transfer’s skin color didn’t change after death, and the eyes didn’t necessarily close; Trace’s green eyes were wide-open, although whatever the disruptor had done to his circuitry had caused one pupil to contract to little more than a pinpoint while the other was so dilated it looked like he’d just come from an eye exam. Of course, he was absolutely still, but he looked like he could leap back into action at any moment. At least with a human stiff, you knew they were out of the game for good.
“How’d this happen?” Fernandez asked. He looked ashen—worse than the dead guy; maybe he was worried about a liability suit if one of his uploads had failed.
“We used a broadband disruptor on him,” Mac said.
Fernandez nodded. “Right, right. I’d heard that you guys had a prototype unit.”
“Anyway, do you recognize him?”
“Sure,” said Fernandez. “That’s Dazzling Don Hutchison.”
I’d heard the name before, so I had another look. “It is?”
“Well, it’s not really him,” Fernandez said. “But that’s his face. Licensed and everything. The estate gets a royalty each time we use it. Don’t get much call for it, though—nobody remembers him anymore.”
“Who the hell is Dazzling Don Hutchison?” asked Mac.
I opened my mouth to reply, but so did Hux—and he had so little in life, I decided to let him beat me to it. “He was a football player,” he said. “With the Memphis Blues.”
“And he’s dead?”
“Twenty years, at least,” said Hux.
“But this isn’t him uploaded?” said Mac to Fernandez. “This is someone else who bought his face?”
“I’d assume so.”
“Can you identify who this is—was?”
“People who choose to use something other than their own face usually want to guard their anonymity.”
“Sure,” said Mac. “But you must have some way to tell who’s who, so you can see if they’re still under warranty or whatever. A serial number or something.”
Fernandez went into his back room and returned a moment later holding a small scanning device. He aimed it at the body. “No transponder, meaning he opted for an anonymizer package. I’ll have to open him up to have a look.”
“Do that, please,” said Mac.
“I’ve already got Mr. Pickover opened up. Let me finish his repairs then I’ll take care of this.”
“How long for an ID?” asked Mac.
“I’ll need another hour on Pickover.”
“All right,” said Mac. He turned to me. “A drink, Alex?”
“Another time.”
Mac looked at Miss Takahashi then back at me and gave me a knowing wink. “Right, then. Come along, Sergeant Huxley.” The two of them left the shop, and Fernandez went into the back room, closing the door behind him. Nobody had bothered to cover up Trace again, so I did—leaving just me and Reiko alone in the showroom, the two of us biologicals surrounded by unoccupied transfer floor models of various body types and colorations.
“Disconcerting,” she said, “seeing a dead transfer like that.”
“Yes.” I took a breath, then: “Reiko, I have something to tell you that—”
The alloquartz outer door slid open, and a filthy, ancient prospector came in. “You got a washroom?”
Most retail staff had a pat answer along the lines of, “Sorry, it’s for customer use only.” Apparently, NewYou had a canned response, too. “Sir,” Reiko said, flashing her brilliant smile, “we can set you up so that you never have to use a washroom again! Come on in and let me show you the very best that modern science has to offer!”
The old fossil hunter looked like he was going to call Reiko an unkind name but then he caught sight of me and thought better of it. He turned around and beetled outside.
“You were about to say, Alex?”
“You might want to have a seat.”
Her expression suggested she thought this was unnecessary—and, indeed, it probably was; even if you fainted on Mars, you likely wouldn’t break anything. But she went to the stool behind the cash desk, sat, and looked at me expectantly. “Well?”
“First, your grandfather is dead. Unequivocally so. I don’t want to say anything that gets false hopes up, so let’s be clear about that up front.”
She nodded.
“But,” I continued, “he did not die re-entering Earth’s atmosphere all those years ago. He died here, on Mars. I know, because Dr. Pickover and I have recovered his body.”
“My . . . God.” Her eyes were wide. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t doubt you’ve found someone’s body, but—”
“I’m sure. Or, more to the point, Dr. Pickover is sure; he’s the one who identified the corpse.”