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our species to flourish. As such it is not
merely housed in the body, but it is bound up with it. Your minds may not exist without your bodies. Lightning is a phenomenon of a larger weather system and if you attempt to isolate it, would it
merely be a spark?
    ‘It’s vital that you understand the distinction between simulated and uploaded consciousness. Why? Monad simulates its customers, and you are going to explain to our customers
precisely what has happened to them. There must be no misapprehension that the simulation is a perfect copy of them, or that it constitutes some form of immortality. They are characters in the
imagination of the Cantor intelligence. The reason I am employing you is that you are all writers. And Cantor’s functionality in this regard resembles the human capacity to model the
behaviour of others in the imagination, to predict how other people will react to given circumstances, and to intuit behaviour that conforms to a particular characterization. Writers possess the
conceptual equipment to simplify this mind-boggling situation, and you will need to do that on a daily basis as you field calls and complaints from our client base.’
    The Monad brand appeared again on the screen.
    The Horned devil with cloven hoof. Taurus. The cuckold. On closer inspection a modulation of the symbols of Mars and Venus to mark a third sex, a new species.
    ‘Any questions?’ asked Eakins.
    Florence raised her hand.
    ‘Assembling a menagerie of writers and poets to deal with some weird hypothetical technology seems to me – and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way... I mean, I
appreciate the money and everything – but this is madness.’
    Eakins indulged her with a smirk.
    ‘There’s a call centre in Italy which employs only actors. Actors always need money, and are gifted improvisers. Therefore a call centre staffed by actors is more appropriate for
certain products, specifically the products which don’t lend themselves to a scripted approach. I don’t think there has ever been a customer service department staffed by writers and
poets before. It’s my unique concept. Literature attracts psychological types we think will be the best fit as a liaison between a client and their simulation. Since the money you earn will
support your art, we expect a lower staff turnover. Also, being writers, you’re very cheap.’
    Eakins laughed like a man who had no time for humour.
    Raymond had a question.
    ‘When do we meet a simulated person?’
    ‘Now,’ said Eakins.
    On the screen, the Monad logo dissolved and trillions of pixels flared and resolved into an open-plan living room. Late afternoon sun streamed through high windows. In response to a finger-wave
from Morton Eakins, their point-of-view rose and tracked across the room until with a giddy realignment the view veered about to fix upon a door.
    A man stepped through that door. He fastened his cuff links, then threaded his tie through a starched white collar.
    ‘Good morning, Eakins. Who do you have for me today?’
    His face filled the screen. No detail was lost in the magnification, no artefact pixilated. His skin was unearthly in its accuracy. Yet his smile was wrong. The emotion behind it was too
complex. The man shrugged into his suit jacket and lounged on a black leather armchair. The smile faded.
    Raymond and his fellow employees stared with disbelief. When they realized that the man was scrutinizing them in turn, they shifted to expressions of horror and awe.
    ‘I can spare five of your Earth minutes,’ said the hypothetical man, removing a cigarette from a gold case. He had a novelty lighter in the shape of a nude woman.
    ‘Shoot.’
    Florence raised her hand and the hypothetical man nodded at her.
    ‘Who are you?’
    ‘My name is Harry Bravado. My client’s name – that is, the person I am a simulation of – is called Harold Blasebalk.’
    ‘So you know what you are?’
    ‘You mean, do I have any issues with being a