Mindscan

Chandragupta shook his head. "Not really. Of course, this is brain surgery, albeit without any cutting. One must take care; the brain is the most delicate of creations."

"I understand," said Hades.

Chandragupta looked out at the moon's surface again. "What was it Aldrin said?" he asked — whoever Aldrin might be. " 'Magnificent desolation.' " He shook his head.

"Exactly so. Exactly so." He slowly turned away from the window, and his voice was sad. "But I suppose we must be getting to work, no? The cure will take many hours. Will you come with me to the operating theater?"

The cure. I felt my heart pounding.

Karen was down in her office answering her fan email — she got dozens of messages each day from people who loved her books, and although she had a little program that composed a rough answer to each message, she always went over the responses and often personally modified them.

I was in the living room, watching a baseball game on Karen's wall screen — the Blue Jays at Yankee Stadium. But when the game ended — the Jays really have to do something about their relief pitching — I turned off the wall, and found myself just staring into space, and—

What do you mean I can't go home?

The voice was soundless, but completely clear.

You said after some initial testing, I could go home.

"Jake?" I spoke my name aloud in a way I don't think I ever had before.

Who's that?

"Jake?" I said again.

Yes? Who is this?

The reply had been immediate; no time lag. Still: "Are you on the moon?"

The moon? No, of course not. That's where the biological original is.

"Then where are you? Who are you?"

I'm—

But just then Karen entered the room, and the strange voice-that-was-not-a-voice was gone. "Oh, honey, you have to hear this one," she said, holding an email printout. "It's from an eight-year-old girl in Venezuela. She says…"

I awoke in the recovery room at High Eden, harsh fluorescent lights glaring into my eyes — but at least I wasn't looking down on them from above…

My head hurt something fierce and I needed to pee, but I was definitely alive. I thought bitterly for a moment about the other me, down on Earth, in the real world — the one whose head probably never hurt, and who certainly never had to urinate.

I could see Dr. Chandragupta and a female doctor whose name was Ng across the room, talking. Chandragupta seemed to be telling a joke; I couldn't quite make out the words, but Ng had the this-better-be-good look of someone who was enduring a long setup before the punch line. I supposed that was a positive sign: a surgeon who had just finished an unsuccessful operation wouldn't be in a jocular mood. I waited until Chandragupta was finished. The payoff was apparently sufficient: Ng laughed out loud, swatted Chandragupta on the forearm, and declared, "That's awful! "

Chandragupta smiled broadly, apparently delighted at his own wit. I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry; nothing came out. I forced a sandpapery swallow and tried again. "I—"

Ng looked my way first, then Chandragupta did the same thing. They crossed the room, loomed over me.

"Well, hello," said Chandragupta, smiling, his dark eyes crinkling as he did so. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty."

"Of course." Chandragupta looked around for a faucet, but it was Ng's hospital: she knew where it was. She quickly got me a plastic cup full of cold water. I forced my head up from the pillow — it didn't weigh much, but jackhammers were pounding at my temples. I took a sip, then another. "Thank you," I said to her, then looked at Chandragupta. "Well?"

"Yes. And you?"

"No, no. I mean, how did it go?"

"Very well, mostly. There was a bit of trouble — the nidus was most convoluted; isolating it, and only it, was tricky. But, in the end — success."

I felt flush. "So I'm cured?"

"Oh, yes, indeed."

"No chance of a cascade of ruptured blood vessels?"

He smiled. "No more than anyone else has — so, watch your cholesterol."

I felt not just lunar-gravity light; I felt weightless. "I'll do that," I said.

"Good. Your doppel—"

He stopped himself. He'd been about to say that my doppelganger didn't have to worry about any such things, but I did.

My doppelganger. That other me. Living my life. I'd have to—

"Code Blue! Emergency!" A female voice came blaring over the wall speaker.

"What the—?" I said. Ng was already racing away.

"Code Blue! Emergency!"

Dr. Chandragupta practically hit his head on the ceiling as he bounded out the door.

"Doc, what's up?" I called after him. "What's happening?"

"Code Blue! Emergency!"

"Doc!"

I'd expected a bestselling writer to spend all her day dictating to her computer.