"I did good?"

"Saundra," answered Irma, "you did very good. We're talking the 'will you marry me?' kind of good. Now," she said, looking around the room, "does anybody have any idea what that thing is?"

"Oh, right," answered Saundra. "I forgot to mention that. It's a suspension unit."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself," challenged Michael.

"You would be, too, if you could read." She directed everyone's eyes to the part of the structure where THIS IS A LIFE POD was engraved in scarlet letters. The group flocked to that part of the holograph and pored over every discernible detail, and read as much as could be gleaned from the captured image. When they were all satisfied with what they'd just read, they spent a moment considering what it meant.

"Is it real?" asked Irma, playing devil's advocate. "For all we know this may be an elaborate hoax."

"If it is a hoax," answered Enrique, "someone spent ten million credits on it, and probably almost as much covering their trail. It may not be the record spent on a hoax, but it would be close."

"Besides," interjected Michael, "the hoax has a name." This shut the group up.

"It's Justin. I didn't put it together until now. But it fits. One suspension unit. One mysterious reanimated guy. Anyway, Justin's the name he supposedly gave."

"What else do you have on him?" asked Irma.

"Not much beyond male, Caucasian, and English speaking."

"And how'd you get it?" said Saundra, a little miffed to have been removed from the spotlight so quickly.

"The old-fashioned way," he said, smiling, "charm. The only staffers who would talk to me were low level. I couldn't even break into the high-level staff message service. Interesting for a hospital staff to not even have their message service on, though."

"All right, people," Irma said, shoring up the info. "Let's go down the list. Michael, you start."

"A rumor stating that an unusual reanimation took place in Boulder."

"Check."

"Pictures of a large box claiming to be a suspension unit, but one we have never seen before," chimed in Saundra.

"Check."

"A very suspicious and untraceable money trail that leaves a lot of open questions," added Enrique.

"And, finally," Irma finished, "a man who has activated none, and I mean none, of the usual procedures concerning revival. No insurance, stock reactivation, or portfolio reclamation claims and unfrozen accounts. If this guy were a corporate spy they would at least have provided a cover. But our friend, hoax or not, literally dropped in from nowhere."

"Maybe not from nowhere," Michael offered, rubbing a finger over his chin.

"Yes?" This time Irma was impatient.

"Maybe from a few hundred years ago. If I had to guess, I'd say over three."

"Where'd you come up with that?" asked Saundra.

He turned around, staring hard at the holograph of the suspension unit. "I think it's obvious that this is someone who was worried about not being woken up or, worse, being expunged and stuck in some sort of museum. Witness the clarity of his instructions-almost paranoid. This unit is a testament to fear that the near future would not know about suspension or reanimation. By the late twenty-first century it was common knowledge that cryonic suspension was viable, so this box had to be from before then. I don't know that it's exactly three hundred years, but if this isn't a hoax-if it is real-then that would be my guess."

The team waited patiently for Irma to finish absorbing all the information and come up with the best course of action.

"It's real," she finally said. "Too many angles waiting to be explored for it not to be, but there's more here, maybe much more. We go full bore, people. I want us on the next t.o.p. to Boulder, and some office space rented. Enrique, you'll see to that."

"Right away." Enrique made a dash for the door.

"Before you go," continued Irma, "make sure it's a long-term lease, use the actors' account; we don't need to let the competition know what we're up to."

Enrique nodded and disappeared out the door.

Irma continued. "OK, you two," she said, looking toward Michael and Saundra. "When we get there, hit the ground running, spend what you have to, but break that hospital. Saundra, could you . . ." Irma was interrupted by a call on her private line, priority contacts only. When she looked down her eyes lit up.

Saundra leaned closer. "Business or pleasure?"

"Both," answered Irma.

"Whatever happened," Michael intoned, "to never mixing your contacts with your personal life? You pound that into us all the time."

"You should talk," answered Irma, eyeing both of them. "Now, shush." She then directed the call so only her head and shoulders would be visible to the caller and patched it through.

"Hello, Hektor."

"Irma, it's indeed a pleasure to see you again."

"What do you need, Hektor?"

"Irma, I'm hurt. Here I am, wishing only to do you a favor, and this is how I'm greeted?"

"Hektor, you're the only man I never got any information out of ..."

"Irma, I gave you lots of information."

"Not the info I wanted, and the amazing thing is, I still don't mind that much. So whatever it is you do have for me, I can be assured of one thing: It will be almost entirely for your benefit."

"Let's say that this will help all of us, and make any past rough spots all forgiven." Smiling in spite of herself, Irma waved for him to continue.

"Have you been hearing anything out of Boulder lately?" he asked.

Irma's eyes took on that piercing look they got when on the scent of news.

"Maybe."

Hektor laughed out loud, and said, "Damsah's balls, woman, just how much do you know already?" Going on instinct she decided not to tell what she had, and only said that they'd heard that there'd been an unusual reanimation.

"Want a picture?"

"You know I do, but isn't the Boulder revival clinic a GCI operation? Whatever happened to guarding the family secrets?"

"Let's just say I've been reassigned since you last heard from me. Here's the pict."

Irma took a look at the full-body holo-image that appeared in the corner of her DijAssist and zoomed in on the face. Handsome. Where have I seen him before? Handsome. Where have I seen him before? "You in trouble, Hektor?" "You in trouble, Hektor?"

"You care?"

"Well, if you need a job, give me another call."

Hektor chuckled. "Irma, I may call, but given our ... ahem ... history, it won't be for a job."

Irma laughed at his crudeness. She saw that Saundra and Michael were also having a good time at her expense. No regrets No regrets, she figured. Better they hear it all and catch an angle than me keep my pride Better they hear it all and catch an angle than me keep my pride. Another thought came to mind.

"Alright, Hek. Am I the first you're calling?"

"Absolutely."

Irma chose to believe him. "How long?"

"I can only give you an hour," he said, "then I've got to go public."

"How about a half-hour, only you mean it?"

Hektor paused, considering the request. "Very well, for old time's sake. A half-hour. Starting ..." Hektor checked the time. "... now."

The line went dead.

Irma was already up and heading out the door before Saundra or Michael could ask her any questions. "Move, people, we go now. Bring it or buy it there."

Her team followed her out of the office and onto the roof, where they loaded into the Terran Daily News Terran Daily News van for a ride to the New York orport. Once they were settled into the van, Michael spoke. "I ran the holo for any ID, and I found our man." van for a ride to the New York orport. Once they were settled into the van, Michael spoke. "I ran the holo for any ID, and I found our man."

"Who is he?"

"He's supposedly a DeGen who works as a maintenance engineer for the clinic."

"Right," snorted Saundra. "A three-hundred-year-old DeGen. That makes perfect sense since ... well ... um, there was no such thing as a DeGen until a hundred and twenty-five years ago! Maybe Hektor's screwing with us, Irma, to get back at you somehow."

"I don't think so," Irma said. "Push the cover, and I think it'll crack."

"If it's a cover it's a good one," answered Enrique. "DeGens have almost no records that can be traced conventionally. They pay all their bills through a holding company, and usually the holding company is a front for an embarrassed family that doesn't want the connection traced."

"It's a fake, crack it," commanded Irma. She went quiet as the team arrived at the orport. The New York orport, being the largest of its kind on Earth, was built with hard emplacement tubes rather than the gravity-assisted ones common to smaller orports such as the one in Boulder. It was actually more economical and suited better, given the tremendous volume of daily traffic.

Irma's team made their way directly to the gate and entered their private t.o.p. At no point during the trip to the orport did any of them stop working. When they were settled in they allowed themselves to continue the conversation they'd started less than an hour before.

"It's a sham," confirmed Enrique. He pointed at his DijAssist for anyone interested in viewing it. "Look at the pattern of expenses over the years. It seems random, but it's not. See how the pattern repeats if you look at it mathematically." Enrique pointed at various parts of the scrolling data. Of course, none of the team knew what he was talking about but trusted his abilities implicitly, so they just smiled, nodded, and incorporated the new facts into their calculations.

"This is interesting," said Saundra, coiling the strands of her hair around her forefinger. "The staff revivalist is someone named Neela Harper. She's just been given a top-flight expense account and booked a passage for two to Florence, Italy."

"Any data on who she went with?" asked Irma, without looking up from her DijAssist.

"Just paid for two passengers and left."

"Conjecture?" asked Irma.

"In all likelihood," answered Michael, "she's been bought off. Think about it. You're the no-talent revivalist stuck in Boulder. Not a stellar beginning to any career. The rich and famous have their own specialists brought in to cover them. So all you get is miners and the occasional broke tourist. Then, if we're to believe what Hektor is saying, some guy from three hundred years ago pops up. You think they'd let someone like this Harper woman get near the guy? No way. They'll call in Gillette, or someone of that caliber. Then pay her off to shut up and go away."

It seemed convincing enough for Irma. "OK. Find out where Gillette is now. Also, see if anyone else at the hospital took a sudden leave of absence ... and to where."

Michael nodded, absorbing and inputting notes at a furious pace.

"Not bad," said Saundra, purposely tempering her praise, "but this guy's already already been revived. In all likelihood Harper's taking a quick trip to Florence to bring Gillette or whoever's replacing her up to speed over dinner. A high muckety-muck would expect that kind of treatment." been revived. In all likelihood Harper's taking a quick trip to Florence to bring Gillette or whoever's replacing her up to speed over dinner. A high muckety-muck would expect that kind of treatment."

Irma considered Saundra's take. "OK, follow through on it. Get a mediabot to Florence and check out the better restaurants. Start with the ones Dr. Harper has already been to. If it's a big-time Vegas revivalist, I want to know about it."

Irma switched gears. "Any luck on IDing our 'Justin'?"

A chorus of nos.

"Come on, people," she chastised, "they had records three hundred years ago, just find the face."

Michael took it personally. "Irma, it's not that easy. A lot of data got wiped out in the computer plague unleashed during the Grand Collapse. And most of whatever's left still hasn't been reconstructed. But even if the data does exist, I suspect it'll be hard to come by. And not because it's corrupted." He paused a moment to let the next part sink in. "I suspect we're talking about a massive government or government/corporate project. Those were always classified. It's therefore likely that, whoever this guy is, he had his ID purposely erased."

"Why do you assume it's a government project?"

"Did you see that thing he was encased in? We're talking a major investment of turn-of-the-millennium resources. Few if any pre-GCs had that kind of cash lying around."

"OK," agreed Saundra. "It makes sense. But I wouldn't rule out eccentrics, either."

Michael put down his DijAssist and looked up, eyebrows slightly raised. "Why not? Like I said, this is pre-GC, and most of the lemmings back then thought cryonics was a fraud. The whole meme was, for lack of a better description, prodeath and, conversely, rabidly antisuspension. I don't see anyone, much less a rich guy, doing something like this with his hard-earned money."

"Exactly my point, Michael," continued Irma. "And don't get me wrong. I agree that in all likelihood it's probably a pre-GC government thing. However, it could could just as easily have been done by an eccentric billionaire. Remember, eccentrics by their very nature don't follow societal memes. So all I'm really saying is, given the magic number of 'three hundred years ago' as a starting point, it should be quick work to find a group of individuals with the resources to pull this off." just as easily have been done by an eccentric billionaire. Remember, eccentrics by their very nature don't follow societal memes. So all I'm really saying is, given the magic number of 'three hundred years ago' as a starting point, it should be quick work to find a group of individuals with the resources to pull this off."

"And someone with that kind of money," continued Saundra, "would garner press, which means ..."

"... which means there might possibly be enough leftover data to find our mystery man," finished Enrique.

Michael shrugged and went back to his work. He reminded himself that it was the story that counted, and better one of them be right than none of them. However, that didn't mean he had to give his boss the gratification of acknowledgment.

Irma made a few notes in her DijAssist and looked at the team. "OK, we touch down in another twenty. Use this time to dig, folks. And please dig deep."

"And what's our queen on high going to be doing while we do all the dirty work?" asked Saundra.

"I'm going to be checking on our source," answered Irma. "Hektor hinted he might be in trouble. I want to see how much, and if it has anything to do with this."

The interior of the t.o.p., now gently arching about 270,000 feet over Michigan, went quiet as the team dived into the Neuro in search of a nowhere man.

The somewhat bedraggled Daily Terran Daily Terran news team disembarked from the Boulder orport in much the same way as they entered-chatting, checking data, and arguing. In the midst of the din, and just as they were about to exit the building, Enrique's DijAssist made a loud, horrible sound. news team disembarked from the Boulder orport in much the same way as they entered-chatting, checking data, and arguing. In the midst of the din, and just as they were about to exit the building, Enrique's DijAssist made a loud, horrible sound.