Free 21 Tales by Dave Zeltserman Page B

itself. First helplessness and then resignation washed over the holographic image, leaving the eyes blank and distant. “I'm not sure,” it said. “But I think I have an idea.”
    “He suspects his wife is planning to kill him,” I said.
    There was almost no reaction, but if the holographic image had included a neck it probably would've nodded. “I'm sure he would say that, and to be honest, if I had the guts I think I'd even try to. At this point I'm almost desperate enough to try anything.”
    “What is Marcia Danby desperate about?”
    “About Robert,” it answered softly. “What do you know about him?”
    I accessed Robert Danby's file from the Federal Database. “He's a wealthy man, over fifty million in accounts and has property holdings of over—”
    “Yes,” it interrupted, “Robert is extremely wealthy. But what else? What did you think of him?”
    I muttered something about him seeming sincere. I had an EMV running – a polygraphic analysis of the emulogram's eye movements. Lying causes spikes to be drawn. The line being displayed across the monitor screen was flat.
    “He can come off as sincere when he wants to. He's learned how a normal person's supposed to act.”
    “What do you mean?”
    It was studying me, its face dead white. Finally, its cheeks sucked in and expanded the way a person's would when blowing out a lung full of air. “It doesn't matter. You wouldn't believe me.”
    It shut itself off from me after that. I couldn't get it to tell me anything more about Robert Danby or Marcia Danby's desperation or why it thought I was hired. The information was there, I could see it in its eyes, but I couldn't pull it out. I tried all the tricks, inducing exhaustion and fear and anything else I could think of to break it down, but none of it worked. At two in the morning I gave up.
    I tried to get some sleep. Hell, I could've tried to swim the Atlantic with my arms tied and had better luck. Marcia Danby's holographic image raced through my mind. I couldn't block out the desperation in its eyes. Or the funny sad smile it had. Or the way it looked at me when it didn't realize I was noticing. It wasn't the way Danby had explained it, not hate or murder but something on the opposite end of the spectrum. I laid awake for the full duration sweating through my underwear because I couldn't get a by-product of lasers and computer circuitry out of my head. It was a hell of a note.
    I was awake at six when the alarm went off. As I entered my basement where I keep the emulogram lab, Marcia Danby's holographic image lit up. “Paul!” it shouted, a broad grin breaking onto its face. “I've missed you! I don't think I've ever felt lonelier in my life!”
    “I could've turned you off,” I explained, ignoring its eyes. “But I wanted to give you a chance to think.” I sat at the computer with my back to the emulogram. After about a minute it asked what I was doing.
    “I'm making your twin. Right now I'm designing a filter that will screen out most of Marcia Danby's inhibitions. About seventy percent worth. When I'm done you'll have company in the emulogram box across from you. And it won't hold back information from me.”
    “I'm not trying to hold anything back from you,” It said in a hurt voice. It hesitated. “I'm just not sure what to do.”
    “Yeah, don't worry about it. Marcy 2 will be ready in a few minutes.” I glanced over my shoulder and saw the holographic image struggling to keep its composure. It's a funny thing when emulograms cry; they don't shed any tears. It's as dry as sand.
    “Paul?” it asked.
    “Yeah?”
    “Could you please turn around?”
    “I'm busy.” The filter was complete. The alpha waves and mind scan were fed through it, creating a slightly skewed version of Marcia Danby. If I did my job right the filter would act as a kind of truth serum to the new emulogram. With a soft mechanical hum, the emulogram processing finished and Marcia Danby's image appeared in the