Aaron shrugs. "Of all the people in the world, Anaru Katariki is my closest counterpart. There but for the grace of God go I, and so on." He stops, takes a sip of champagne, then says, "Actually, I should employ the past tense. These days, you're my closest counterpart."
Next.
A standup comedian, Wildcat Silverton, takes the stage, cutting off conversation for a few minutes. Only half listening to him, you take a few moments to glance about the room. The room is peopled by various industry heads, a handful of European aristocrats, and the occasional conscientious rock star. You've never met any of them before, though you recognize most of them from business magazines or celebrity gossip rags. You do spot one person you know, just a couple of tables away—a woman with sandy hair and freckles. She was one of the journalists who quizzed you on the day you were made CEO of MetaHuman. Robyn Goodchild, her name is, though it takes you a couple of minutes to remember it.
Wildcat Silverton does five minutes of standup, including a borderline offensive impersonation of President Takei, and then walks off stage to a vigorous round of applause. As he goes, you see Brett Golightly, your chief of field operations, moving toward you. Wearing a made-to-measure suit, he cuts a dashing figure as he crosses the room—very James Bond.
He shakes your hand, then leans down so that only you can hear him. "Just so you know, I've got half a dozen people in the building, and Electra is outside, working general surveillance. Set your phone to vibrate, and make sure we can contact you if we need to." He manages a slight smile. "That's just a precaution, of course. Have a good evening."