Mindscan

"I can't. I have my own life. I have Karen." I didn't want to be cruel — really, I didn't.

But he'd never seen as clearly as I did now: all the shades, all the colors, all the glory.

"Besides, you wouldn't know what to do with our life back on Earth; you never have. You've coasted, living off family money. Christ's sake, Jacob, in many ways, you've been as disengaged from reality as Dad is. But I'm seeing now, I'm seeing it all. Life isn't about being alone; it's about being with someone."

"But there is someone," said Jacob. "There's Rebecca."

"Ah, yes. Rebecca. Would you like us to get her on the phone from Earth?"

"What? No."

"Why? Ashamed of what you're doing? Afraid she'd never look at you the same way if she knew?"

Jacob shifted uneasily in his chair.

" 'Cause I know what it's like to have her not look at you the same way. I went to see her after I uploaded. She couldn't look me in the eye; she scurried away every time I came near. She couldn't even say my name."

"That's you," he said.

"It'll be you, too, if she finds out about what you're doing here. You think she isn't going to ask what happened to the Mindscan me? You think she'll just forget about it?" I shook my head. "You can't win here; you just can't."

Jacob got slowly to his feet, but he didn't stand quite erect. "Are you all right?" I asked.

He was holding the gun in one hand, and was now rubbing the top of his head with the other.

"Jacob?" I said. He was wincing; I'd forgotten how much a flesh face could contort.

"Jacob, my God…"

"You're part of it," he hissed through clenched teeth. "You're part of it, too."

"Part of what, Jacob? I just want to help—"

"You're lying! You're all out to get me."

"No," I said, as gently as I could. "No, we're not. Jacob, there's something wrong with your brain — but it's temporary."

Jacob swung his gun toward me; it had become like a prosthetic extension of him.

"I'll kill you," he hissed.

I shrugged infinitesimally. "You can't."

"Then I'll kill them," he said, swinging the gun between Brian and Chloe.

"Jacob, no!" I said. "For God's sake — this isn't … isn't us. You know it isn't! It's an after-effect of the cure. Dr. Chandragupta can fix it. Let's just put the gun down, and we can all walk out through the airlock door."

He winced again, and doubled over a bit more. His voice was a sneer. "So they can cut into my head?"

"No, Jacob," I said. "Nothing like that. They'll just—"

"Shut up!" he shouted. "Just shut the fuck up!" He looked left and right. "I've had it with you. I've had it with all of you! You think you can talk me out of my life?"

I spread my arms in a placating gesture, but said nothing.

He winced again, and grunted. "God…"

"Jacob…" I said softly. "Please…"

"I can't give up," he said, as if the words were being torn from him. "There's no turning back now."

"Of course there is," I said. "Just stop what you're doing, and—"

But Jacob shook his head, lifted the gun, aimed it at Chloe's chest, and—

Whooooosh!

An enormous roar of air rushing out of — of the cockpit, behind the closed door just in front of where Jacob was standing. He wheeled around, and Chloe dove for cover behind a chair.

The door to the cockpit seemed to be air-tight; there was no danger, apparently of it rupturing, even if there was nothing now but hard vacuum on the other side. It wasn't a fancy sliding door; it was hinged, just like an airplane's cockpit door, and it seemed to be operated manually.

"Jacob," I said. "I'm not at risk if the cabin pressure blows — but you and your … your guests are. The three of you should crowd into the airlock, at least."

He made no response. I could see only whites in his eyes; sweat was beading on his forehead.

"In fact," I said, as gently as I could, "we all could just go through the airlock, back into High Eden, and—"

"No!" It was more animal growl than word. "I'll kill—"

Another whooooosh!

Suddenly, to my absolute astonishment, the cockpit door was swinging inward, into the cabin. Incredible — with vacuum now on the other side, it would take enormous strength to push that door open. Chloe screamed, I think, but the scream was lost in the roar of escaping air. The door continued to open, and—

Oh, Jesus God!

And Karen Bessarian stepped into the cabin, her synthetic hair whipping backward in the wind caused by the evacuating atmosphere. As soon as she was fully inside, she let go of the cockpit door, and it slammed violently shut behind her.

Jacob swung to face her, brought up his piton gun, and fired straight into where Karen's stomach would have been. A metal spike shot into her body, but she kept moving forward, deliberate step after deliberate step.

Jacob fired again, this time aiming higher on her chest. Another spike tore into her breast, ripping plastiflesh, exposing silicone and silicon.

But Karen continued moving forward, and—

And Chloe crouched down like a cat, out of Jacob's view, then leapt, flying through the air, landing on Jacob's back, encircling his neck. Jacob fired another projectile, but this one missed — going through the cockpit door like it wasn't there, creating a two-centimeter hole through which air started pouring out again.

Jacob was undeterred. He aimed at Karen's head and squeezed off another shot. The spike hit her but ricocheted off her impenetrable skull. I instinctively followed the rebound of the spike, which smashed into the side bulkhead, lodging there without breaching it.

I swung my attention back to Karen — and opened my mouth in shock, instinctively trying to suck in breath. Her left eye socket was shattered, and the eye itself was gone. Blue metal was exposed beneath a ragged hole in her plastiskin, and some sort of yellow lubricant, like amber tears, was trickling down that side of her face.

But her voice, Georgia accent and all, was just fine. "Leave my boyfriend — and everyone else — alone," she said, still coming forward.

Brian Hades was getting into the act now. He leapt, soaring horizontally, ponytail flying, and tackled Jacob by the legs. Chloe disengaged from Jacob as he tumbled over, and she scurried away.

I was suddenly conscious of blood everywhere. It took me a moment to figure out what was happening: Jacob's nose had ruptured under the shift in air pressure, and twin geysers of crimson — God, but blood is bright red! — were squirting from his nostrils. Christ, if he hadn't been cured of Katerinsky's, the pressure shift probably would have killed him.

Jacob was now sprawled on the hard deck. Karen had closed the distance between him and her and was bending down. She grabbed his right wrist with her left hand, and grabbed the squat gun with her right hand. Jacob clearly didn't want to let it go, and—

And there was a crack, quite audible above the hiss of escaping atmosphere, and I realized that Karen had broken at least one bone in Jacob's hand as she yanked the gun from his grip. She looked at the gun with disgust and tossed it aside; it bounced high on the upholstery of one of the chairs, then fell back down in slow motion.

Jacob's hands came up, grabbing one of Karen's shins. I could see the excruciating look on his face as he did so; the broken bone in his right hand must be torturing him. But he pushed upward on Karen's shin with all his might, and, in lunar gravity, that was enough to let him toss her up and backward like a caber.

Suddenly he was scrambling to his feet and ru