Analog Science Fiction and Fact - June 2013

ANALOG
choice she’d had to make. She could have
claimed her true name. It was her right. She
could have seized back the life of Mika Brennan,
but she’d chosen not to.
I felt a shy touch against my arm and looked
down, surprised to see that Shay had followed
me. “She’s the version of me that my parents
know. She’s the one my brothers and sisters
love. She’s the mother of my children. For
thirty years we’ve grown apart, and it’s too
late now to ever put us back together.”
Shay was right, of course. A ghost can join
its memories to its progenitor, but only for a
while. As they grow apart, it becomes impossible
to meld one mind with another. But in
the Commonwealth, individuals are allowed
only one physical copy of themselves.
“If I took back my name,” Shay said, “I’d
take her life away. Do you think my family
would even want me if I could do a thing like
that?”
“You know it doesn’t work that way,” I told
her.
We all want to see shades of meaning in
what we do, but Commonwealth law is absolute.
It’s concerned with limits, not justice.
“You were first,” I said. “She was second.
Under the law, that makes her an illegal
copy.”
“No, she was approved. There was a legal
certification.”
“Based on the assumption of your death,
but you’re not dead. She’s the backup, so you
have precedence. You knew it. That’s why
you decided to disappear.”
Shay stared out at the sprawl of gleaming
towers and the canyon’s seemingly infinite
walls. Kiel came to stand on her other side.
He took her hand.
“What was I supposed to do?” she asked
me—that same question she’d met me with
when I first came in the door. Only this time,
there was steel in her voice, the stern conviction
of a woman who’d survived out in the
dark, alone. “I gave Mika my life. I didn’t ask
for it back. I just wanted my own.”
“And Officer Pana gave it to you.”
“He’s a good cop,” Kiel said. “With a reputation
for playing fair. Not like the jackboot
cops of the inner system.”
I wasn’t going to argue. Pana had done a
better job than me. Sometimes, being a good
cop means knowing when to stop asking
questions.
I’d been so determined to prove that Pana
had been paid off, I’d followed this case too
far. If I reported what I knew, the life of Mika
Brennan, resident of Eden-2, would be forfeit
as an illegal copy of a living person. And
when she was gone, Shay would be tried and
convicted of counterfeiting her identity, and
she would be executed for it. Hardly a just reward
for what she’d been through, and what
she’d given up.
I drew a breath and let it out slowly. “The
radiation out there in the dark,” I said. “It
damages the DNA. The repair programs . . .
sometimes it seems like they’re copying patterns
from the wrong DNA source.”
“Like a cousin or something?” Kiel asked
tentatively. “Even a sibling?”
“Like that,” I agreed.
Daoud Pana had known the truth, I didn’t
doubt it, and he’d chosen to let Shay through
the station gate because it was the right thing
to do. Now I’d entered into his conspiracy.
I turned and walked back across the hotel
room. The door opened at my touch. I felt my
connection restored. Looking back at Shay
and Kiel, I saw they were still standing together
on the balcony. “Thank you for answering
my questions,” I said. “Assessments
such as this one help us maintain the integrity
of our officers. My report will state that,
based on the evidence, Daoud Pana followed
procedure and made the right call. This case
is closed.”
I took a step into the hall before I thought
to turn back. “And welcome to the Commonwealth,
Shay Antigo. I think you’ll like it
here.”
“Better than the rocks,” she allowed, in
whispery relief.
I nodded and went on my way.
In my mind I started composing my report.
I would have liked to open it with the truth:
that strange things happen out in the dark.
But I don’t want anyone else to get curious
and start digging into this story . . . not
until the law is changed—and that will happen.
It must. ■
Editor’s Note: This story is a sequel to
“Nahiku West.” (October, 2012)
66 LINDA NAGATA