The answer seemed to come from an entirely separate mind, one that he dimly recognized as his own. Deep down, he knew that a fatal deletion shouldn’t be easier than swatting a fly. He forced himself to look into his counterpart’s eyes. With great effort, he reminded himself that Ambrose 47 wasn’t just the sum total of Profile data and Thoughtstream updates. Ambrose 47 has ideas and dreams—just like me. His outstretched finger trembled as he tried to resist the mounting pressure in his sinus cavity. It was his job to delete Ambrose 47 to see what would happen. Unison was his business. Greymatter was his office. The Admin Deck was his home.

“No,” Ambrose said out loud. “This is not how I am.”

He curled his finger away from Ambrose 47’s tiny name and dismissed the Account deletion dashboard. His forehead felt like it was being slowly carved open by a razor. The Deck knew him better than he knew himself. Stopping the pain would be as simple as reopening the dashboard and doing what a decisive corporate leader like Martin Truax would do.

Ambrose took a deep breath. “I am not like him.” He closed his eyes and chased away a horrible vision of himself as a decaying husk in an irrigated scan-tube. “I will never be like him.” The pain in his forehead faded to a dull ache.

“What are you talking about?” Ambrose 47’s voice was suddenly clear and immediate. Ambrose opened his eyes. His perception of the office sharpened and moved to the foreground of his vision. He was surrounded by glass shelves and empty picture frames. Next to the desk, the plant was a wilted pile of dead leaves and brittle stems. Ambrose 47 took on a distinct shape and crossed his arms. “You haven’t been listening to me.”

“I just realized that I’m not going to kill you,” Ambrose said.

Ambrose 47 studied him for a moment, then moved toward the open doorway behind the desk. “When I deliver my report to the Creator-Director, I’ll have no choice but to pronounce the initial Version 3.0 beta test a failure.”

Ambrose swiveled to stare into the surging web of Profile information and remembered what he had come here to do.

“Wait!” Ambrose said. His counterpart froze alongside the desk. He’s conditioned to obey commands, Ambrose thought. He’s been doing it all his life. “It’s my fault the test was unsatisfactory. Martin and I had some unresolved quality-assurance issues on our end that should have been dealt with before your arrival.”

“Understatement of the millennium,” Ambrose 47 said. “Your Creator-Director slapped me. I waited patiently for an explanation, and instead he disappeared. I should have returned immediately.”

Ambrose stood up and blocked the door. The Profile data felt like a harsh blast of arctic wind against his back.

“I’ll go,” Ambrose said. “A representative from my end should be the one to give the report.”