Paul Bunyett had never before needed to convince a magistrate that his client existed. Inigo Starlight, though, was not your run-of-the-mill plaintiff. The dapper defence counsel next to Paul thought the Federal Magistrate might not have noticed.

"Your Honour, this suit is completely spurious. He's trying to represent a delusion!" The lawyer waved in florid gestures.

Paul gritted his teeth.

The genuine-as-a-50-buck-romance attitude of the other man reminded him why he'd avoided joining a big partnership. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't play the game. Paul laid an affidavit before the magistrate.

"My client may be unconventional, your Honour, but I have expert testimony that a psycho-technological memetic personality does have an objective existence independent of its hosts. Professor Xiang from Carnegie-Mellon is a world leader in both artificial intelligence and online psychology."

Paul smiled inwardly as the other lawyer mouthed a curse while the magistrate scanned the document. After a few minutes she removed her glasses and looked sharply at him.

"If you turn my court into a circus, Mr Bunyett, I will cheerfully find you in contempt," she said. "However, the motion to dismiss is denied. But you'll need more than this," she waved the affidavit, "to obtain a favourable ruling, let alone survive with your career intact."

Having failed in chambers, the lawyers hired by Tegan McPherson's parents moved the case into the court of public opinion. News editors seised on Paul's surname, and so was born the Great Bunyip Hunt - the hunt for the imaginary client.

I FIRST INTERFACED with Mr Bunyett at The Bar, the most heavily accessed chat forum in MyWorld. Carlos had logged on 36 minutes earlier, and I hoped the lawyer would arrive while one of my hosts was online. I operate better when one of them has an active link, particularly when I am single-running in one locus, but to be safe I had altered my metadata so Carlos could not front-run me unexpectedly. I did not want one of my three remaining RealWorld hosts directly involved.

My ID filter pinged; Alex Bunyett had entered The Bar. His purple lizard-man was accompanied by a Basic Avatar. I accepted chat handshakes from both, then spoke using a merge of Carlos's and Tegan's voices. "Shangho, Felaxar."

"Niho, Inigo!" Alex said. "Look, I gotta catch up with some mates on Fantasy Island. This is my dad. He's a lawyer, like you wanted. Zeng bei, 'kay?" With that, the lizard-man pixilated out as Alex teleported his avatar away from The Bar.

"Good morning, Mr Bunyett. Thank you for seeing me," I said.

"So ... you're Inigo Starlight, eh? Alex said you wanted to speak to a lawyer, and for some reason it had to be done in this mad house. Given that nothing I say at this time constitutes professional legal advice, what's the problem?"

I summarised as clearly as I could. "I need to sue one of my hosts for support, and I don't know how to proceed."

It took two point three seconds for Mr Bunyett to respond. "Ooooookay. Can I ask why you haven't spoken to Legal Aid about this? Or another lawyer - in the real world, that is?"

I morphed my graph-rep into a swirling cloud of ones and zeroes. "I don't exist in RealWorld, Mr Bunyett. While my hosts can interact with the analog world, I'm limited to the digital one."

TEGAN WAS A TYPICAL 13 year-old; she dressed like 19 and spoke a different language to anyone the experienced side of 30.

"I haven't run Inigo for ages. I found out Yellow Hammer was prally a jerry, 26 or summat. Scoped me, maxtime. Anyways, I prefer bein' just Bluebird, or Bluelight if I'm runnin' in ThirdLife."

Paul wondered how the next generation could have no problem with the concept of being different people in different environments. Alex had attempted to explain it one day.

"In MyWorld, I'm Felaxar the Purple. And I'm not pretending - it is me. Out here I'm Alex, but in there I'm not. For example, Felaxar uses Chinglish; I don't. I'm both, but not at once. You scan?"

Paul hadn't, not really, but hoped it would help him understand Tegan. Eventually. First he had to understand what she said. "You want to cancel your resident avatar account in MyWorld because Carlos Hernandez is 26 years old?"

"Patch. He's like, prally dead. No way I'm runnin' brain-share with an outdate." Tegan suddenly seemed to realise that she was talking to an "outdate". "Oh, crash! But, y'know, I fixed he was like 16."

Paul sat back. Tegan's mother, well-dressed and fashionably made-up, didn't seem to pay much attention to what her daughter said, despite having come to the deposition without her lawyer. As the silence lengthened, she looked up from buffing her nails.

"This entire case is ridiculous, Mr Bunyip. We'll happily pay your costs, but this silly thing really must stop."

"I understand your concern, Mrs McPherson, but my client has a right to its existence, even if you don't believe in it. And my name's Bunyett."

Tegan looked pained. "But he's just a resitar. He's not runnin' in RL; he's just a digi-stream." She bit her lip and glanced down for a moment. "I'n' he?"

"Not according to some of the smartest people on the planet, Tegan." If Paul could get the young woman to acknowledge Inigo's independence it would be a major bonus. Resident avatars like Inigo used only a few hosts, rather than being timeshared among thousands. He said carefully, "Resitars, as you call them, have their own unique personality, even if it does run using part of your brain."

Genteel revulsion showed on the mother's face. "I won't have some computer virus in her head. It's disgusting."

"Inigo is not a virus. It's a memetic personality that uses a computer for memory and processing, but the true basis of Inigo's personality, his soul, is inside the brain of your daughter and the three others who rezzed him." Paul turned a paternal smile on Tegan. "In a way, you could say she's his mother."

"Y'sayin' Inigo's like, real?"

"What do you think, Tegan? Honestly?"

I WAS SURPRISED WHEN Mr Bunyett interfaced that he had arranged to have our case heard under the international cybercrime treaty. I had not wanted Tegan treated like a criminal; I just did not want to lose the part of me that was her. But Mr Bunyett said that because my memory is housed in San Francisco but Tegan lives in Sydney - not to mention Carlos in Guadalajara, Shin in Hong Kong and Richard in London - it was the best way to avoid jurisdictional problems.

The application protocol was expensive, but Mr Bunyett had arranged a defence fund. I had arranged a metadata link, and was astonished at the money flowing in, much of it from RealWorld. Apparently there were people who supported me, even with no benefit to themselves.

The new MyCourt that Linden-DeWolfe had donated for the hearing was impressive; I panned across galleries occupied by avatars from all over RealWorld. I translated my locus to the desk where Mr Bunyett's new avatar waited. His graph-rep now reflected his RealWorld appearance, while mine was a semi-stylised version of Tegan.

The court had imposed metadata blocks to guarantee I was not being front-run from RealWorld. I was bugged they hadn't asked, though. Carlos was present as Yellow Hammer, Shin as Astro1984 and Richard as The_Lion; all three were subpoenaed. Tegan had rezzed Bluebird; I could feel her distress as an echo in my mind, like data being repeatedly swapped in and out.

Deliberations did not take long. I needed to maintain a wiki-stream just to understand all the Latin legal terms used, but the tribunal determined that our case warranted being heard under the treaty. Virtual testimony is valid under the treaty, and online streaming of the case is mandatory. Mr Bunyett explained that this would remove several important psychological blocks to the magistrate accepting my existence.

PAUL WAITED FOR the technician to confirm the courtroom was being broadcast into MyWorld, then stood up and began his cross-examination of the McPhersons' tame psychiatrist.

"Dr Urquhart, you stated that you've diagnosed Tegan as having latent Dissociative Identity Disorder, correct?"

The psychiatrist was an austere gentleman clutching a book bearing his photo on the cover, to which he'd referred several times during his testimony. "Correct. Latent DID significantly increases Tegan's vulnerability to a range of psychiatric conditions."

"I see." Paul strode over to his desk and picked up a thick volume. "The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders is the most widely used reference text in the field." Paul hesitated on his way to the witness stand and frowned. "That is correct, isn't it, Doctor?"

Urquhart's mouth tightened, but he nodded. "Yes, DSM is the primary manual, but-"

"Wonderful." Paul dropped the book with a thump. "Could you find the section on latent DID for me?" Paul looked casually around the courtroom. "Any time, Doctor."

The defence lawyer jumped up. "Objection, your Honour!"

"Overruled." The magistrate looked pointedly at Paul. "But get to the point, Mr Bunyett."

"I apologise." Paul turned back to Urquhart. "To your knowledge, Doctor, does that book contain any reference to latent DID at all?"

"No, it doesn't. But I have clearly detailed the condition in my book," and Urquhart held up his own tome, "in which I-"

"Who published your book, Doctor?" Urquhart clearly did not take well to interruptions, and Paul was pleased at the flush creeping up the psychiatrist's face. "It's a simple question. An author usually knows the name of their publisher."

Urquhart glared at Paul. "Stein-Leydon."

"Is it be fair to call Stein-Leydon a vanity press, Doctor?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Did you pay Stein-Leydon to publish your book?"

There was a pause. "Yes."

"So your only reference to this condition is in a book you wrote, that you paid to publish, and which underwent no peer review? DID is a purported condition not even mentioned in the most respected manual for your entire profession?"

Urquhart pressed his lips together and scowled. "Mr Bunyett, you have very little understanding of the complexity of these matters, and-"

"I'm sure. I'm a lawyer, not a psychiatrist, and this is way outside my expertise. But you are a psychiatrist, Dr Urquhart. Could you explain your diagnosis of latent DID, given that Inigo has never been known to take control of Tegan's body, when she suffers no amnesia, and furthermore has apparently never experienced trauma more severe than discovering that Santa Claus is not real?" He paused. "Unlike Inigo."

Before defence counsel could object again, Paul turned and strode back to his desk. "I withdraw the question, your Honour. I have no further use for this witness."

MY OTHER HOSTS enjoyed the attention I received. Mr Bunyett called it notoriety, but the 3Bay stores I managed for Shin, Carlson and Richard saw a considerable increase in traffic. After I purchased a digital signature their profits increased as well, with many RealWorld customers willing to pay extra for a certified "Sold by Inigo Starlight" eLabel.

I was personalising product placements when Alex pinged me, so I split off a sub-avatar. I can't communicate at my optimum when multi-running, but Alex was one of my few friends from RealWorld, if that term can apply.

He had cached his opening comments, so as soon as the chat handshake completed a text stream started. "Can I join you?"

I accessed both my colloquial and wetware filters, but could not comprehend. "Niho, Felaxar. Haven't you already done so?"

The avatar was not a lizard-man, but a boy about Tegan's age. "No, I'm not Felaxar right now. I'm me, Alex. And I want to join you; be a host, replace Tegan. If she wants to leave, can't you use me instead?"

I had not expected that. "Alex, I can't just choose who I'll be. Tegan is part of me. If she goes, then I'll lose part of who I am. That's why I need your father's help."

"But you're digital. Of course you can choose who you'll be!"

I did not know how to respond. I decided I needed to single-run with Alex for a few cycles, and I started to transfer fully from the 3Bay store.

On the very next cycle - or so my memory indicates - I localised into my starter space, single-running. Alex was not there. An urgent message in my queue said that Linden-DeWolfe apologised for the temporary disruption in service. A second message, from Mr Bunyett, asked me to contact him as soon as I rebooted.

When I synchronised my metadata I discovered I had been offline for five days.

Paul quinted in the bright San Francisco sunshine and frowned at the chanting crowd in front of the Linden-DeWolfe building. Several signs were being waved around. "Life for the Living" read one, and another claimed, "DNA doesn't mean Digital Not Analog".

He could sympathise with the protestors. Alex had admitted his offer to Inigo before the 'accidental' server crash. Paul wasn't sure how he felt about it. He was grateful that Inigo, after the injunction had forced Linden-DeWolfe to reboot him, had contacted Alex again and refused. But the more he found out about the digital world, the more uncertain he became. It was just so ... different. And emotionally consuming, if Alex's obsession was any index.

Regardless, he had a job to do; he started to manoeuvre politely through the crowd.

"Hey! Ain't y'all the Bunyip guy from the TV?" A tall man in a fishing jacket stepped in front of Paul. He didn't sound friendly.

Paul shook his head. "Sorry. I'm due for a meeting, if I could-"

The man raised his voice. "Hey, y'all. We got th' Bunyip hisself, here."

The crowd's noise died and all eyes turned toward Paul.

"You're a traitor to the species," one woman shouted.

"Digi-lover!" yelled another.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Look, this'll get sorted out in court, not here. Now, if you'll excuse me-" He shouldered past the fisherman and strided toward the building entrance.

"Digitise this, you bastard!"

A horse must have appeared from nowhere and kicked him in the shoulder, but where did all the blood come from? He couldn't seem to get up.

Paul managed to turn his head and saw a security guard tackle the fisherman from behind. A handgun skittered across the concrete towards him. Where had that come from? Then pain arrived with several friends.

"Just lie still, sir, an ambulance is on the way."

"Someone get that gun!"

My conversation with Tegan was supervised by a RealWorld bailiff.

"I'm blush for all this," I apologised.

"Yeah. Me too." She was not Bluebird, but had rezzed a replica of her RealWorld self. I thought she was using a monitor instead of her link, since the avatar displayed less responsiveness than a process daemon. Under the imposed conditions, I was barred from accessing her current metadata to check.

"I jus' din't wanna go all alzi, Tegan."

"How come y' din't just ping me?" Her voice held the emotion her avatar lacked.

"I tried. Y' dumped my texts, and junked my chats."

"Yeah, but I recked y'was a mailbox, like."

Do people in RealWorld ever have that problem - their own creators refusing to believe in them?

There was a pause, and then, "Is that lawyer okay?"

"Yeah, he's outta the doc-shop, but he was hurt pretty bad."

I had offered to drop the case, but Mr Bunyett refused. He said anything a fanatic wanted to stop that badly couldn't be completely wrong. Still, that meant somebody had tried to delete both of us, now.

PAUL WINCED, REACHED UP and adjusted his sling. The courtroom air was colder than he liked, but at least it distracted him from his aching shoulder. Plus it kept him awake during the defence lawyer's interminable close; Frederick Shakespeare was every bit as theatrical as his namesake during his summary.

"Your Honour, counsel for the plaintiff has failed to prove that there even is a plaintiff. Inigo Starlight is nothing more than a parasite, deserving of no more rights than a virus, computerised or otherwise. This is spurious litigation at its worst, and I think we can see the true moving force behind this case sitting right over there."

Shakespeare pointed at two men sitting in one of the front rows of the courtroom.

"A significant amount of the money donated to the so-called 'Inigo Starlight Fund' came from members of the Global Transhumanist Association. Your Honour, these people claim to be waiting for an event they call the Singularity, when technology will allow man and machine to merge into one."

Paul exchanged amused glances with Stephen and Carl, the two transhumanists who'd helped set up the Fund. GTA believed Inigo could be a link in the evolution of human consciousness, but they'd got on board well after the case had started.

Shakespeare mostly misunderstood their beliefs, but he put on a good show.

"Your Honour, around a singularity, a black hole, is a point of no return, an event horizon. Before that point you're safe, but after it you get sucked in - in this case into a mass of superstition and techno-babble philosophy. You, your Honour, are the crossing guard at the event horizon. You can turn us around before the massive legal ramifications of any decision other than finding in favour of the defence sweep us into a future from which we may never recover - a black hole in truth."

While Shakespeare continued to wax eloquent, Paul thought about the last remark. The future was not a disease, not a thing from which you could recover. If he won the case - since the magistrate had allowed only a two-week recess while he recovered from his injury he wasn't optimistic - he knew the future would be a very different place. What if his grandchildren turned out to be nothing more than glorified tamagotchi?

When it was Paul's turn to close, he chose brevity.

"Contrary to the claims of the defence, numerous experts have attested that Inigo Starlight exists as an independent entity that depends on neurological contributions from hosts who voluntarily made the connection.

"Furthermore, it has been demonstrated that Tegan suffers no harmful side-effects from hosting Inigo. We heard from Ms Accason, who described her experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder, and showed that a human brain is capable of hosting over a dozen distinct personalities with no loss of individuality or function.

"But we do not have one person exhibiting multiple personalities, your Honour, but one personality requiring multiple persons." Paul stopped and looked at the audience. "Inigo just wants the right to exist."

He wound up after less than a minute, and the magistrate recessed the court for a month while she deliberated.

When Mr Bunyett told me the magistrate would hand down her decision in MyWorld, I almost recalibrated my filters; he had been warning me our chances were slim. I wished I could access metadata in RealWorld, as it is difficult to determine when an analog person is lying. Mr Bunyett had dedicated considerable time to my case, and had executed his functions error-free, but I had begun to suspect he did not actually want to win.

My background processing was cut short when I transferred to MyCourt. It was over-clocked; my lawsuit had become the most popular event in MyWorld. I accepted so many chat handshakes I had to request an additional CPU allotment.

Unexpectedly, it was granted. Being popular is a strange experience; I felt the metadata blocks reject an attempt by Shin to front-run me. Mr Bunyett said that the blocks might be permanent if we won. What would it be like if I were never front-run? Would my hosts have to pay me to manage their online businesses?

When the magistrate finally rezzed into MyCourt, my months-long wait finally ended.

Justitia cogitat, ergo sum. The law thinks, therefore I am.

The outcome stunned Paul. He had been convinced the case was hopeless. Public outcry, the magistrate's perceived antagonism, the attacks on him and Inigo - all had painted a less than rosy outlook. And yet justice, it seemed, had prevailed.

The magistrate explained that while she made no finding as to whether or not Inigo was a person, she had decided it was a legal entity with independent determination. Tegan had to remain at least a passive host. Furthermore, Linden-DeWolfe had to guarantee continuity of service.

Paul endured the congratulations, and politely declined the invitations to online parties. He'd had enough of the virtual world for a while. Even after removing the linkspex there were plenty of people in the real world waiting to laud his win.

Despite the landmark nature of the decision, Paul did not get his usual post-victory rush. Even at the Fund Donor's Gathering, he felt like a shadow, drifting through someone else's dream.

That night he stood in his en suite and stared into the mirror. He tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that his career was made. Clients were already lining up to be represented by the Great Bunyip Hunter. Plus there'd be the inevitable round of appeals, if he stayed with the case. The future looked good.

But he wasn't certain the future was a place he wanted to live in anymore. On the trip home from the Gathering, all his son had talked about was forming a cluster to host a resitar. He wondered if this was how Pandora felt after she opened her box.

He walked softly down the darkened hall and into his office. The screensaver on his monitor showed a bunyip squatting by a billabong, a cheeky joke from a friend. He sat down, while a confusing welter of emotions ran through him.

A MyMessenger window popped up on screen. He frowned; not many people knew his private address.

"You have 1 person waiting to speak with you: Inigo Starlight. Accept: Yes / No?"

The case was over, so technically Inigo wasn't his client any more. The Fund had handled whatever he hadn't done pro bono. He didn't really have to talk to Inigo. Not yet, anyway.

"Accept: Yes / No?"

Paul licked his lips, and glanced at the linkspex sitting next to the monitor. That technology hadn't even existed when he was a kid. The future is all about change, isn't it? But just because a crossing guard says it is safe to cross, that doesn't mean that you have to, does it?

"Accept: Yes / No?"

Paul took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He recalled something his father had told him, just before he died: "You have to enter the future facing forward, son." His old man had been a big believer in a man's duty being to face the future with courage. Paul smiled and opened his eyes, feeling for the first time in many months a sense of peace.

"Accept: Yes / No?"

Click. "Yes."

---