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Separated at Birth was a police program you used in missing persons cases. You scanned a photo of the person you wanted, got back the names of half a dozen celebrities who looked vaguely like the subject, then went around asking people if they’d seen anybody lately who reminded them of A, B, C… The weird thing was, it worked better than just showing them a picture of the subject.
‘For tactical reasons,’ the blonde said, ‘we do not currently advocate the use of violence or sorcery against private individuals.’
The Japanese woman—the hologram, Rydell reminded himself—raised her arms and began to dance, a sort of looping shuffle, timed not to the tempo of the drums but to the waves of static washing back and forth across the sound,
The music, some weird hollow techie stuff that sounded like bombs going off in echo-chambers, started to make a different kind of sense.
