"That is... unspeakably cruel."

Silently I curse the catch in my voice and the sting of the tears that I cannot keep from spilling down my cheeks. I refuse to wipe them away, letting their bitter salt fuel my anger.

Aldous regards me impassively; he is uncharacteristically subdued, probably due to the presence of the impeccably dressed and coiffed figure who languidly paces by the window behind his desk. "Perhaps. But I think it will serve admirably as a wake-up call. We haven't seen any indication so far that Cosima is truly motivated to begin seeking a cure for her condition."

"By forcing her to participate in the dissection of a body that looks exactly like her own? I would think that having her view the tapes would be sufficiently motivating."

"I believe that Aldous is right. There's something to be recommended for confronting her with a rather drastic object lesson," says the monster who wears Cosima's face and shares Cosima's genome and brilliant mind but none of her warmth, her innate kindness, her effervescent life force. The clipped tones are precise and as flat as her mask-like affect. She speaks other languages in the same way, fluently and correctly but without idiom or inflection. I think it amuses her that I refuse to answer her in French, but I cannot bear her indifference to the nuances of my native tongue. "You may think it harsh, but concrete evidence is always more convincing than the abstract."

"That's not a lesson, it's, it's grotesque! I'm not even –- " I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. "Having done a 4-week elective clerkship in med school does not qualify me to conduct an autopsy. Who knows what pathology I might miss because I don't have the clinical knowledge and experience?"

"Dr. Nealon has already obtained all the blood and histopath samples he needs, and he's also done an MRI and run SPECT/CT and PET/CT scans –-

"He ran a PET scan on a corpse?" I can't help blurting out.

The wide dark eyes are cold, empty, chilling. I am reminded irresistibly of Cosima's shark analogy. "Once the subject was confirmed to be brain-dead, the body was maintained on support so that we could ascertain its biological responses to various therapeutic interventions. We have sufficient tissue cultures for future trials."

I suppress a shudder of revulsion, both at Rachel's callous dismissal of the deceased's humanity and at the thought of what Nealon's "interventions" might comprise. The man is undeniably a genius but there is something intrinsically off-putting about him, quite apart from the perpetual fug of halitosis and stale cigarette smoke that always surrounds him; the rumor going about is that he lost his license to practice in the States due to patient abuse and ethics violations. "How long was Jennifer subjected to such postmortem indignities? And what has her family been told about her passing?"

Possibly the slight thinning of her perfectly outlined and tinted lips could be construed as a frown. "That is none of your concern. The point is that you needn't worry about actually recording your findings, as they would be redundant and no doubt incomplete," she says, still staring at me with her incuriously uncommunicative gaze; it gives me the unnerving impression that she has not blinked since I entered the office. "Essentially, Dr. Cormier, your part in this matter is to be window dressing. Which should be a familiar role for you. Wouldn't you say, Aldous?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair and coughs.

Fury floods me with heat, my jaws clenching at the effort it takes not to slap the smug almost-expression from her face. "Just what are you referring to, Miss Duncan?"

One sculpted eyebrow flickers. "Why, in your position as the highest profile graduate of the ENS Paris program, of course. You do still function as their alumni liason for Dyad's headhunting department, do you not?"

My hands ball up into fists in the pockets of my lab coat. I know I will regret anything I say to her right now, so I address Aldous instead. "When and where is this charade to take place?"

He hands me an intradepartmental delivery packet, a padded envelope that contains a DV cassette identified only by Jennifer's tag number printed on the label. "I'll leave it to you to decide on the timing. The lab next to the basement morgue in the old wing is set up as an autopsy room. You'll find everything you need there. Delphine," he says, leaning forward across his desk, an edge creeping into his voice, "we need her on board, mind, body and soul. If it takes frightening her to get there, so be it."

I turn on my heel without acknowledging either of them, heading down the long corridor to my office. Cosima is due later this morning for her new employee orientation at Human Resources Management, so I have several hours to commune with Rubin and Robbins & Cotran. Despite Rachel's disregard, I am determined to carry out my investigation with as much professionalism, thoroughness and respect as I possibly can. Jennifer deserves no less than my best effort. And much as it makes me cringe to admit it, Cosima needs this. Whether or not she will forgive me for it, whether or not I can forgive myself, remains to be seen.