Read Online The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2015 by Joe Hill - Free Book Online

What did it say about her, that she didn’t even bother to try to hide her augmentations?
    She said, “We create a matrix of artificial memories. Easy nowadays.”
    â€œBut where do those memories come from?”
    â€œWe have more material than you would think. Social media, public records, and some information garnered from the shunt itself.”
    That startled him. “Shunts don’t record things.” There had been plenty of legal battles over that.
    â€œNo,” Dr. Avosh said. “That’s a misconception most people share. While the original versions only recorded what you wanted them to, and had limited memory space, the current versions record a great deal. It’s simply inadmissible in court.” One of her pupils was markedly larger than the other. As he looked at it, it ratcheted even further wide.
    â€œAre you recording this right now?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s my policy to record everything.”
    â€œIn case you ever need to be replicated.”
    She shook her head, then hesitated. “Not really. There are so many reasons to do so.”
    â€œAre they real memories?”
    â€œAre you asking if they are detailed memories? No. More like a memory of a memory, and obviously there will be gaps. It won’t be quite the same for you, but for her it will be much smoother. She’ll believe herself to be the actual Mindy. We recommend you not talk to her about the actual circumstances until at least six months have passed.”
    Mindy. The smell of her hair when he buried his nose in it, inhaling the scent as delicious as cinnamon or roses, a musky edge that always tugged at the edges of his erotic consciousness.
    There was no way he could say no.
    â€œYou said this was a new process. How many times has it been done?”
    â€œThis is the third trial batch of subjects. The first time we’re using people in your situation.”
    â€œMy situation?”
    Papers on her desk whispered against each other as she fiddled with them. “Recently bereaved. We’re curious to see how much the spouse’s memory can augment the process and reinforce beliefs.”
    She paused. “And I must tell you that the company doesn’t cover the entire cost.”
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    He’d met Mindy on the R train, heading from his Bay Ridge apartment up into Manhattan to work for the BWSS. He’d handled their computer systems, going in late at night to work through the morning hours maintaining the message boards the BWSS scientists used.
    You saw the same people on the train sometimes. He’d noticed her right away: small and birdlike. Always smiling, in a way you didn’t hit in NYC. Curious and unafraid, chatting with the woman beside her one day, looking at kid pictures, the next day helping an old man to a seat.
    That was Mindy. Friendly. Finally one day she plopped down beside him and said, “Here we go!”
    Why she’d said it, she didn’t know, she told him later, but indeed they went, first chatting daily, then going for coffee and then, with perfect amity, dating, engagement, marriage in a small chapel attended only by close friends and family.
    She had so many friends and they seemed to welcome him into the circle, saying, “Take care of her!”
    He had. Until the accident.
    Now every day that dizzying fall into the realization she wasn’t there.
    Any price was worth paying to avoid that.
    But costly, so costly. He’d plundered his 401(k), his IRAs, taken out a second mortgage. Cut his bills to the bone and still had to ask his mother for money.
    She provided it without question once she found out what it was for.
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    They drew as much as they could on his memories, which meant going in every day for two weeks in a row, sitting there talking about his relationship with Mindy, his history, where they’d gone on their honeymoon, and what a typical trip to the grocery store was like, and where each piece of