"The exhibit is admitted," said the judge.

"Thank you," said Lopez. She crossed the well, approached the witness stand, and handed the manual to Karen. "As you can see, I've bookmarked a certain page.

Would you open the manual to that page?'

Karen did so.

"And will you read the highlighted passage?" asked Lopez.

Karen cleared her throat — a mechanically unnecessary bit of theater, then: " 'This scanner uses biometric data to ensure the security of transactions. Both a fingerprint scan and a retinal scan are performed to verify the identity of the user. No two human beings have identical fingerprints, nor do any two individuals share the same retinal patterns. By measuring physical characteristics of both, the security of the transaction is assured.' So you see—"

"Sounds impressive, doesn't it?" said Lopez.

"Yes. And the point is that the terminal did —"

"Forgive me, Ms. Bessarian, you can only reply to the questions I pose." Lopez paused. "No, I'm sorry, I don't wish to be rude. You had a comment you wanted to add?"

"Well, just that the scanner did recognize me as Karen Bessarian."

"Yes, it did. In key biometric areas, you are apparently identical — or at least as close as is necessary — to the original Karen Bessarian."

"That's right."

"Now, if it pleases the court, I'd like to try something. Your honor, defendant's exhibits two, three, and four. Number two is an artificial hand, and number three is an artificial eyeball, both — as, number four, the certificate of provenance, attests — produced by Morrell Gimbel of Dusseldorf, a leading manufacturer of prosthetic body parts. Indeed, Morrell is the company Immortex employs to make many of the replacement components it uses."

There were about fifteen minutes of objections and arguments before the judge accepted the exhibits. Finally, we were back on track, and Lopez handed the artificial hand to Karen. "Would you please press the artificial hand's thumb against the terminal's scanning plate?"

Karen reluctantly did so. One green light went on — I used to hate using those things, because I could never tell if the light was green or red.

She then handed Karen the artificial eyeball. "And would you hold this up to the terminal's lens?"

Karen did that, too, and a second green LED came to life.

"Now, Ms. Bessarian, would you be so kind as to read to the court what the display says?" She held out the device.

Karen looked at it. "It…"

"Yes, Ms. Bessarian?"

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

"Thank you, Ms. Bessarian." She took the device out of Karen's limp hand and tapped some keys with slow deliberation. When she was done, she handed the device back to Karen. "Now, I'd like you to do for me what you did for Mr. Draper: transfer ten dollars into my own bank account. Of course, to do that, we'll need your PIN number."

Karen frowned. "It's just a PIN," she said.

Lopez looked momentarily confused. "Sorry?"

"PIN stands for 'Personal Identification Number.' Only people who work for the Department of Redundancy Department call it a PIN number."

Judge Herrington's little mouth smiled at this.

"Fine," said Lopez. "What we need now is your PIN, so that we can complete the transaction."

Karen folded her arms across her chest. "And I don't believe the court can make me divulge that."

"No, no, of course not. Privacy is important. May I?" Lopez held out her hand for the terminal, and Karen gave it to her. She stabbed out some numbers on the unit, then handed it back to Karen. "Would you read what it says?"

Karen's plastic face wasn't quite as pliable as one made out of flesh was, but I could see the consternation. "It says, 'PIN OK.' "

"Well, what do you know!" declared Lopez. "Without using your fingerprint, or your retinal pattern, or any knowledge known solely to you, we've managed to access your account, haven't we?"

Karen said nothing.

"Haven't we, Ms. Bessarian?"

"Apparently."

"Well, in that case, why don't we go ahead and transfer ten dollars into my account, just as you did for Mr. Draper?"

"I'd rather not," said Karen.

"What?" said Lopez. "Oh, I see. Yes, of course, you're right. That's totally unfair.

After all, Mr. Draper gave you ten dollars first. So, I suppose I should also give you a Reagan." She reached into her jacket pocket again, brought out her hand, and proffered a coin.

Karen crossed her arms in front of her chest, refusing to take it.

"Ah, well," said Lopez, peeling back the gold foil, revealing the embossed chocolate disk inside. She popped it in her mouth, and chewed. "This one's a fake, anyway."

A gilded cage is still a cage.

I was fine now, with decades of life ahead of me. And I didn't want to spend it here at High Eden.

And — I was fine, wasn't I? I mean, Chandragupta's technique had supposedly cured me. But…

But my head was still throbbing. It came and it went, thank God; I couldn't take it if it was like this all the time, but…

But nothing was helping. Not for long, not for good.

And I didn't trust the doctors here. I mean, look at what had happened to poor Karen! Code Blue my ass…

And yet—

And yet, I had to do something. I wasn't a machine, a robot. I wasn't like that other me, that doppelganger, free from aches and pains. My head hurt. When it was happening, it hurt so fucking much.

I left my suite, bouncing along in the lunar gravity, heading for the hospital.

Our next witness was Andrew Porter, who had come down from Toronto, joining the half-a-dozen Immortex suits already here. "Dr. Porter," said Deshawn, "what is your educational background?"

The witness stand was a little small for someone of Porter's height, but he scrunched his legs sideways. "I have a Ph.D. in cognitive science from Carnegie Mellon University, as well as Master's degrees in both Electrical Engineering Science and Computer Studies from CalTech."

"Have you had any academic appointments?"

Porter's eyebrows were working, as always. "Several. Most recently I was a senior research fellow with the Artificial Intelligence Laboratory at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology."

"Now, I rather enjoyed Ms. Lopez's coin trick earlier," said Deshawn. "But I understand you have a real gold medallion, isn't that right?"

"Yes, I do. Or, at least, I'm part of the team it belongs to."

"Did you bring it with you? May we see it?"

"Certainly."

Porter pulled a large case out of his jacket pocket, and opened it.

"Plaintiff's three, your honor," said Deshawn.

There was the usual back-and-forth, then the exhibit was admitted. Deshawn held the medallion up to a camera, showing first one side then the other; the images were projected on the wall screen behind Porter. One side showed a three-quarters view of a young man with delicate features, and was inscribed with the italic quotation, "Can Machines Think?" and the name Alan M. Turing. The other side showed a bearded man with glasses and the name Hugh G. Loebner. Both sides were labeled "Loebner Prize" in letters following the curving edge of the disk.

"How did you come by this?" asked Deshawn.

"It was awarded to us for being the first group ever to pass the Turing Test."

"And how did you do that?"

"We precisely copied a human mind — that of one Seymour Wainwright, also formerly of MIT — into an artificial brain."

"And do you continue to work in this area?"

"I do."

"Who is your current employer?"

"I work for Immortex."

"In what capacity?"

"I'm the senior scientist. My exact job title is Director, Reinstantiation Technologies."

Deshawn nodded. "And how would you describe what it is you do in your job?"