Redshirts

I’m better off than I was before.”
    Paulson got up, crossed the room to where Hester was sitting and collapsed into him, sobbing. Hester, not quite knowing what to do with him, patted him on the back gingerly.
    “I don’t know how I can make this up to you,” Paulson said to Hester, when he finally disengaged. He looked over to the rest of the crew. “How I’m going to make it up to all of you.”
    “As it happens,” Dahl said, “I have some suggestions on that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
    The taxi turned off North Occidental Boulevard onto Easterly Terrace and slowed to a stop in front of a yellow bungalow.
    “Your stop,” the taxi driver said.
    “Would you mind waiting?” Dahl asked. “I’m only going to be a few minutes.”
    “I have to run the meter,” the driver said.
    “That’s fine,” Dahl said. He got out of the car and walked up the brick walkway to the house door and knocked.
    After a moment a woman came to the door. “I don’t need any more copies of The Watchtower, ” she said.
    “Pardon?” Dahl said.
    “Or the Book of Mormon,” she said. “I mean, thank you. I appreciate the thought. But I’m good.”
    “I do have something to deliver, but it’s neither of those things,” Dahl said. “But first, tell me if you’re Samantha Martinez.”
    “Yes,” she said.
    “My name is Andy Dahl,” Dahl said. “You could say that you and I almost have a friend in common.” He held out a small box to her.
    She didn’t take it. “What is it?” she said.
    “Open it,” Dahl suggested.
    “I’m sorry, Mister Dahl, but I am a little suspicious of strange men coming to my door on a Saturday morning, asking my name and bearing mysterious packages,” Martinez said.
    Dahl smiled at this. “Fair enough,” he said. He opened the package, revealing a small black hemisphere that Dahl recognized as a holographic image projector. He activated it; the image of someone who looked like Samantha Martinez appeared and hovered in the air over the projector. She was in a wedding dress, smiling, standing next to a man who looked like a clean-shaven version of Jenkins. Dahl held it out for her to see.
    Martinez looked at the image quietly for a minute. “I don’t understand,” she said.
    “It’s complicated,” Dahl admitted.
    “Did you Photoshop my face into this picture?” she asked. “And how are you doing this?” She motioned to the floating projection. “Is this some new Apple thing?”
    “If you’re asking if I’ve altered the image, the answer is no,” Dahl said. “And as for the projector, it’s probably best to say it’s something like a prototype.” He touched the surface of the projector and the image shifted, to another picture of Jenkins and Martinez’s double, looking happily at each other. After a few seconds the picture changed to another.
    “I don’t understand,” Martinez said again.
    “You’re an actress,” Dahl said.
    “Was an actress,” Martinez said. “I did it for a couple of years and didn’t get anywhere. I’m a teacher now.”
    “When you were an actress, you had a small role on Chronicles of the Intrepid, ” Dahl said. “Do you remember?”
    “Yes,” Martinez said. “My character got shot. I was in the episode for about a minute.”
    “This is that character,” Dahl said. “Her name was Margaret. The man in the picture is her husband.” He held the projector out to Martinez. She took it, looked at it again and then set it down on a small table on the other side of the door. She turned back to Dahl.
    “Is this some kind of a joke?” she said.
    “No joke,” Dahl said. “I’m not trying to trick you or sell you anything. After today, you won’t see me again. All I’m doing is delivering this to you.”
    “I don’t understand,” Martinez said again. “I don’t understand how you have all these pictures of me, with someone I don’t even know.”
    “They’re not my pictures, they’re his,” Dahl said, and held out the box the projector came in to Martinez. “Here. There’s a note in the box from him. It’ll explain things better than I can, I think.”
    Martinez took the box and took out a folded sheet, dense with writing. “This is from him,” she said.
    “Yes,” Dahl said.
    “Why isn’t he here?” Martinez asked. “Why didn’t he deliver it himself?”
    “It’s complicated,” Dahl repeated. “But even if he could have been, I think he would have been afraid to. And I think seeing you might have broken