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Knowledge is for using, not hoarding.
    The testing period had been heady. Exhilarating. But the true potential of what he’d accomplished hadn’t been realized until now.
    What started as a solo was quickly becoming an ensemble piece.
    So many layers. So many variables.
    Such fun.
    He waits, forcing patience, while he really wants to run around and cheer. Shout. Scream.
    There’s much left to do. But too many variables.
    So he listens. And he waits.
    The mouse has found the cheese.
    Soon the trap will spring.

SEVEN
    WTF?
    I played the rewind/pause/fast-forward game again, but the results were the same as before. One moment Alter-Talon existed. The next moment he didn’t. If I wasn’t 100 percent positive I was watching an actual past event, I’d think someone somehow tampered with the transmission.
    But TEV was tamperproof. The past was the past, and couldn’t be changed or faked. The only reason I didn’t think I killed Aunt Zelda was because I didn’t kill Aunt Zelda. Even though every bit of evidence pointed to the contrary.
    I turned to Neil, who was sitting at the breakfast bar on a stool, one eye on me and the other on the EPF at the front door.
    “Neil, did your aunt have any enemies?”
    His nose was running, and he sniffled. “Are you going to kill me?”
    I sighed. “I’m a peace officer, Neil. I don’t kill people.”
    “I’m sure that’s a huge reassurance to the dead woman in the refrigerator.”
    “Enemies, Neil. Did she have any?”
    “You mean besides you?”
    I thought about hitting a button on the remote control and activating either the Taser needle or the supplication collar. Or both. But as a representative of the law, I was limited in the use of force when questioning subjects. In fact, I wasn’t legally allowed to ask Neil anything without counsel present on both sides. But then, I wasn’t placing Neil under arrest. The only one who could be brought up on charges in this room was me.
    “Your aunt has a lot of nice things,” I said, noticing a painting on the wall. It was real art, not a monitor. Old paintings, and the organic canvases they were painted on, were spared from the Great Recycling Effort with a grandfather clause. You didn’t see too many of them outside of museums. “Was she employed?”
    “Retired.”
    “From what?”
    He sniffled again, a big one that sucked in a long line of snot that had been hanging down his chin. “Are you going to kill me?”
    He looked like a whipped dog, and if he had a tail, it would surely be between his legs. But when I stared at him, I couldn’t help but see him on top of my wife, grunting away. That didn’t leave me much left in the sympathy department.
    “Honestly, Neil, I’m starting to consider it. Can you tell me anything at all relevant to what might be happening here?”
    His shoulders shook. “I shouldn’t have gone to you. This was a huge mistake. Are you going to put me in the icebox?”
    Neil started to cry. I rubbed my jaw and decided to take a closer look around. Aunt Zelda had books and a painting, both indicators of wealth. I wondered what else she had around the old homestead.
    I began in the bedroom. There were more books, and the pillows and comforter were stuffed with real feathers. Two other paintings, both real, and taking up valuable wall space that could have been used for growing ivy or hemp. Her clothes closet was filled with synthetics, save for one spectacular piece: a raccoon fur coat. I thought of my fourlegged friend on my green roof. Maybe if I put this on, I could make him think a giant had moved in and scare him away.
    I checked all the drawers, but didn’t find her DT. Aside from accessing the personal data on a chip implant, a person’s digital tablet usually revealed the most about them.
    I tried the living room next, and uncovered more contraband. A collection of antique tech magazines. There were paper issues of Wired , PCWorld , Science Digest , and a number of others. Some of them were