Robert Sawyer - Mindscan

“This is the kind of test case the world has been waiting for. We’ve only been copying consciousness for a short time now, and, so far, no one has challenged the transfer of legal personhood.”

“So you’ll take her case?”

There was a pause. “No.”

“What? Malcolm, we need you.”

“I’m precisely what you don’t need: I’m a Mindscan, too, remember. You don’t need one damned robot arguing the rights of another. You need someone who is flesh and blood.”

He had a point. “I suppose that’s true. Is there someone you’d recommend?”

He smiled. “Oh, yes. Yes, indeed.”

“Who?”

“When you called, what did the receptionist say?”

I frowned, irritated that he was playing games. “Um, ‘Draper and Draper,’ I think.”

“That’s right—and that’s who you need: the other Draper. My son Deshawn.”

“You and he are getting along—since you uploaded, I mean?”

Malcolm nodded. I grunted. “Nice to see for a change.”

We were able to get a preliminary-motions hearing the next afternoon. Malcolm and Deshawn Draper took an 8:00 a.m. flight from Manhattan to Detroit—a short flight, less than an hour. Karen had her limo driver waiting to pick them up and brought them to her mansion, which would serve as our base camp for as long as necessary.

“Hello, Jake,” said Malcolm, as he came through the front door. “And Karen, hello! I had no idea when we met before who you were. I must say, it’s an honor. This is my son—and partner—Deshawn.”

Deshawn turned out to be in his late thirties, with his head shaved completely bald in that way that looked so good on black men and so bad on white men.

“Karen Bessarian!” Deshawn said, shaking his head in wonder. He took one of her hands in both of his. “My father is right. You have no idea what an honor it is to meet you! I can’t tell you how much I love your books.”

I put on a smile. I’m sure I’d eventually get used to being the consort of royalty.

“Thank you,” said Karen. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. Please, come in.”

Karen took us down a lengthy corridor. There were still rooms in the mansion I’d never been in, and this was one of them: a long boardroom-like space. Three of its walls were lined with yet more bookcases; the fourth was a wall screen. Well, Karen herself was big business; I suppose it made sense that she had a place for meetings.

Malcolm appreciated what he was seeing, even if I didn’t. “Folio Society?” he said, looking at the books, all of which were hardcovers in slipcases.

Karen nodded. “A complete set—every volume they’ve ever released.”

“Very nice,” said Malcolm.

There was a long table with swivel chairs around it. Karen took the place at the head of the table, and motioned for the rest of us to sit down. Of course, none of us but Deshawn needed anything to drink, and he seemed content just to bask in Karen’s presence.

“Gentlemen,” said Karen, “thank you so much for coming.” She gestured around the room, but I think she really meant to include everything beyond it, too. “As you can imagine, I don’t want to lose all this. How are we going to prevent that?”

Malcolm had his hands clasped on the tabletop in front of him. “As I told Jake, Deshawn will be the lead attorney—we need a human face. Of course, I’ll be working behind the scenes, as will several of our associates back in New York.” He looked at his son. “Deshawn?”

Deshawn was wearing a gray suit and a green tie; I was learning to love green. “Have you informed Immortex about the suit yet?”

I looked at Karen. “No,” she said. “Why should I?”

“They’ll want to come on board, I imagine,” said Deshawn. “After all, this case goes to the heart of the dream they’re selling. If the court rules that you aren’t Karen Bessarian, that you’re somebody new and not entitled to her assets, Immortex will be in deep trouble.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” said Karen.

Deshawn looked over at his father, then back at us. “There’s another aspect that needs to be considered. While this matter is up in the air, your son Tyler will almost certainly move to have your accounts frozen—and a judge might accept that motion. No judge is going to force you out of your living quarters yet, but you may find you don’t have access to your bank accounts.”

“I’ve got money,” I said at once. “We’ll survive this.”

“Unless somebody challenges you, too,” said Deshawn.

I frowned. He was right. Even if Canadians weren’t as litigious as Americans, my mother had made it quite clear that she didn’t think I was still me. “So, what do we do?” I asked.

“First,” said Malcolm, “please understand that this isn’t about our fees, it’s about looking after you. And please also understand that we fully expect to win—eventually.”

“Eventually?” I said. “How long will this take?”

Malcolm looked to Deshawn, but Deshawn tilted his head back in his father’s direction, yielding to him. “In a civil matter,” said Malcolm, “you can wait for an open trial slot to appear, or you can bid for one at auction; states raise a lot of money that way these days. I’ve checked the Detroit dockets. If you’re willing to go, say, half a million, you could have a full jury trial within a couple of weeks. But that will only be the beginning. Unless we get this matter quashed or settled before trial, this will ultimately go all the way to the Supreme Court, regardless of what’s decided in the probate court. One way or the other, Bessarian v. Horowitz will become a legal landmark.”

Karen was shaking her head sadly. “I’ve spent my whole professional life trying to build name recognition, but I don’t want to end up like Miranda, Roe, or D’Agostino.” She paused. “Funny: lots of writers have pseudonyms, but Bessarian is my real name; I got it from my first husband. Roe was a pseudonym, though, wasn’t it?”

“Jane Roe, yes,” said Malcolm. “Because they already had a Jane Doe before the court. Her real name was Norma McCorvey—she herself publicly revealed it years later.” He shrugged. “Ironically, in later life she became a pro-life advocate. Not many people got to attend the victory parties both when Roe v. Wade was handed down and when it was overturned.”

Karen shook her head again. ” Bessarian v. Horowitz . Good Lord, what a way for a family to end up.”

Deshawn looked sympathetic. “Of course,” he said, “it may not get to trial.”

“I’m not going to settle,” Karen said flatly.

“I understand that,” said Deshawn. “But we’ll try to get the whole matter dismissed at every stage. In fact, we’re hoping to get it thrown out this afternoon, at the preliminary motions hearing.”

“How?” asked Karen. “I mean, that’s great if it’s true, but how?”

“Simple,” said Deshawn. He had his hands clasped on the table now exactly like his father’s. “There’s a reason High Eden is on the far side of the moon. I mean, sure, it’s a great place for old folks, but there’s more to it than that. Lunar Farside is nobody’s jurisdiction. When—what do they call them? Shed skins?”

Malcolm nodded.

“When shed skins die up there,” continued Deshawn, “there’s no paperwork—and no death certificate. And without a death certificate, Tyler’s action is dead in the water; you can’t probate a will in this state without one.”

The judge assigned to hear the initial motions in the case was one Sebastian Herrington, a white man who looked to be in his mid-forties, but whose bio on the Web said was actually in his late sixties. I figured that was good for us: someone who went in for rejuvenation treatments would probably be favorably disposed to Karen’s position.