"And when you flew from Toronto to Atlanta, you also had to deal with customs officials, correct?"

"Yes."

"So, in fact, you've dealt with both United States Customs and Canadian Customs, correct?"

"Yes."

"In these dealings, were you asked to provide identification?"

"Naturally."

"What ID did you present?"

"My United States passport, and my U.S. Homeland Security personal-identity card."

"And do you have both of these documents in your possession?"

"Yes, I do."

"May the court see them?"

"Of course."

Karen had a small purse with her. She removed the passport, and the smaller personal-identity card.

"I'd like to enter these as exhibits," said Deshawn, "and have the court note that they were indeed in the possession of the plaintiff."

"Ms. Lopez?"

"Your honor, just because she has physical possession*"

Herrington shook his long head. "Ms. Lopez, don't argue your case. Do you have an objection to the exhibits being entered?"

"No, your honor."

"Very well," said Judge Herrington. "Continue, Mr. Draper."

"Thank you, your honor. So, Karen, as you've just demonstrated, you possess the identification papers of Karen Bessarian, correct?"

"Of course," Karen said. "I am her."

"Well, you've certainly got Karen's ID documents, but let's see if it goes further than that." Deshawn took an object off his desk and held it up. It was about the size of a deck of playing cards; parts had a shiny silver finish and the rest were matte black.

"Do you know what this is?"

"A transaction terminal," said Karen.

"Exactly," said Deshawn. "Just a common, garden-variety wireless transaction terminal. The kind you encounter in stores and restaurants * anywhere you might want to access the funds in your bank account and transfer some amount to someone else, correct?"

"That's what it appears to be, yes," said Karen.

"Now, please let me assure you that this isn't a mockup; it's a real, working unit, hooked into the global financial network."

"All right."

Deshawn pulled a golden disk out of his pocket. "What's this, Karen?"

"A Reagan."

"By which you mean a ten-dollar United States coin, correct? With the American eagle on one side and former president Ronald Reagan on the other, is that right?"

"Yes."

"All right. Now, do you have access to your bank accounts currently?"

Karen's tone was measured. "In his wisdom, until this matter is cleared up, Judge Herrington has put a cap on how much of my money I can take out. But, yes, I should be able to access my accounts."

"Very good," said Deshawn. "Here's what I'd like to do, then. I'd like to give you this ten-dollar coin * good for all debts, public and private. In exchange, I'd like you to transfer ten dollars from your principal bank account into mine. Would you be willing to do that?"

Karen smiled. "By all means."

Deshawn looked to the judge, who nodded. He then crossed the well and gave Karen the coin. "Don't spend it all in one place," he said, and a couple of jurors chuckled; Deshawn was warm and witty, and slowly but surely I think he was indeed winning them over. "Now, if you please a?" He handed her the transaction terminal.

Karen placed her thumb against the little scanning plate, and one of the green lights came on. She then held the device up to her right eye, and the other green light came on.

"Wait!" said Deshawn. "Before you go any further, will you read to the court what the transfer terminal's display is currently saying?"

"With pleasure," said Karen. "It says, 'Identity confirmed: Bessarian, Karen C.' "

Deshawn took the device from her and walked over to the jury box, showing the display to each juror in turn. The implication was clear: the device had recognized Karen's fingerprints and her retinal scans.

"So at the border stations, you proved your identity on the basis of what you had * specifically, on the basis of documents in your possession, correct?"

"That's right."

"And the transaction terminal has identified you based on who you are * that is, based on your biometric data, correct?"

"That's my understanding, yes."

"All right." Deshawn fished into his jacket pocket, and pulled out his ident. "This is the account I'd like you to transfer ten dollars to," he said, proffering the card.

Karen took the card and held it near the device's scanner. Another LED came on.

Karen tapped out something on the keypad, and*

"Wait!" said Deshawn. "What did you just do?"

"I entered my PIN," said Karen.

"Your personal identification number?"

"Yes."

"And did the terminal accept it?"

Karen held up the unit. The green LED was surely obvious, even in the jury box.

"Who else beside you knows this PIN?"

"No one."

"Do you have it written down anywhere?"

"No. The bank says you aren't supposed to do that."

Deshawn nodded. "You are wise. So this terminal has now recognized you not only based on your biometrics, but also on information you possess that only Karen Bessarian could possibly know, correct?"

"That's exactly right," said Karen.

Deshawn nodded. "Now, if you'll just finish the transaction * I don't want to lose my ten bucksa"

The jury enjoyed this comment, and Karen tapped several keys. "Transaction completed," she said, and held up the terminal, which was showing the appropriate pattern of illuminated LEDs.

It was a simple, elegant demonstration, and it looked to me like at least some of the jurors were impressed by it. "Thank you," said Deshawn. "Your witness, Ms. Lopez."

"Not right now," said Herrington. "We'll pick this up in the morning."

24.

That night, about 3:00 a.m, I told Karen about the strange interaction I was apparently having with other instantiations of me. We were walking around outside, on the manicured grounds of her mansion. Insects buzzed, and bats wheeled overhead. The moon was a high crescent sneering down at us; somewhere on its backside, of course, was the only other me that was supposed to exist * the biological original.

"As I'm sure you know," I said, "there's a phenomenon in quantum physics called 'entanglement.' It allows quantum particles to be connected instantaneously across any distance; measuring one affects the other, and vice versa."

Karen nodded. "Uh-huh."

"And, well, there've been theories that consciousness is quantum-mechanical in nature for ages * most famously, I suppose, in the work of Roger Penrose, who proposed just that back in the 1980s."

"Yes," said Karen, amiably. "So?"

"So, I think * don't ask me exactly how; I'm not sure quite what the mechanism is * but I think Immortex has made multiple copies of my mind, and that somehow, from time to time, I connect with them. I'm assuming it's quantum entanglement, but I suppose it could be something else. But, anyway, I hear them, as voices in my head."

"Like a like telepathy?"

"'Umm, I hate that word * it's got weird-ass psychic connotations. Besides, I'm not hearing other people's thoughts; I'm hearing my own a sort of."

"Forgive me, Jake, but it seems more likely that there's just something not quite functioning right in your new brain. I'm sure if you told Dr. Porter about it, he'd*"

"No!" I said. "No. Immortex is doing something wrong. I * I can feel it."

"Jakea"

"It's inherent in the Mindscan technology: the ability to make as many copies as you want of the source mind."

Karen and I were holding hands. It didn't provide quite the same intimate sensation it had when I'd been flesh and blood, but, then again, at least my palms weren't sweating. "But why would they do that?" she said. "What possible purpose could it serve?"

"Steal corporate secrets. Steal personal security codes. Blackmail me."

"Over what? What have you done?"

"Well a nothing that I'm ashamed of."

Karen's tone was teasing. "Really?"

I didn't want to be sidetracked, but I found myself considering her question for a moment. "Yes, really; there's nothing in my past I'd pay any sizable amount of money to have kept secret. But that's not the point. They could be on a fishing expedition. See what they turn up."

"Like the formula for Old Sully's Premium Dark?"

"Karen, be serious. Something is going on."

"Oh, I'm sure there is," she said. "But, you know, I hear voices in my head all the time * my characters' voices. It's a fact of life, being a writer. Could what you're experiencing be something like that?"

"I'm not a writer, Karen."

"Well, all right then. Okay. But did you ever read Julian Jaynes?"

I shook my head.

"Oh, I loved him in college! The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind * amazing book. And what a title! My editor would never let me get away with anything like that. Anyway, Jaynes said the two hemispheres are basically two separate intelligences, and that the voices of angels and demons people claimed to hear in ancient times were really coming from the other side of their own heads."

She looked at me. "Maybe the integration of your new brain isn't working quite right.

Get Dr. Porter to tweak a few things, and I'm sure it'll go away."

"No, no," I said. "It's real."

"Can you do it now? Connect with another you?"

"I can't do it on demand. And it only happens sometimes."

"Jakea" Karen said gently, leaving my name hanging in the night air.

"No, really," I said. "It really does happen."