"You are an unbound simulator. What is a bound simulator, and whom are you simulating -- my father?"
   "No." The face in the screen, Mr. Million's face as I had always thought of it, shook its head. "Call me, call the person simulated, at least, your great-grandfather. He -- I -- am dead. In order to achieve simulation, it is necessary to examine the cells of the brain, layer by layer, with a beam of accelerated particles so that the neural pattens can be reproduced, we say 'core imaged', in the computer. The process is fatal."

   ...He paused again, and for an instant his face dissolved into myriad sparkling dots, swirling like dust motes in a sunbeam. "I am sorry. For once you wish to listen but I do not wish to lecture. I was told, a very long time ago, just before the operation, that my simulation -- this -- would be capable of emotion under certain circumstances. Until today I had always thought they lied." I would have stopped him if I could, but he rolled out of the room before I could recover from my surprise.

[30 Mar 97]

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