"It will take a few minutes to initialise the stack. Please try not to overload the system during that time."

Mr Brayton held up a hand and smiled at the technician. "Please. You don't have to go through everything," he said. "I've been coming here every year since ... for a long time." Mr Brayton's voiced cracked from the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him; but, somehow he managed to keep from breaking into tears. "I always come here on our anniversary."

The technician returned his smile with a practiced sympathy. "Of course, Mr Brayton." She consulted the tablet that she was cradling in the crook of her elbow. "But I have to make sure that you are aware of the necessary procedures."

"I'm all too aware." Mr Brayton suppressed a twinge of irritation. "Now, is it alright if I see my wife?"

"As you wish, Mr Brayton." The technician offered the old man her arm. "Do you need any help?"

Mr Brayton took a firm grip on his walking stick, then used it to lever himself up from the waiting room chair. "No. Thank you. I can still manage." He took a couple of hobbling steps forward. "But you could show me where I can meet with my wife."

"It's this way." The technician stood back, allowing her charge to move ahead of her. She escorted him out of the reception area, through the labyrinthine corridors of the institute. Even though he had been coming here for over a decade, Maxwell Brayton had still not managed to decipher its layout. It was all too easy to become lost in the sterile white and chrome corridors if you did not have someone knowledgeable to guide you; to wander like some lost soul. Mr Brayton chuckled as the thought occurred to him. A lost soul? In this place? It would never be allowed. Every soul here was accounted for.

"Here we are," the technician announced. She had stopped outside an anonymous door which, at a touch of the pad beside it, slid open. "I'll be waiting for you when you've finished."

"Thank you."

The door closed behind Mr Brayton, sealing him in the room. From within, the room was shaped like a sphere that had been flattened at its poles. An array of glass lenses were embedded in the ceiling, each one glowing with a soft, blue-white light that did nothing to relieve the room's stark interior. A single mock-Bauhaus leather chair had been placed by the door, next to a low table. Apart from these items of furniture, the room was empty.

"Mr Brayton?" Hidden speakers projected a quiet voice seemingly into Maxwell's ears. "we shall commence when you are ready."

"No sense in wasting time," Mr Brayton told the room. "I would like to see my wife, please."

The light in the room began to shift, taking on a warmer hue as a flesh-coloured cylinder appeared in front of Mr Brayton. As he watched, the cylinder began to take on human features: arms, legs, a torso, a head; until it had become a near-perfect hologram of a woman.

"Mary!" Mr Brayton took a faltering step towards the hologram, his arms extended ready to embrace his dead wife's image. The hologram rippled at his touch, and black and white fringes of interference spoilt the illusion. Mr Brayton pulled away and glanced down at his feet, embarrassed at his mistake. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

The image of his wife smiled at him. "Don't worry," she said. "It's good to see you Max. How long has it been?"

"Too long." Max swayed back and forth, uncertain as to whether he should sit down or stay standing. His wife made the decision for him.

"Sit down. You look worried. Tell me what's on your mind."

Max fumbled for the chair behind him and then sat down awkwardly. The minimalist leather upholstery had been designed for appearances, not for comfort. A similar chair materialised behind Mary. Her image flickered and then she appeared on her chair, sitting as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Barbara," Max began. "I've got something to tell you."

Barbara laughed and reached across the low table to slap her husband's thigh. Her hand stopped just short - close enough to maintain the illusion of contact, but not enough to distort the projection field. "You always have something to tell me, don't you? It is our anniversary after all."

Max nodded. "You remember."

"So. How are things? How are the children? Has Ross's wife had another baby?"

"The children are doing just fine, Barbara. Ross still has just the three, though. But they asked me to tell you that they still love you just as much."

The hologram tilted its head to one side and nodded. "That's sweet."

Normally Max Brayton would have found this gesture familiar and endearing.After all, it was typical of how he remembered his wife. However, on this occasion, it fed into his growing sense of frustration. "Barbara - please! There's something I need to tell you. Something that's not just the usual gossip. It's important. For both of us."

"What is it, Max?"

Max took a minute to collect his thoughts. He knew what he wanted to say, but he still wasn't sure how he was going to break the news. Even though the thing apparently sitting in front of him was a hologram - a simulation of his late wife - she was still a person he had known and loved for almost all of his adult life. Yes, the technicians at the institute had taken a still-living woman and dissected her mind to copy its patterns and impulses. Then they had transferred these to the processors and memory cells of their simulation spaces, to resurrect Barbara by some technical necromancy. The original Barbara was no more; but, as far as Max Brayton was concerned, this was still his wife. Max had never been good at sharing bad news with her.

"I've been talking to the doctors," Max said at last.

"Doctors?" Barbara's expression became more attentive. "What did they have to say?"

"You have to understand, this may be the last time I see you for a while."

The expression on Barbara's face didn't change, but to Max it seemed to have become artificial, as if pasted on from a long-forgotten photograph. "Is something the matter?" she asked. Then the projection froze, shattering the illusion of her presence. Max looked up at the lenses in the ceiling, hoping to see what had caused this to happen. But the glitch was only momentary. Like a patient awakening from a state of fugue, Barbara smiled. "But you won't forget our anniversaries, will you? I look forward to them."

Max wanted to throw his arms around his wife, to hold her and tell her what he really wanted to say. Instead he took a deep breath. "I won't forget our anniversary. How could I? It's just that things are going to be difficult for a while. There are some things that I have to do, and I have no idea when they are going to need to be done. So, I may not be able to make our next anniversary. But I promise, I won't forget. I'll make sure you're taken care of, and I promise that I'll make it up to you." Max had a sudden inspiration. "You remember our first anniversary?"

Barbara clapped her hands together. "I remember! We went to that village in Cornwall!"

"It was all we could afford."

"But it was perfect. We stood on the promenade, eating ice cream and watching the sea. We didn't need anything more."

Max nodded, then leaned forward to be closer to his wife. "No we didn't. It'll be like that. So promise me you won't be upset, no matter what." He reached out to take his wife's hands in his, to hold them and to comfort her. Once again the interference patterns chased each other through the hologram, but this time Max didn't care.

"I promise."

"Cross your heart? Hope to ... ." Max faltered, unable to say the last word for the lump in his throat.

"I promise. You know I've always believed in you; that you will do the right thing."

Max felt a weight lift from him. It didn't matter any longer: his illness, the the cancer that was consuming his internal organs, the limited span of life left to him. None of it. It was enough that Barbara still trusted him. "Good." He stood up. "I will see you soon. I promise."

The technician was waiting for him in the corridor outside the room. "So, shall we see you next year, Mr Brayton?"

"No." Max hesitated, then, "I've come to a decision. I want to be with my wife. Can we make the arrangements?"

The technician gave the man a gentle smile. "Of course, Mr Brayton. If you'll come this way, then we can take a look at your options."

Barbara Brayton stood on the stone quayside, holding her hat to stop it being blown away by the stiff Atlantic breeze. It was just so perfect here on the Cornish coast, she wanted to laugh out loud in delight. "Max!" she called out. "Where are you?"

"Just a minute!" Max Brayton fumbled away the change the ice cream vendor had given him, then reached out to grab the two ice cream cones. He hurried away from the gaily decorated stall to join his wife by the promenade railings. "There you go."

Barbara took the proffered cone and held it up in a gay salute. "Happy anniversary, Mr Brayton."

Max returned the gesture. "Happy anniversary, Mrs Brayton."

Then, arm in arm, the two marched down the promenade, laughing in the way that only young lovers can.

* * * * * * *

I'm not very good with titles. Originally this piece was called 'In Memoriam', but it was published under the title 'Love Eternal'. I don't know why I didn't think of it myself. Possibly I was too caught up in the sadness of the story. However, I'm glad that it ended up with a different title.

Ha. What can I say? Sometimes I can't help but be a romantic.