Suddenly his father glitched, vapored away. The lights in the room dimmed once again. Martin Truax sighed. “I’ll maintain a vocal construct here in the lab. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I can’t seem to … Len, have Associates Billick and Greer shimmer into Unison Workspace after you’re finished here. And the other one, there…”

Len cocked an eyebrow at the empty air. “Chen?”

“Chen.”

“You fired Chen, sir.”

“Well, see that he stays that way.”

Len nodded. Ambrose squirmed against the straps on his wrists and ankles.

“Hey, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Hold it.”

“Come on, I’ve been stuck inside the tube for—”

The straps popped open. Len glared at the empty air where their father had been.

“You’ve got enough data to get started, Len,” his father’s voice said. “And he’ll be right back.”

Ambrose hopped to his feet and kick-started his circulation.

“I’m proud of you,” his father’s voice said as he headed for the door. “And I love you very much.”

Ambrose almost stopped completely. “Love you, too, Dad.”

“Better life in Unison!” Len called after him as he palmed open the door and walked down the silent hallway to the elevator. He stepped inside and leaned close to the mirror, prodding his temples, his cheeks, the back of his neck. The procedure hadn’t changed his outward appearance. He ran a hand along the top of his head, feeling for the slightest indication of the wires he’d been attached to as a baby. The memory had seemed so real inside the scan-tube. Why had he allowed a terrorist transmission to implant doubt on the most important day of his life?

“Destination, please,” prompted the elevator.

He hesitated, trying to remember the last time his father had said “I love you.”

“Executive bathroom,” he said.

Ambrose gazed at his reflection and tried to imagine what it would be like to appear as a projected representation of himself. He realized for the first time how easy and natural it would be to lie if you were never truly face-to-face with anyone. How you might grow accustomed to it, being in the business of creating new and better worlds.

“Wait!” he said. “Lobby.”

He was Ambrose Truax, the future of UniCorp. He had serious responsibilities. The course of his life had been carefully plotted. What was he doing, acting on impulse like this?

Immediately, he considered all the ways his father could track his movements: building surveillance, voiceprints, the transmitter and receptors in his own palm implants. He would have to be careful not to externalize any data in order to avoid the signal. That meant staying offline. And there was absolutely no way he could shimmer into Unison. The lack of Friend interaction was already nibbling at his brain. He fought a sudden, powerful urge to slap his palms together and shimmer in for a peek.

His heart was pounding. He closed his eyes and focused on the upward current in his gut as the elevator descended. Whatever he discovered, he would have to be back soon. There were calibrations to consider, his sanity to preserve. Some kind of explanation to give his father and brother.