That night Cleary completed the preparations for his departure. He would upload himself into VR and reappear in holographic form in twenty years, just as Nichols had planned to do. His hologram would provide instructions on downloading his brain software into a nanite or robotic body. Once uploaded into VR, he had programmed his silicon brain to power down and, with it, his bodily functions.

Cleary sat in an easy chair, accessed the memory Sabin and I had planted in his stream, and executed the commands he thought were necessary to upload himself. Instead, it erased his brain software. Cleary’s memory stream stopped. Mercifully, I didn’t have to watch his body’s final moments.

I felt a grim relief at his passing. The conspiracy had ended. We—those of us remaining—were safe.

I had to make sure, though. I had to scan the rest of the streams. Several were employees at NTI; all, I discovered, were innocent. I scanned numerous elderly patients who had had brain disease. Nothing. I came across Ray’s stream. It seemed odd, having his memories saved on the Grid. I didn’t need to look at them.

After reviewing several dozen benign streams, I didn’t expect any surprises. I only had three more to go.

Then I accessed a memory stream that made my heart skip a beat.

The breeze at Sal’s Seaside Café barely ruffled the umbrella flaps over the outdoor tables. I scanned the patio, walked past a counter filled with the day’s pastries, and stood next to a table with one occupant looking out to sea.

Hutch Hardin turned and looked up at me. “Dr. Daniels. Please, have a seat.”

I sat across the table from him.

“Beautiful time of year here, isn’t it?” he remarked, looking away again. “This is when the big yachts go out on the Adriatic.” He turned back. “So to what do I owe this visit? You’re not considering politics, are you?”

A waitress came by. I ordered a cappuccino and a pastry. Hutch did the same.

“You could say I simply wanted to get acquainted.”

“Really? I feel we know each other already, so much has happened to mutual acquaintances these last several weeks. I’m truly grieved by what transpired.”

“Yes, I know. But you’re not grieved in the way you imply.”

His eyebrows rose. “What would make you say that?”

“You’re sorry your plan for genocide and the worldwide adoption of brain transplants fell through.”

The waitress returned with our orders. Hutch picked up a knife and slowly buttered his pastry. He spoke without looking up. “That’s quite a statement, Professor. Slanderous if you were to say it to anyone else.”

I finished a bite of my pastry. “I didn’t say you had done anything illegal.”

“It’s hard to commit genocide legally.”

“Not if you allow it to be done through someone else.”