After that, I turned my attention back to Mouse, attempting to wait patiently while he finished up. From my perspective it seemed to take forever, but eventually he looked up from his computer tablet (on which he appeared to have done most of the work) and I – sensing a certain decisiveness in him – realized that he was finished.
“Okay,” he said. “All done.”
“So what’s the verdict?” I asked eagerly, hoping Mouse would immediately declare the video a flat-out fake.
“Well first, let me explain a little about what I did,” he replied. “That way you’ll hopefully have confidence in my conclusion.”
“Okay,” I responded, slightly surprised. Mouse knew I trusted him implicitly; he didn’t have to explain his rationale to me. However, the fact that he’d decided to do so did not bode well.
“I had to engage in some image and video forensics,” he began. “Without going into excessive detail, I examined the footage in various ways to try to determine the authenticity of the images.”
“And?”
“I didn’t see any of the usual telltale signs that the video had been edited or photoshopped. No blurring, no warping, no distortions. No unusual displacement of light. No misalignment of objects and their shadows. Optically, the footage was consistent from start to finish.”
“In other words, it wasn’t doctored or altered,” I concluded, feeling downcast.
“No, it wasn’t,” Mouse agreed. “But I didn’t stop there. I also looked at the video’s metadata.”
“The metadata?” I echoed in surprise.
“Yeah, the metadata,” Mouse stated. “You do know what metadata is, right?”
I nodded. “It’s data about data – at least, that’s how my computer science teacher described it. So I can look at the metadata of, say, a book report I’ve written, and it’ll show me data about the doc, like who created it, when they created it, when it was last modified, and so on.”
“That’s good,” Mouse said, sounding impressed. “From the look on your face a moment ago, I would have sworn you’d never heard of metadata.”
“Oh no,” I countered. “I’ve definitely heard of it. I just didn’t realize that videos also had it.”
“Well, they do. In this instance, it shows – among other things – the time and date the video was made.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “The date and time of the footage coincides with last night’s party.”
Mouse nodded. “Correct. Even more, it doesn’t look like the metadata has been tampered with.”
I groaned slightly in frustration. “For anyone else, that would be an alibi, but not for a teleporter.”
“Well, would it help you if the time and date had been altered or was actually different from the time of the party?”
My brow crinkled as I focused on his question.
“Not really,” I said after a moment. “I’m still a teleporter, so regardless of when the attack occurred there’s no alibi to be had, according to Dreiser.”
“Exactly,” Mouse said.
I was nonplussed. “So why even bother looking at that?”
“Because if it was altered in any way – for example, if the metadata time was changed by a single second – the whole video is tainted and shouldn’t be used as evidence against you.”
“Well, that doesn’t appear to be the case. Based on everything you’ve said, the footage appears to be authentic, so we’re back at square one.”
“Not square one, per se,” Mouse corrected. “You’re forgetting about the guy.”
“Huh?” I mumbled in confusion. “What guy?”
“Your long-lost twin in the video.”
I shook my head, not comprehending. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow you.”
“I also checked him out to see if he was fake.”
I frowned. “I thought we just agreed that the entire video was authentic.”
“We agreed that the images are authentic in that they haven’t been edited. With respect to our friend, however, I also looked to see if his physiognomy is credible.”
Mentally, I chewed on this for a moment, trying to pick up on what was obviously an extremely subtle nuance. After a few moments, I thought I had it.
“So,” I began, “you’re saying that his presence in the footage is legitimate, but how he looks in the video may not be.”
“Good job,” Mouse declared, smiling. “In essence, he looks like you, but is that really his face?”
“Okay, I follow you. So what’s the process for showing he’s faking my face?”
“Well,” Mouse began, slipping into teaching mode, “I first enlarged and examined every image of his visage from all angles. From what I could see, there was no unnatural smoothness or excessive bunching that you’d expect if he was wearing one of those face-masks that you see in the movies.”
I nodded. “I know what you mean – like a spy movie where the main character is also a master of disguise.”
“Right,” Mouse stated in agreement. “And from what I could see of things like his pores, hydration, and pigmentation, there’s nothing anomalous or aberrant about his skin.”
“I get it – that’s his actual appearance and not some kind of disguise,” I concluded. “So could this be the result of something like a face transplant?”
“A face transplant,” Mouse droned, somewhat mockingly. “So did you wake up yesterday with your face missing? Did you walk around all day with bones, nerves, and blood vessels exposed – maybe without eyelids or lips?”
“Okay – enough with the imagery,” I said firmly, my face wrinkled in disapproval.
Mouse chuckled. “Since when did you get squeamish?”
“I’m not,” I insisted. “I just don’t like visualizing myself with my face ripped off.”
Mouse laughed again. “But you see my point?”
“Yes. Aside from the fact that I’ve seen too many movies, you’re saying that the only place to get a copy of my face is me, so the odds of a facial transplant are nil.”
“Actually, a transplant of that nature would go beyond simply getting a copy of your face and slapping it on someone else. The facial contours would also have
