“How did it go?”

I pondered the question while gazing out over the River Seine, sipping a glass of absinthe while my companion polished her monocle before re-affixing it between her cheekbone and brow. A waiter hovered nearby while we perused our menus, while a somewhat misshapen gentleman in a top hat sketched a scantily clad dancer, with the Eiffel Tower looming in the background.

“I’ll have the Beluga caviar, the Pâté de Foie Gras, a cheese and charcuterie board, and the chocolate soufflé for desert,” I told the garçon. Chris considered that for a moment and then nodded her assent. “Make that two,” I amended before waving him off.

“It’s a good thing I don’t have to worry about the calories,” she chuckled, “not to mention heart disease.” She tipped back her champagne flute and drained the glass before setting it on the table. “This is an inspired choice, though I’m a little disappointed.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And just what did I miss?”

She spread her arms wide, encompassing the café. “You conjure up the famous Les Deux Magots, and you leave out Hemingway?” She clucked her tongue. “You must be slipping in your old age.”

I rolled my eyes. “Papa Hemingway is one mean drunk, let me tell you,” I sighed. “I mean, sure, I could edit that out and have him act the perfect gentleman, but then he wouldn’t be Hemingway. Didn’t see the point.”

“And yet you had no problems rearranging Paris to fit your liking,” she reminded me. “I believe both the Seine and the tower’s location have been tweaked a bit.”

“Artistic license,” I shrugged. “Besides, it looks better this way.”

Leaning back in her chair, she gave the view a second look. “I believe you’re right,” she conceded.

... I can see where this might be a bit confusing for you corporeal types. Maybe I should explain.

Obviously, we weren’t really in Paris. The actual French capital is just a blasted slab of bedrock, crawling with Yīqún drones. Chris and I were meeting in cyberspace, and it was my turn to choose the venue. With all of imagination to choose from it can overwhelm, but after a while you grasp the unspoken guidelines to help narrow your options. We avoid anything too closely tied to Earth’s last years, as it’s depressing as hell. Earlier history is perfectly acceptable, as are works of fiction, but again we try to keep things light. Sure, I could have set the time frame for Vichy France, with German soldiers patrolling the streets and even the occasional gun battle with La Résistance partisans, but again… depressing. Instead, I’d opted for the end of the 19th Century, arguably the height of the City of Light’s charm, with a few added anachronisms for flavor. Your own mileage may vary.

As for the sumptuous meal I’d just ordered, it wasn’t actually necessary for our survival. We don’t need to eat, or drink, or go to the bathroom, or any of a hundred other mundane exercises you flesh-and-blood types take for granted. We do it because we enjoy it, and why not? When you can alter your surroundings at a whim, whistle up anything you might envision, why wouldn’t you seek experiences and sensations to tease and pleasure the mind? After all, the mind is all we have left when you get down to it.

Now some Uploaded Personalities will tell you living in a fantasy world is dangerous, the dread Lotus-Eater trap that will suck you in and never let you go. I won’t lie, it can be an issue, and I’ve known Avatars who’ve gone that route. It’s sad to see a friend drop off the face of reality like that, but at least they’re happy. The ascetics will argue that only by denying yourself even the most basic of pleasures will you avoid the pitfall. Let me tell you something, if I wanted to spend the rest of my life living in a shoebox and eating cardboard, I would have kept the muscles and hemoglobin. I’m not freaking Diogenes.

And yes, before you ask, because everybody asks, that includes sex, which is all I’m saying on the subject. You don’t want me snooping into your bedroom, do you? Because I can and will, if you push it. Consider yourself warned.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” she prompted, yanking me out of my reverie.

“It went fine,” I told her.

“Uh-huh,” she replied. “Perhaps you could expand on that?”

I’d really hoped to avoid this conversation, but I should have known better than to sneak a fast one past her. Chris was one sharp customer, and there was damn little she missed. Why do you think she’s our Clan leader?

... oh... right. Explanation time again. See, Chris and I are old friends, so we drop the pretense when it’s just us. I wasn’t wearing my wings, and she wasn’t perched on a toadstool puffing away on a hookah. In her official guise as the Sibyl KriZ/AliZ, she appears as the Caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland, something that tickles her to no end, almost as much as everyone assuming she’s male. Her monocle was a carryover from that form.

Although, they could be correct about that, and I’ve been the one wrongly assuming that she’s female. We Avatars wear a lot of masks, and you never know who a person really is, only what they show you. Not all that different from the physical world when you think about it.

“Look, I got the data they asked for. Why quibble over details?” I said offhand as the waiter returned with our food. I began slathering caviar on a cracker, taking a bite while Chris shook her head in resignation.

“You’re really going to make me drag it out of you?” she said, exasperated. “Why do you insist on playing games with me after all these years?”

“Cause it’s fun,” I grinned. Normally I can trade on my boyish charm and get off with a warning, but as her scowl deepened, I realized today would not be one of those occasions. With a sigh, I leaned back and waited for the inevitable.

“Damn it Al, you knew how important this contract was,” she snapped. “The Durzix specifically stated the job had to be completed without the target realizing they’d been penetrated.” She leaned forward, fixing me with a hard look. “Did you get out clean?”

“... not exactly,” I mumbled, before shoving a fork full of soufflé into my mouth.

“Not exactly,” she mimicked, shaking her head once more in disapproval as an old-fashioned manilla folder magically appeared in her hands. Flipping it open, she began to read.

… “A Folder? Paper? What would an electronic personality in cyberspace need those?” I hear you ask. Well, the answer is we don’t. They’re just affectations, all part of the illusion. In reality, she was merely accessing a data file, and while she could have just pulled the information out of thin air and mentally perused it, she and I both prefer those sorts of tactile simulacrums. It’s simply another level of added reality in an imaginary world.

“In fact,” she continued, “according to your report, you barely escaped with your gestalt intact. That you were detected almost immediately, and that even after activating your Emergency beacon you were mere microseconds from capture.” She closed the folder and set it aside. “Which means that any data you recovered is now worthless.”

“Not necessarily,” I argued. “The Durzix should be able to glean all sorts of relevant information from those files. Of course they’ll immediately change their access codes, if they haven’t already, but governments don’t alter their habits overnight. They might file off the serial numbers when they come up with an alternative plan, but I suspect the gist of it will be remarkably similar.”

Chris glowered as she began ticking off points with her fingers. “One, that wasn’t the contract, Two, this will force us to cough up with some form of compensation to keep them placated, Three, it hurts our reputation, and Four…” She deflated as her tirade ran out of steam. “And four… I almost lost a dear friend.”

“The key word being ‘Almost’,” I chuckled, only to watch her bristle at my impish response.

“Perhaps your life no longer means anything to you,” she growled, “but it definitely means something to me.” She sat sipping her champagne, waiting for me to respond.

I briefly toyed with making a joke and asking if she was making a pass, but one look into those worried eyes of hers shriveled the impulse to dust. “Chris, that new Eleexx software is nasty,” I told her, coming clean. “I know we’ve been informing folks about it, but they’ve added some new wrinkles that are downright scary. You’re right, they nearly caught me, and maybe I shouldn’t make light of the fact. It’s just my way of dealing with close calls. You know that.” I smiled, taking her hand and giving it a virtual squeeze.

Chris sighed, covering my hand. “I’m still irritated at you,” she informed me, “and we will go over your After-Action report in excruciating detail, but for now, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” I said honestly. “Maybe I could have handled it better,” I admitted, “but in all seriousness? I’m not sure how. We really need to review our procedures and look at a few upgrades in order to deal with this. If the Eleexx start spreading that software around, things could get rather dicey for us.”

“I agree,” she nodded, as a fountain pen and notebook appeared beside her. She made a quick notation before returning her attention to me. “As much as I look forward to raking you across the coals over this,” she said with an evil grin, “there’s actually another matter I want to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” I took another sip of absinthe, before picking up a slice of Gruyère. “Do tell.”

She leaned forward. “It’s related to that little favor you did for me awhile back,” she said quietly.

The slice of cheese froze halfway to my mouth. I carefully set it back down. “The mission to Earth,” I said as dispassionately as I could manage. “If you’re thinking about going back, I really don’t see the point.”

“I’m not,” she replied, “but it’s related.” A second file appeared, pausing just long enough for her to pluck it from mid-air before handing it over. “Look at this.”

I tried to take the file from her as casually as it was offered, but I didn’t fool her for a second. Flipping it open, I was greeted with a list of names and dates.

Very familiar names and dates.

“These are the crew from the Katabasis mission,” I told her. “The ones that were murdered years later.”

“That we suspect were murdered,” she corrected me. “Officially they’re still listed as ‘Natural Causes’.” I snorted at that as she nodded in agreement. “I know, and I agree, but it’s true. Someone went to a great deal of trouble to make those deaths look as innocuous as possible.”

“That someone being the Troika,” I countered. “You know it, I know it, the entire galaxy knows it.”

“Do we?” she asked point blank.

I started to answer and then paused. Chris made a good point. I mean, we all assumed it was the Troika. Of all the races out there, they had the means, method, and opportunity, not to mention one hell of a motive. An entire planet filled with technological goodies, made by the gods. Who else would have done it?

My investigator’s nose twitched. There was a reason I was still in the field after all these years, despite my seniority. Not only did I hate politics with a passion, but my skills are also… dare I say… second to none in ferreting out the truth. It was the reason she’d chosen me for the Gyrfalcon mission. I learned a great deal on that trip; more than I wanted, in fact, though I can’t take all the credit. I had help.

With a great deal of effort, I closed the file and set it aside. “Why are you handing me a twenty-year-old cold case?” I asked.

“You really need to ask?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Humor me.”

“Very well.” She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “As it stands, the galaxy is divided into two camps; those that know about New Terra, and those that don’t. Most races are in the latter category, which suits us fine. Less competition that way. Unfortunately, the Troika does know, and they are the 800-kilo gorilla in the room. With their reach they can beat us to the punch at every turn unless we keep things close to the vest. So far, we’ve stayed one step ahead, but we can’t count on that forever. We need information, Al, and every instinct I possess tells me the answers we’re looking for can be found in there,” she said somewhat emphatically, tapping the file with a well-manicured finger.

I sighed and picked the file back up. “There’s not much to go on,” I said dubiously.

“Since when has that ever stopped you?”

I titled my head, conceding the point. “Playing Devil’s Advocate for a moment, what if I discover it was the Troika?”

“Then our suspicions are confirmed, and we proceed accordingly,” she answered.

“Uh-huh... and if it wasn’t?”

Her eyes grew cold. “Then there’s a new player in the game, someone we don’t know about, with the skills to stay under the radar for decades at the very least. That to me sounds like a deficiency that needs immediate correction.”

It was hard to argue with that. “All right,” I said finally, “I’ll look into it. What’s my time frame?”

“Is yesterday too soon?” she fired back, her professional mask in full evidence. “I’m not kidding, we need to know soonest. If my suspicions are correct, every day we continue to wallow in ignorance places us in even greater jeopardy.” Chris touched my arm. “You know the forces already in motion, and they’re growing more powerful every day. Our species is now facing the biggest crisis we’ve experienced in the two centuries since we lost Earth.” She plucked the napkin from her lap and placed it on her plate as she rose to her feet. “Find out what happened, Al. Quickly. Humanity’s fate may well depend on it.” She exited the café, blinking out of sight as she departed my temporary bubble of false reality.

Great.

No pressure.