The Wrong Tom JacksSimms stood in a circular white room, surrounded by the frozen heads of forty-two dead from the twentieth century.
He recorded every detail of the scene via his brain plug-in. Strictly speaking he had no business being here in the LA Bethesda Eternity Clinic and you never knew when information would come in useful. He didn't have the clinic's full client list, but each head sat encased within a two-meter silver cylinder, each bearing a small name plaque his plug-in could resolve. He stored each name away, the one he recognized and the forty-one he didn't.
“This way. The patient is over here.”
The ratty, unkempt clinician he'd bribed crossed the room, glancing backwards at Simms to make sure he was following. Simms smiled at all of it. At the attendant, so proud of his
