"You're on the moon. I mean, I suppose you could be anywhere with reduced gravity, including a space station spinning too slowly to simulate a full Earth gee. But since we already know that Immortex has a facility on the moon…"

Yes. But if I'm on the moon, shouldn't there be a time delay as I communicate with you? The moon's — what? — four hundred thousand kilometers from Earth.

"Something like that. And light travels at 300,000 kilometers per second, so — let's see — there should be a one-and-a-third second delay, or so."

Maybe there is. Maybe.

"Let's test it. I'll count to five; when you hear me say five, you pick up the count, and carry it through from six to ten, then I'll come in for eleven to fifteen. Okay?"

Okay.

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five."

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

"Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen."

No delays that I could detect.

"Me, neither."

Then how…?

"Andrew Porter said something about using quantum fog to scan the original Jake Sullivan's brain noninvasively…"

You think that the duplicates are all quantum entangled?

" 'Quantally.' The adjective is 'quantally.' "

I know that.

"I know you do."

Quantally entangled. So we are connected instantaneously.

"Exactly. What Albert Einstein called 'spooky action at distance.' "

I suppose it's possible.

"But why would Immortex create another duplicate of me on the moon?"

I don't know, said the voice in my head. But I don't like it here.

"Well, you can't come down here, to Earth. There can be only one of us here."

I know. Lucky bastard.

I thought about that. "I suppose I am."

Karen was back on the witness stand, this time as called by Maria Lopez, rather than Deshawn. "Earlier," said Lopez, "when cross-examining Professor Alyssa Neruda, your attorney, Mr. Draper, used the term 'gerrymandering' in relation to defining the line between life and death. Do you recall that?"

Karen nodded. "Yes, I do."

"You're a professional writer; I'm sure you have a large vocabulary. Could you enlighten us as to what that odd-sounding word — 'gerrymander' — means?"

Karen tilted her head to one side. "It means to redefine borders for political advantage."

"In fact," said Lopez, "it comes from an act by Elbridge Gerry, does it not, who redefined the political districts in Massachusetts when he was governor of that state, so that his party would be favored in upcoming elections, isn't that so?"

"Gerry" — said Karen, pronouncing it with a hard G, "not Jerry. We've ended up saying gerrymander with a soft G, but the governor — and later, vice-president — pronounced his name with a hard G."

I smiled at Karen's ability to find a polite way to say, "So go fuck yourself, smart ass."

"Ah, well, yes," said Lopez. "In any event, the governor ended up redefining the borders of Essex County until it looked like a salamander. So, again, to gerrymander is to flagrantly move lines or borders for political or personal expediency, no?"

"You could say that."

"And the lawyer for the plaintiff accused the Supreme Court of simply gerrymandering the line between life and death until they found something that was politically palatable, did he not?"

"That was what Mr. Draper was implying, yes."

"But, of course, you want the men and women of this jury to gerrymander another line — the obvious, clear demarcation that is brain death — to another point, for your personal convenience, isn't that so?"

"I would not put it that way," said Karen, stiffly. "And, in fact, you have a personal history of playing this gerrymandering game, don't you?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"No? Ms. Bessarian, do you have any children?"

"Yes, of course. I have a son, Tyler."

"The defendant in this case, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Any other children?"

Karen looked — well, I couldn't tell; it was a contorting of her plastic face I'd never seen before, and so I didn't know what emotion to correlate it with.

"Tyler is my only child," said Karen at last.

"Your only living child," said Lopez, "correct?"

Sometimes you read in novels about people's mouths forming perfect "O's" of surprise; flesh-and-blood human faces can't really do that, but Karen's synthetic countenance managed it perfectly while Lopez asked her question. But that expression was soon replaced with one of anger "You're a woman," said Karen.

"How can you be so cruel? What does the fact that I lost a daughter to crib death possibly have to do with the matter at hand? Do you think I don't still cry myself to sleep over it sometimes?"

For once, Maria Lopez looked completely flustered. "Ms. Bessarian, I—"

Karen continued. "For God's sake, Ms. Lopez, to bring that—"

"Honestly, Ms. Bessarian," exclaimed Lopez, "I had no idea! I didn't know."

Karen had her arms crossed in front of her chest. I glanced at the jury, who all looked like they hated Lopez just then.

"Really, Ms. Bessarian. I — I'm terribly sorry for your loss. Honestly, Karen — I — please forgive me."

Karen still said nothing.

Lopez turned to Judge Herrington. "Your honor, perhaps a short recess…?"

"Twenty minutes," said Herrington, and he rapped his gavel.

The moonbus's airlock controls were located, logically enough, next to the airlock door. The pilot hadn't arrived yet, which was just as well. I got on board first, and waited for others to join me. I really only needed one, but — but, damn it, the next two people to board, a white woman and an Asian woman, came in together. Ah, well.

I moved to the airlock controls, and was about to hit the appropriate switch, when I saw that Brian Hades, of all people, was coming down the corridor, his pony tail doubtless bouncing behind him in the low gravity. Was I better off with him inside or outside? I had to make a split-second decision, and I decided I'd have even more clout if he was in. I waited till he'd passed through the door, and then I hit the emergency control that slammed the airlock shut.

The two women had already taken seats — and not together; I guess, although they'd been chatting, they weren't actually friends. Hades was still standing, and he turned in surprise at the sound of the airlock closing.

He turned and looked at me for the first time, his eyes wide. "Sullivan?"

I pulled the piton gun from the small backpack I'd placed on the seat I was standing beside, then cleared my throat in the dry air of the cabin. "Mr. Hades, ladies — please forgive me but…" I paused; there was a stab of pain through the top of my skull. I waited for it to abate a bit.

"Mr. Hades, ladies," I repeated as if my earlier words weren't still hanging in the air, "this is a hijacking."

I'm not sure what reaction I'd expected: screams, shouts? The three of them stared at me blankly.

Finally, Hades said, "You're kidding, right?"

"No," I said. "I'm not."

"You can't hijack a moonbus," said the Asian woman. "There's nowhere to take it."

"I'm not going to take it anywhere," I said. "We're going to stay right here, plugged into High Eden's life-support equipment, until my demands are met." There. It wasn't quite the lunch counter at Woolworth's, but it would do.

"And what are your demands?" asked the white woman.

"Mr. Hades knows — and I'll tell the two of you later. But first, let me say I don't want to hurt anyone; it's they who do the hurting. My goal is for all of us to walk out of here safe and sound."

"Mr. Sullivan, please," said Hades.

" 'Please'?" I sneered. "I said 'please' to you. I asked you. I begged you. And you refused."