Shadows Beneath: The Writing Excuses Anthology by Howard Tayler Dan Wells Mary Robinette Kowal Brandon Sanderson Page A

cloud that remained unchanged between the Death part and the part where Mo and I arrived. We could probably match that to other cameras in the building.”
    Wollreich straightens up.
    “Is that the only copy of the video?” he asks as he points at my phone.
    “There’s a copy in the transmitter too.”
    “And one in the cache on the wallscreen,” says Mo. “That one’s in dynamic allocation, though. Might already be gone.”
    “Bring me the transmitter, and then we’re all waiting in here for the brain trust.”
    Wollreich’s office is big. Even with nine of us in here it doesn’t really feel crowded. Tense, yes, but not crowded. Three members of the genius team have arrived, and one of them has video tools in hand. Two senior members of R&D are here as well, and they’re both scientist types, complete with the lab coats. Wollreich, Mo, Barry, and I are the only ones in suits.
    We’ve all watched the video.
    “This is spaghetti-monster stuff,” says Kurtzman, one of the labcoat guys. “It’s non-falsifiable. We can’t test any of what he told us. Sure, it sounds convincing because he used words like waveform and transducing, but there’s no science in here for us to check.”
    “Sure there is,” says Michel. He opens his case of video tools. “I need to see the camera, though.”
    Mo pulls it down from the corner of the room and passes it to Michel. It’s about the size of a pencil eraser.
    Michel turns it over in his hands and squints at it.
    “Yup! We have science. This camera sees in broad-spectrum. The transmitted video is standard HD, but the raw file has some goodies in it.” He takes the transmitter from the table, jacks a cable into it, and bends over his equipment. “This’ll take a few minutes.”
    Wollreich turns to Kurtzman.
    “The statements Death made are non-falsifiable, yes. We have no way to prove or disprove any of what we were told. Due diligence suggests that we at least consider the information, and that’s why you’re here.”
    “Can we call him something besides Death, please?” says Kurtzman. “That costume he was wearing was part of the message, and if we accept it at face value, we’re undermining our ability to evaluate any of this. Oh, and for the record, I think it’s a crank, and what we should be doing is grilling the hired guns.”
    When the boss is in a meeting I only speak when spoken to. My job is to be invisible. Under the current circumstances, that’s not going to work well.
    “Grill away, Mr. Kurtzman,” I say.
    “ Doctor Kurtzman.”
    “My apologies, doctor. But please, grill us. Ask us anything. From your perspective, my team and I are your prime suspects. From our perspective, we need to get cleared as quickly as possible so that we’re free to continue doing our jobs.”
    “I’ve already got an independent agency running deep checks on you, Cole,” says Wollreich. “Your whole team, in fact. They’ve been doing it since Monday, when I brought you into the fold.”
    “Outstanding, sir.”
    Kurtzman looks stymied.
    “And Dr. Kurtzman,” Wollreich continues, “you’re absolutely right. We don’t call our intruder ‘Death’ anymore. He is the Intruder.”
    “I’m not quite sure how this video plays into any corporate espionage scenario,” says Lee, a stout woman in khakis and a Hawaiian print shirt. “I haven’t plugged any of this into our X-form, but I shouldn’t have to. The payoffs and strategies, the incentive matrix . . . those don’t change. This event, this monologue, it should align itself with existing player strategies, and it does not.”
    “Dr. Lee is a game theorist,” says Wollreich. “Without the jargon now, doctor?”
    “The X-form assumes rational and informed agents in the access tier. An irrational, uninformed agent might adopt the dress-like-death tactic in hopes of a payoff, but . . .”
    “I said without the jargon.”
    “She means,” says Michel, “that we’re either dealing with an