Episode 1 - The Beam

tired, Micah.”
    Micah rubbed the man’s back, then gently turned him so they were facing each other. “You’re not just tired. There’s something wrong. You don’t remember the concert.”
    “I remember it fine, just feeling a bit swimmy. That’s all. I’m okay. I guess I’ve got some stuff on my mind.”
    “What do you have on your mind?” Micah’s voice came out as concern. The second question layered under the first said, How can I help?
    “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
    “Family troubles?”
    “No, really, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
    Micah’s hand was still on Whitlock’s shoulder. “It’s important to me that your head is clear. You know if you need anything, you can let me know, right?”
    “Of course.”
    “Who was the woman with you at the concert?”
    Whitlock looked up, disarmed.
    “I saw her in the feed. I wanted to understand how everything went down, so I subscribed to a holo immersive. Almost as expensive as attending.” Micah flashed a smile. “Walked around a bit. Paused and exploded. Found all of our people. You were the only one with a date. Or perhaps you got lucky, and just ended up sitting beside a beautiful woman who was also alone.”
    Micah knew from the holo that Jason had left with the petite woman with dark brown, almost black hair. The holo’s resolution and camera positioning weren’t high enough to see her well, and her face had been mostly extrapolated. He wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a lineup, but he’d seen her well enough to know she wasn’t Whitlock’s wife, who was taller than Jason and blonder than Craig.
    Micah watched Jason’s eyes, waiting for the agent’s denial.
    “Look…” said Whitlock.
    “It’s okay, Jason. I’m not judging. I just need to know who she was.”
    He blinked twice, looked up and then around the room.
    “It’s okay, Jason,” Micah repeated.
    “I know. It’s just that… I don’t know who she was.” He looked into Micah’s steely gaze, then rushed on. “I mean, I know I was there with her, obviously. But she’s… it’s like there’s a fog in my head.”
    “You’ve been wiped.”
    “Maybe.”
    “You should have reported it. Immediately.” Micah tried not to sound angry, but this was beyond idiotic. Whitlock stammered to defend himself.
    “It’s more than that! I’ve been wiped before, and this is different. The timespan is longer, like you’d get from a Gauss Chamber. But also not. I mean, I don’t know that I’ve lost anything, but I’m foggy on the whole fucking night. I guess she was an escort, okay? And I guess I hired her. But I don’t remember how or when. I might have met her at the show. I don’t remember her name or what she looked like. I didn’t even remember her at all until you started asking me for details, which is why I didn’t say anything earlier.”
    “A modified wipe?”
    “Maybe.”
    Micah drew a deep breath, assessing, then clapped Whitlock twice on the shoulder and said, “Okay, Jason. Go get your head checked. It’s probably nothing. You probably had too much moondust.”
    “I don’t do that shit,” said Whitlock.
    “It was a joke. Too much wine, then.” Micah smiled.
    After a beat, Whitlock smiled back. “I did have a lot of wine.”
    “That’s probably all it is.”
    “Sure! I was drunk.” But his face was uncertain. You couldn’t drink inside the Aphora, and it would take a lot of consumption beforehand to fog an entire three-hour concert and what had surely come after.
    “Get your head checked anyway.”
    “Sure, Micah.”
    Whitlock picked up his coat and walked through the door, leaving Micah alone in his empty office to contemplate the small woman with the missing face.

Dominic Long walked through the District Zero police station to the Quark annex, his footfalls echoing in the same creepy way they always did down here, too light and too sharp.
    Walking through the main part of the station was like walking anywhere else — industrial flooring made of rubberized Formica in an ugly green pattern, dark enough to disguise the blood, urine, and dirt that somehow always ended up plastering a police station’s floor. Out there, his shiny black shoes sounded muted, not echoing because the sound was absorbed by the detectives and blue-uniformed patrolmen as they came and went. Out there, his footfalls flew out the windows. He heard street noise. And of course, he could feel the air coming in through the windows and from the temperamental