“Can I help you?” I ask the man entering my office.

“As a matter of fact, detective, I think you can,” he says, easing himself into a chair on the other side of my desk. “I’m investigating a murder.”

“Isn’t that my job?” I ask warily.

“Normally, yes. But my specialty is victims employed by the government,” he replies, laying a notepad on the desk.

“If your victim is government, then he would have the same clone backup with constant memory update you and I do. Just wake up the clone and ask him what happened.”

“Indeed. Sometimes though, as I believe you are aware, the victim of such a crime can take a while to recall the last moments of their previous life.” He explains, extracting a pen from his pocket.

“Well, what I’d do in that case is try to find out how far their memory goes, and work forward from there,” I respond, intrigued. “I’d be glad to help in any way I can.”

“You already are, Detective,” he says, touching pen to paper. “Now, what is the last thing you remember before I walked in here?”