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walked over to the holo screen that covered the far wall. “I just don’t understand,” he muttered as he took out a gold cigarette case and snapped it open.
    There was a lot Roger didn’t understand and didn’t even know he didn’t understand, Harry thought. For example, Jericho’s “basement workshop” where he just “tinkered around” was, in reality, one of the most advanced research and development centers in the Empire, but Jericho liked to keep a low profile and few people suspected its existence. Even fewer knew that he developed the Eternal Life technology, an oversight Roger was happy to promote. To the outside world, Jericho was just an eccentric old recluse whose one claim to fame was that he was friends with Harry Neuman.
    Harry sighed resignedly and looked at Roger, standing with his back to him, staring at the holo screen that covered the far wall. The screen resembled a big picture window, looking out on a quiet forest glade. Two deer were drinking from a brook that bubbled in the foreground while the wind rippled through the trees. The image was as clear and sharp as digital technology and computer enhancement could make it. It was almost too real, the colors too bright, the contours too sharp, the details too clear. Once again, Harry felt the soothing subsonics beneath the sounds of bird song and burbling brooks.
    Suddenly, he was sick of the whole manipulative setting, from the soft pastel colors and indirect lighting to the optimisticstream of negative ions flowing out of the ventilators. All meant to comfort and sooth the newly resurrected as they recovered from the rebirth trauma that the glossy brochures from the marketing department forgot to mention. Some policy holders were kept here for days drugged to the eyeballs while their memories were selectively edited. Only happy, satisfied policyholders ever left these rooms. Otherwise, they stayed until they were.
    Harry was thoroughly ashamed of the part he had played in making Eternal Life the greatest, most powerful money machine in the world. No matter what else he did, his name would always be synonymous with Eternal Life. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
    Roger lit a cigarette and turned. “Look, Harry, let’s cut the bullshit, okay? You and I gotta talk.”
    “About what, my contract?” Harry asked with a show of ironic innocence.
    “Among other things,” Roger said curtly and took a long drag on his cigarette and blew a couple of smoke rings that lazily expanded towards the ceiling. “Like, for example, what happened to you when you resurrected?” Unconsciously, he fingered the angry bruise spreading across his cheek.
    “I’m really sorry about that, Roger,” Harry said with feigned contriteness. The only thing he was sorry about was that he hadn’t done it years ago. “I guess I got pretty hysterical.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t know what possessed me.” He purposely used the word “possessed”, watching Roger’s reaction, probing his features for any sign of the black shapes that he’d seen before. For an instant, he thought he caught a look of startled surprise and maybe fear, but it was gone before he could be sure.
    Instead, Roger laughed tolerantly, “Forget it, Harry. What’s a few bruises between friends.”
    “We’ve never been friends,” Harry said coldly and noted the growing signs of dissolution that had eaten into Roger’s face.Jesus, he looks terrible, Harry thought as he regarded the heavy pouches under Roger’s bloodshot eyes, the burst blood vessels in his nose, and the hanging jowls. Roger had always kept himself in shape. He’d had the heavy-set, powerful build of a football linebacker and been inordinately proud of it. But now, it was as if he had just given up the fight and let muscle run to fat, and even the well-tailored pinstriped suit could not conceal the roll of his stomach.
    “Isn’t it about time for you to resurrect?” Harry asked. “You’ve just about run that body