Weston’s office. “Thank you for your assistance, Ms. Crane.” He opened the door to his office then paused, “Would you like a drink before you ...it the road?” I really did want a drink, but I also wanted to get out of there and get home and the thought of sitting with him in his office drinking and, if the last 6 hours were any guide, not talking, wasn’t particularly appealing. “Sure! Thanks!” I mean he was my boss and his name was on the fucking building. What was I going to do?He poured us. There wasn't any time to think on it, anyway.I'd gone to sleep in my procedurally/stochastically generated fantasy gamesim, Arcadia, as I did every day. There was a backup automatically made of my mindstate, sent to my personal sim, in case I was somehow destroyed. The backups knew they were not the original, and weren't supposed to wake up, anyway, unless I was unavailable.Of course, that's not what happened. Somehow, a sizable mutation in the copy -- preserving the original checksum! -- had. More

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