cryo console. He almost yelled at her to stop, but her eyes caught his, and with a finger to her lips, she pushed two buttons and turned a dial some number of ticks, then winked and dropped her arms with a grin. “Just got you another day,” she announced and swept out the door.

#############

Light. Just light. All light. High. Free. Floating. Heaven? No. Not Heaven. Nothing. No. Not nothing. Light. Boundless light.

#############

"You did a sweep today?” Davidson asked as the door slid open.

Ibrahim was at his station, already eyebrow-deep in formatting. He startled at the interruption, blurting out “I did,” but quickly returned his focus, and finished his inputs. As exciting as it was to have Dr. William Davidson, Managing Director and Chairman of the Urban Board of MIN – not just St. Angela’s - visit his lab, it was so hard to jump in and out of the data like that. It was stupid of him to have started.

He’d expected Davidson while the Firsts were still running, had been afraid he’d show up while Bekka was still here. That hadn’t happened, thank God. Lord only knew what she might have started. But after the Firsts were complete and he still hadn’t come, Ibe couldn’t help but start the inputs for full Tracting. He was losing brain cells, even with Rebekka’s new settings. She was right; stasis wasn’t perfect.

(Her discount of the Level 4 claims out of St. Sebastian’s was a thing of beauty. The most significant being the math, of course. Math didn’t lie, after all, if it was done correctly. It had not only embarrassed the research group, who included a nephew of John Cooper, but also the Journal of Nanocryapplications, the proverbial bible, who published it. Peer-reviewed, indeed. And there were still repercussions bouncing around the community from it. Ibe was sure it played a part in the loss of their bid for Overlay last year. Cristwell sat on the Journal’s Board, too.)

Still, it was stupid of him. He should have waited. Now he couldn’t trust that last bit of input. He’d have to proof it before he continued, wasting even more precious time.

“You got everyone?" Davidson asked. Ibe stood, pulling the First Reports from the printer as he did. Davidson preferred to have the hard copy. Like a true scientist, Ibe thought.

“Right here,” he replied.

The Chairman had walked immediately to the windows after entering and was contemplating the shrouds within when Ibe reached him. He took the reports without even glancing at Ibe. Or the papers.

"And?" Davidson pushed, a hint of impatience in his voice.

Ibe felt his gut twist. He’d guessed the Director might have questions, and the chance to actually speak with him, face to face, was exhilarating – even with the nervousness he felt over his promise to Rebekka - but Ibe had expected… well, he didn’t know what he’d expected, really. Just not such an open-ended question. He struggled a moment with where to start. Perhaps the good news and build to the very good news. Not the bad news, though. Never start with the bad news.

"His wife is very promising. Equations were low, and-– well, Rebecca suggested new Cryo settings and I thought, under the circumstances…”

“Yes, yes,” he conceded, waving the papers dismissively.

“Those settings have virtually negated what little decomp she had. We should get a near full account."

"But not him," Davidson stated, continuing to stare at the shrouds. Ibe could hear the accusation. And there was the bad news. This was not his fault, though. This was a pre-Tract injury. He couldn’t do anything about this.

Ibe shook his head. "Complete corrupt."

"Complete?” Again the accusation. “Fully complete?”

That is redundant, Dr. Davidson, thought Ibe. It is obvious that ‘complete’ without a modifier like ‘almost’ or ‘nearly’ means ‘fully complete’. And it is obvious that you question my ability to distinguish the difference. Did everyone think him a trained monkey?

“To coin a phrase, Chairman, his brain is toast,” Ibe stated.

“I do understand the intricacies, Dr. Heinemann,” replied Davidson. The reproach at suggesting the good Doctor wasn’t up on his Processing was obvious, too. “I was just hoping… Ah, hell. I just really wanted to know what he was thinking.”

Ibe wasn’t sure what to say at that point. He decided to go with an affirmative. “Yes. It would have been helpful.”

The Chairman looked down at the sheaf of papers in his hand and then out into Holding again. He seemed to… soften. His ramrod back slumped just a bit. The set jaw loosened. It was a long moment before he spoke again, Ibe becoming uncomfortable in the silence and the change in his demeanor. “Which is the daughter?” Davidson asked. His voice was nearly a whisper.

“Front on the left,” Ibe murmured. The Chairman nodded and focused his attention on the small lump deforming the shroud there.

“It’s ironic, yes? That she should--” The Director did not finish. Continued to stare. He seemed to diminish again. The silence dragged. Ibe had just decided to suggest he get back to work when the man spoke again. “Tract his wife as soon as you can.”

“Yes, sir. I was just setting the inputs when-”

“I met her once, you know.”

“His wife?”

“The girl. I met his wife many times of course. Bristly woman. She hid it well, though. No. I met his daughter once. At a picnic we had in the Zig Park for Directors and Heads – it was before you. So bright. So serious.”

“She was that.”

“You knew her?” The Director’s head spun to face him. “Is that a conflict?”

“Oh, no. I met her only once. At a dinner held for my promotion. She was quite the conversationalist. No conflict.” Davidson nodded and returned his focus to the shrouds. To the one shroud.

“I don’t suppose we’ll learn from her mother why she was there.”

“That’s likely outside our window…” Ibe took a deep breath. Here goes, he thought. “…with the original series.”

“Of course,” the Doctor replied.

“My best bet for that is her own Tract,” Ibe stated. Then he waited for it to sink in. The very good news. He could almost see the light of comprehension click on above the Director’s head as he jerked to look Ibe in the eye. The shock there was priceless.

“You got a First on her?”

Ibe nodded and a small smile crept onto the corners of his mouth. He’d known that would surprise him. Surprise everyone. Except Rebekka, of course, he thought. "The frame by frame from the Eyes show her pinwheeling, landing almost feet first, right on the man’s head. He takes almost all her force. Then she falls over onto his wife and two others. There’s not much left of him – no First there - and the rest are at Our Lady. The wife won’t live. She took too much of it."

"But you got data on her?"

"We will when she dies."

"No, no.” Davidson waved a dismissive hand. “I mean the girl."

"Oh. Yeah. Good data. She’s a mess otherwise, but her head never hit."

"Lucky, that."

"Yes. Lucky." For us, at least, thought Ibe. Not for her, of course. Doctor Davidson moved around the Cryo console to the window closer to the little lump. Again, there was a long silence. Ibe did not know how to fill it. Couldn’t see how to broach the subject.

"Who else knows?” asked Davidson.

“No one,” Ibe blurted, then backtracked. “Well, Rebekka. Rebekka guessed it from the Eyes on the news.”

“Do you think others--? No, of course not.” The Director stepped back from the window. He stood up straighter, shoulders no longer slumped, back a ramrod again. Bigger, somehow, thought Ibe. Davidson turned to the Department Head. “I think we should keep this knowledge amongst ourselves, Ibrahim, don’t you? MT Clearance only?”

“I don’t believe I have Maximum Top Clearance, Director.” Ibe shifted his weight from one foot to other, nerves and anticipation undermining his ability to stand still. In truth, he wanted to jump up and down.

“You do now. Well, for this at least.” Davidson spun and nearly marched to Ibe’s station.

“Yes, Director,” Ibe stammered, leaping to join him. “Can I ask why?”

Davidson was at the station now, a single finger running over the smooth surface of the slate, waking the display. “Is this hers?” he asked, tossing his head to indicate the input thread shown.

Ibe nodded. “Yes. I was just--”

“She presents a unique opportunity, don’t you think?” Davidson’s finger began to slide over the slate, the highlight on the display moving from field to field. Ibe really wanted to stop him. He could erase any number of inputs if his finger accidentally skipped. “No one will miss her Report; no one would logically think we could get one.” Oh, God! thought Ibe, a sickening question leaping to his mind: had he remembered to save? “And your wife has said more than once that younger subjects are more elastic.”

“Yes. The theory is that younger perceptions are less… solid. Less anchored by the subjects’ own sense of self. There hasn’t been a large enough cohort to prove it, but the small changes in data sets seen with even less exaggerated age differences has been--”

“Yes, Dr. Heinemann. I know.” A slight censure, but there was a small smile on his lips as he said it. Ibe had seen that smile before. On Rebekka, when he caught himself lecturing her on some point of Process or another. The Director’s finger continued to slide up the slate. “Perhaps your wife’s series would be better suited to this particular Tract.”

“I’m sorry, sir?” Had Ibe heard him correctly? Was he suggesting…?

“Just last year, you were fighting the Board to get her Overlay approved, weren’t you?” Ibe nodded, his eyes never leaving the Director’s finger. “And those idiots denied it. Now’s your chance to show what she can really do.” He was actually saying it. He was going to let him use it. Ibe felt like hugging the man.

“Well, Human Trials are complete now, yes, and I did want to talk to you about--”

“No, no. Not Overlay.” The Director’s finger reached the top of the slate and traced the edge there, the highlight slipping across the corresponding commands. “This new thing.” Ibe wanted to leap forward and pull his hand away. And then hug him. He shifted his weight again. Wait. What did he just say?

“Are you talking about Five Layer, Sir?”

“Five Layer. Yes. That’s it. Needs a better name, though. ‘Overlay 2,’ maybe, though even that’s pretty weak next to ‘Time of Death.’ Now there’s a name.” The finger found the far right corner of the slate, the highlight coming to rest on the ‘Clear’ command. Ibe shifted his weight again. Found his hands were clenched and consciously relaxed them. He couldn’t, however, pull his eyes away from that finger. “Five Layer makes it sound like a party dip.”

“It’s barely entered Human Trials, sir. There’s no way we would ever get it approved.”

“You won’t get it approved, Dr. Heinemann.” Davidson’s finger barely lifted from the slate, pressed back down, then moved quickly to acknowledge the command in the failsafe thread that appeared. Ibe’s muscles tensed to spring him forward, but the screen blinked and was empty. Just like that. “Her Tract doesn’t exist, remember?”

Ibe caught his mouth open. He closed it with an audible clack of his teeth as Davidson moved past him, smoothing his tie. “Have her moved to Rebekka’s lab. Now. And let me know as soon as she has anything.”

A small squeak escaped Ibrahim. He couldn’t help it. There were simply no words.

Next Chapter: Chapter 5