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Before I could reply the lab door swung open and Ingrid strode in, looking like an avenging angel in a gold sweater and hip-hugging jeans. I nearly fainted again.

She said not a word, but stared at the two Sams for what seemed like an hour and a half. Both Sams grinned impishly at her and then bowed, simultaneously.

“You did it,” she said to me in a near-whisper.

“It was sort of an accident,” I began. “I had no intention of duplicating Sam.”

Ingrid sank to the nearest stool. I thought I saw tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Daniel,” she said, in a sorrowful moan. “Now all hell is going to break loose over you.”

To say that all hell broke loose would be an exaggeration, but not much of one. News of my success spread throughout Selene in a microsecond, it seemed. My grad students must have shouted it out to everyone they passed in the corridors, like Paul Revere warning of the redcoats.

Ingrid looked truly heartbroken, but when the Sams told her about Woody her chin snapped up and her eyes suddenly turned fiery.

“The New Morality?” she asked. “He said he was sent here directly by the New Morality?”

“Straight from their headquarters,” Sam I replied. Or was he Sam II?

“In Atlanta,” the other Sam added.

“They bypassed me to plant a spy in your laboratory?” Ingrid asked.

“That’s what he told us,” I said.

“They never told me about it,” she murmured. “They knew I’d be opposed to such a low trick.”

“They didn’t trust you,” said a Sam.

“No, they didn’t, did they?” Ingrid looked crestfallen, heartbroken. “They merely used me as a distraction while their spy did his best to ruin your experiment.”

“But they failed,” I said. “And I succeeded.”

She nodded, her expression turning even bleaker. “And what happens now, Daniel? What happens to you, my love? What happens to us?”

Before I could even begin to think of an answer, a quartet of Selene security police strode into the lab.

“By order of the council,” their leader pronounced, “these premises are to be evacuated and sealed until further notice.”

The Sams started to object, but the officer went on, “And Sam Gunn is hereby placed under protective custody.”

“You mean I’m going to jail?” both Sams yelped.

All four policemen fixed the two Sams with beady gazes. “Which of you is Sam Gunn?” their leader asked.

“I am,” said both Sams in unison.

The officer looked from one Sam to the other, obviously trying to decide what to do. Then he turned to his cohorts and commanded, “Bring ’em both in.”

The following morning I was awakened by a phone message inviting me to a meeting of Selene’s governing council, which would convene at eleven AM precisely. “Invite” is a relative term: when the governing council invites you, you show up, on time and ready to cooperate.

It wasn’t a trial, exactly. More of an executive hearing. It took place in a windowless conference room up in the executive office tower that rises from the middle of the Grand Plaza to the roof of the dome. The room’s walls were paneled with smart screens, much like the screens down at the Earthview restaurant, but when I entered, shortly before eleven, the walls were dead blank gray. Not a good sign, I thought.

The entire governing council of Selene was already seated at the oblong conference table, all six of them. Douglas Stavenger himself sat on one of the chairs lined along the wall. He hadn’t been on the council for years, but as the de facto leader of Selene, the man who had led the battle that resulted in Selene’s independence, he had obviously taken an interest in our case. He looked much younger than his calendar years: as everyone knew, Stavenger’s body was filled with nanomachines.

The council chairman was a prune-faced man with thinning gray hair. Obviously he didn’t take rejuvenation therapies, which led me to the conclusion that he was a religious Believer of one sort or another. He directed me to the empty chair at the foot of the table.

As I sat down I heard a raucous hullabaloo from the corridor outside. All heads turned toward the door, which burst open. Both Sams stalked in, escorted by a squad of uniformed security guards. Both Sams were yammering away like trip-hammers.

“What’s the idea of putting me in jail?”

“Who’s in charge here?”

“What’s this bull droppings about protective custody?”

“I want a lawyer!”

“I want two lawyers!”

“You can’t do this to me!”

One Sam Gunn jabbering nonstop is bad enough; here were two of them.

Pruneface, up at the head of the table, raised both his clawlike hands over his gray head. “Mr. Gunn!” he shouted, in a much more powerful voice than I’d have thought him capable of, “please shut up and sit down! There!” And he pointed to the two empty chairs flanking me.

“Why am I here?”

“What’s going on?”

“This is an emergency meeting of the governing council,” the chairman explained, in a slightly lower tone. “An informal hearing, if you will.”

Both Sams trudged grudgingly to the foot of the table and sat on either side of me.

“Now then,” the chairman said, from the head of the table, “Dr. Townes, could you kindly explain how in the world you produced a duplicate of Sam Gunn?”

I blinked at him. “You want me to explain how entanglement works?”

“In layman’s language, if you please.”

I glanced around at the other council members. Three women, two men. In their forties or older, I guessed from their appearances. Probably at least two of them were scientists or engineers: Selene’s population leans toward the technical professions.

I took a deep breath and began, “Basically, my device assesses the quantum states of the atoms in the subject and reproduces those quantum states in the atoms at the receiving end of the equipment.”

“It is a matter duplicator, then?”

“It was intended to be a transmitter, but, yes sir, it has functioned as a duplicator. There are still some details that are not quite clear, but—”

The door behind the chairman slid open and Ingrid entered the conference room, wearing a gold-trimmed white uniform with a choker collar and full-length trousers.

“I’m sorry to be late,” she said, her face deadly serious. “I wasn’t informed of this hearing until a few minutes ago.”

Everyone stood up.

“Bishop MacTavish,” murmured the chairman, indicating an empty chair halfway down the table.

Once we seated ourselves again, the chairman explained, “Bishop MacTavish is here as a qualified ethicist.”

“And a representative of the New Lunar Church,” said the councilman on the chairman’s right.

The Sam on my left squawked, “What’s the New Lunar Church got to do with this?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Chairman,” Ingrid said, “but I’m afraid you’re working under a misapprehension. I am here in my capacity as legal counsel.”

“For Rockledge Industries, et al,” muttered the Sam on my right.

“No,” Ingrid replied. “I am representing Dr. Townes.” And she smiled so sweetly at me that my heart nearly melted.

Both Sams leaned in to me and whispered, “Watch out. This could be a trap.”

Was Ingrid a Judas goat? I refused to believe it. But the possibility gnawed at me.

When the council members started asking me questions about my experiment Ingrid rose to her feet and said sternly, “This council has no legal right to question Dr. Townes, except as to how his work might affect the safety of Selene and its citizens.”

“But he’s duplicated a human being!” one of the councilwomen sputtered.

“Sam Gunn, no less,” grumbled the councilman beside her.