by Carol Riggs
“Well, it’s more like rendering them inactive than canceling,” Dr. K. says. “It’s loosely similar to sending radio waves, using a transistor to mix the waves and their opposites together.”
“Right, which makes your body prepped for either suspended animation or insertion of someone else’s brainmap, depending on whether you’re a Reducer or a Loaner.” I’m sure my extreme grin is making me look giddy. It’s fantastic to talk with someone who understands inverse polarity and ERT technology.
Dr. K. straightens and surveys his lab. “I’m sorry to say, I should get back to work. I’m admittedly single-minded during a project. We’ll talk another time.”
My excitement swirls away. I really hope there will be another time. He accompanies me out the door and across the entryway.
“Thanks for the mad scientist tour,” I say.
The sound of Dr. K.’s chuckle follows me as I step into the elevator pod.
In Jodine’s room, I stream some music and dance to shake off tension and burn calories. After two songs I flop onto the bed. Not much endurance power with this body. This is going to be a long, long six months.
While my breathing settles and the music rocks on, I check out the Masters of the Cyberverse posters and deduce that Jodine’s game character is a half-tiger, half-fairy creature called a liegerdeen. The green airbot emerges from the ceiling vent, and I watch it drift for a bit before I cross to the desk and sign into the game. I guide my silver elf on a jewel quest. When I reach the treasure, a crawly sensation of being watched ripples down my back. I whip around to find the airbot behind my left shoulder.
“Go higher, you little pest,” I say. “What’re you filtering? Do I have bad breath or something?”
It drifts a few inches upward and gives an abrupt mechanical purr.
“Come on, float higher.”
It tips a little to one side, as if contemplating my words.
“Higher,” I say, my voice firm. “Or I’ll be tempted to solder your little vent door closed.”
It floats off.
Silly heap of circuitry. The critter is too curious for its own good.
After I dictate my daily activity log, I change into a worn crocodile-cartoon nightshirt and lie on the bed with the lights off and the blinds open, watching the night sky shimmer with stars. The stuffed animals on the window seat huddle in a furry cluster. I wish they were people instead of toys, so I’d have someone to talk to. The words of Blair and Krista and Superguy only exist in cyberspace, and I can’t see people I know in real life. I’m not allowed to mingle with any of Jodine’s friends, either. I’ll have to ask Leo if I can make new friends while living offsite.
I don’t want to be stuck with six months of near-nothingness for a social life.
That, to say the least, would be brutal.
The Monday of my fifth weigh-in arrives, my seventeenth day on the job. I ride the MT until I see signs for the Green Zone’s west section. I want to get in a good walk before I go to the Institute, and I’ve found a new park where I can exercise without fear of bumping into wolf-girls.
A motherly looking woman sitting across the aisle gives me a warm smile, and I smile back. It’s great to get a reaction, and a positive one at that. Hardly anyone interacts with me on the MT anymore. When I was in my own body, businesswomen smiled, guys checked me out, and chicks scoped out my clothes. Now, it’s usually like I’m not worthy of a glance.
I rub my hands over my face. My freckled face. Right now every neuron in my brain shrieks for normalcy, for looking slender. For being smooth-haired, brown-eyed Morgan Dey. The real me. I just don’t feel like myself in this body.
After I get off the MT, I jog along the park paths, passing benches and gazebos. In a short time, however, my knees start to creak and ache, and my feet begin to tingle. Pain lances through my chest. I stagger and clutch the front of my sweats. Maybe what Granddad fears is a real possibility. At the moment it sure seems like this body’s going to die on me.
Even if not, it doesn’t feel good.
I slow down and try to catch my breath. Air in, air out. Easy does it. I just need to cool down, and I’ll be all right. If I don’t panic, I should be able to work through the tingles and the aches and the thundering percussion under my rib cage. I pull out my phone in case I need to call for help. After about seven long minutes, my chest pains subside. My heart—Jodine’s heart—finally thumps at a more normal pace. I take a shuddering breath.
From now on, I need to pay closer attention to overload signals in this body. I can’t jog at full speed like I used to with my own body.
A muscular middle-age man runs by, intent on his course. Most people I’ve seen here are a bunch of athletic types focused on their own bodies, not interested in chatting with other joggers. Seventeen days is a long time to be on this job with only Nettie to talk to, but Leo didn’t like my idea to make new friends. Apparently friends cause “potential complications” and are prohibited. He warned that any contacts must be kept extremely casual and told me not to bring anyone to the Kowalczyks’ house.
He’s also paranoid about me possibly seeing someone who knows Jodine. The more I stay inside and keep to myself, he said, the simpler things will be. I didn’t tell him about my run-in with Noni and her wolf pack. I refuse to be housebound or shipped off to the Clinic for the rest of my assignment.
Okay, back to work. Taking a bracing breath, I glance up and notice a guy in gray sweats moving along the path ahead of me, slow and steady. He has short brown hair. His body looks even heavier than mine. Puffing a little, I close in on the guy.
Whether he’s friendly or not, I’ll soon find out.
Chapter 11
I catch up and walk beside the overweight guy. “Hi,” I say, breathless. “Having a good walk?”
“Good? I dunno if I’d use that adjective.” The guy’s words are wedged between huffs and puffs. “I’ve barely made it a tenth of the way around the park. And I’m bushed.”
“Want company? I need to finish a lap myself.”
He really looks at me, then. “Hey, that’s nice. This is my first day of serious exercising. I need all the support I can get.”
In return, I really look at him. Brown eyes with a mischievous glint. A longish nose. A wide face with a double chin. Hmm. But he seems friendly, and I need someone to talk to, not a movie actor or a male model.
“I’m trying to lose weight,” I say. “I’ve lost about a dozen pounds out of a hundred.”
“I’m jealous!” the guy says, wheezing. “I need to lose a hundred thirty pounds. Not gonna try jogging yet. Walking’s enough for me right now.”
“Yeah, don’t overdo it. I don’t want to have to call for a medic.”
He flashes me a look of amusement. We approach a bench, and he waves an arm at it. “Mind if we sit? Gotta catch…my breath.”
The metal bench creaks as he sits down, and it creaks more as I sit next to him. Our thighs touch a little on the seat. I try not to think about it.
“I’m Matt.” The guy holds out a sweaty palm. “Matt Williams.”
I shake his hand with my own clammy one. “I’m Mor— Jodine.” Oops, almost messed up there. “Jodine Kowalczyk.”
“That’s a complicated last name,” Matt says. “How do you spell it?”
I laugh to stall for time while I try to remember. “With way too many z’s and k’s.”
“Okay.” He laughs, too. “Here’s my ever-so-flattering bio. I’m nineteen, live on the forty-fourth floor of a nearby megacomplex, and teach primary school part-time. Last but not least, I’m turning over a new fitness leaf. By the end of summer I plan to be a lean, mean, handsome machine. Or as close to that as I can get.”
“Nice.” I hesitate. He’s so fresh and open and honest. I’m not sure what to say about myself. I can’t pretend I’ve earned my education certificate, because then I’d have to invent an occupation. And I’d be violating confidentiality rules if I say anything about the Kowalczyks, where I live, or being a Reducer.
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“I’m almost eighteen,” I say. True, since Jodine’s birthday is in March, mine in December. “I live in north Green Zone, and I’m doing my schooling with a private tutor.”
Matt nods. “Nice. Tutors make for faster learning.”
I give a weak smile and stare across the grass. What a way to start out an acquaintance, by inventing a lie or two. Like Granddad always says, relationships should be built on honesty and trust, not fabrications. I’m pretending to be someone I’m not…a definite negative of the Institute’s offsite assignments. But that should be all the fibs I need to tell. If I ever see this guy again, I’ll stick to impersonal topics. Like the weather.
“Are you ready to walk again?” Matt asks. “I have to get rolling, or I won’t be able to squish in a shower before work.”
“Ready when you are.” Another lie. This encounter didn’t last nearly long enough. I love having real-life company, especially someone as nice as this guy. I suppress a sigh and accompany him for six laborious minutes until we reach the far corner of the park.
“I come here every morning except Thursdays,” I say, thinking of the one weekday when I walk after my afternoon weigh-ins. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”
“I plan to be here every day, Miss Fitness,” Matt says, and waves vigorously.
I smile as I watch him go down the street. Yes! My gray October day has just been radically improved by a very friendly guy named Matt Williams.
If we do end up meeting every day, I’ll just have to keep him a secret.
When I reach the Institute grounds, I pause to catch my breath after my hike from the MT shelter. At the gates I see Enforcers are keeping the entrance clear of WHA protesters. Good. Not to sound uncharitable or anything, but I hope the protesters who attacked me are rotting in jail cubicles somewhere.
At the Clinic, I enter the Weigh Center and sit in one of the horrid green waiting room chairs until my name is called. The usual data streaming commences. I’m informed I’ve lost twelve pounds to date. That jives with the scale in Jodine’s bathroom so it’s no surprise, but I leave the building feeling more like fifty pounds lighter.
To celebrate, after I reach the Kowalczyks’ and eat lunch, I text Granddad. If he’s bonding with his cigarettes on the balcony lounge, I hope he has his phone with him.
Hey, Granddad. Are you there?
He responds after a few seconds.
Hi, sweetie. Let’s see your face. Call me.
I’m not allowed to do that.
Hopefully he hasn’t forgotten already.
My screen mode’s been disabled for privacy. I can only do texts and emails. How are you feeling?
I’m feeling like I’m not talking to my granddaughter. How do I know it’s you? Can’t you do an old-fashioned call with just voice?
No, I can’t use my Loaner’s voice.
I hate these limitations. It’s like living in a box with my eyes poked out.
Granddad’s response scrolls across my phone.
That’s absurd. It’s bad enough I’m talking to a brain clone who thinks she’s my granddaughter—who’s really some computer file downloaded into some overweight girl.
Ouch. That’s a terrible way to put it. Trying to quit smoking must be making him irritable.
I’m not a brain clone. My consciousness is just hanging out in someone else’s body.
If your brain waves are copied, you’re a brainwashed copy who thinks you’re Morgan. You’re not Morgan.
Then how would I remember my memories, who I am and who I know?
Copied. You’re programmed to remember, to think you’re the real thing.
He’s so stubborn, he’s making me feel like I’m not myself. I don’t know how else to convince him. Time for a new topic.
What have you been doing lately?
Trying to avoid a bunch of pesky holo-ads for a free year’s supply of electronic cigarettes. Can’t even walk by the superstore without being harassed. I keep telling them I’m already cutting back on the regular kind.
I hate to think how crispy and blackened his lungs must look while he exercises his so-called right to smoke the real things. Using e-cigarettes is a lot healthier, especially since they don’t have nicotine in them anymore. It’s too bad the ban on smoking didn’t work a few years ago—people just started growing their own black-market tobacco. I sigh. At least he’s trying to cut back.
Have you read any more of Alien In The Machine?
Uh, nope. Sorry, can’t get into it. I got a new sci-fi novel yesterday. Androids infiltrating humans by taking over their minds. The people started up this massive underground revolution. Guess I’ll get back to it. Talk to you later.
As he disconnects, a painful swell surges through me. I exchange a glassy stare with a stuffed cat on the window seat. Granddad has abandoned our discussion book, and I know why. No voices to hear each other’s excitement. No faces to show our emotions. No blueberry tea and roasted sunflower seeds, the scents mingling in the air with our shared words. He’s avoiding the feeling of loss. Withdrawing.
To distract myself from those depressing thoughts, I flop in front of the deskscreen and navigate to a physics game site. The numbers soothe me. The formulas stimulate my brain. Yet one persistent corner of my mind keeps ricocheting back to Granddad’s words. A more serious distraction is in order.
I tap up the TeenDom site.
@geektastic007: hellooooo, r u there, superguy?
Five minutes creak by. Man, I hate being stuck with online relationships only. I try again.
@geektastic007: feeling like the last humanoid on the planet. anyone home in ur galaxy beyond?
I wait ten more draggy minutes. No use. Superguy’s probably out dancing or watching holovids with friends. I’ll try a game instead. I sign in and zone out with my silver elf, hiking around a mountain village. As I enter a clearing, a rumbling cyber-roar splits the air.
Dragon.
I need to hide—fast. My wings unfurl and my tiger legs propel me upward into the branches of a tall tree, and none too soon. Massive scales and wicked claws pass me by within inches. After another tense moment, the dragon’s roars fade.
Triumph washes over me. Score!
A chirruping breaks my concentration. The airbot. I shake my head and squint at its green shape hovering nearby. Then I stare at the crumpled form of my silver elf lying dead on the snowy RPG platform. Burned to a crisp from dragon fire.
What? How did that happen? I just flew into the air and landed safely in a tree—
Hold it. My game character doesn’t have springy tiger legs or fairy wings. I’m a silver elf, not a liegerdeen. And I can’t have accessed Jodine’s character, because she has blocks on her account. What is going on?
With my heart in high gear, I order the platform off. I push myself back from the deskscreen, chair wheels skidding.
This can’t be right. I saw the tiger-fairy jump into the tree, I really did. It’s as if my brain experienced a hallucination in liegerdeen-land while the actual game dragon annihilated my silver elf. Whatever that means. Did Jodine play this part of the game before, and somehow I’ve tapped into that memory?
It makes sense. In a twisted, I-think-I’m-becoming-certifiable way.
I grab my phone and access Leo’s number at the Institute, praying he’s available. My prayers are answered when his text pops up onscreen.
How can I help you, Morgan?
I just had something scary happen, and I need to know what’s going on.
I’m surprised the voice-to-text app can keep up with the words tumbling from my mouth.
Take a deep breath, slow down. Tell me your problem.
I draw in air, latching onto his calm words.
I think Jodine is haunting me.
I describe the liegerdeen vision and the dragon-perpetrated homicide.
Do you know what’s happening?
Leo’s answer scrolls out.
What you’ve experienced is a residual memory. Sometimes a stray m
emory or 2 hides in the recesses of the Loaner’s brain during mapping, so there’s a potential for a Reducer to experience them. It’s not a big deal.
My trust in the Transfer process experiences a 6.5-magnitude quake on the Richter scale. I stare at his words.
This is NORMAL?
It’s rare, but yes, it’s fairly normal for a Reducer who lives in a Loaner’s environment. That kind of setting seems to trigger stray memories, if there are any.
I don’t know what to say to that. It doesn’t fit with my black-and-white view of science and Electromagnetic Resonance Transfer. It’s messy and vague, not as clean as it should be—like I told the protesters it was. It should involve tidy packages of memories, swapped with precision and no overlaps whatsoever.
Well, even though I won’t keep her memories, since my original brainmap will be put back into my own body, I DON’T like experiencing them.
The flashes may be unnerving, but that’s it. I’m sure you’ll be able to adjust.
Yeah, sure. I fight to keep my words polite.
What if a few of MY memories are missed at the end of my assignment, when my current brainmap is generated so it can be canceled out of this body? The memories would be stranded in Jodine’s brain.
There’s a much less likelihood of your waves getting stuck in her brain recesses, since they’re not hers. The mapping should be quite complete.
Only if no waves of mine are hiding out somewhere. It doesn’t sound like an absolute certainty.
I would’ve liked to know about these residuals in my briefing. Are there any other secrets I should know?
The residuals aren’t secret. They’re mentioned in your contract. Fine print. You have an e-copy that you can examine any time.
The steam of my indignation fizzles. Guess I should do that, although I have been busy trying to lose weight.
I guess that’s all, then.
One more thing while I have you on the phone, Leo says.
Please study the file on workouts. I’ve checked your log, and you could use some variation in your weight training. Alternate between upper and lower body to give your muscles a chance to recover and then build themselves up. One day for upper, the next day for lower.