The Body Institute

by Carol Riggs

  Vonn struggles not to look peeved. “Yes, sir.”

  After the door whisks closed behind the Enforcers, Vonn and I stare at each other. A muscle jumps on his jaw. My appetite is gone.

  “That was close,” I say and get up to wrap myself in his arms.

  The late April wind whips my hair back from my face as I wait for the MT. I flex my fingers. They’re sore after my work shift, and so are my arms. If it wasn’t for earning time-and-a-half pay, I wouldn’t work Saturdays. But the extra income from the assembly line drudgery gets me closer to tech school, one meager credit after another.

  Enough of that crimping hostess job. I’m holding onto one of my dreams, even if it takes me years to get there.

  Two older teen girls approach the shelter, their lively voices snatched up by the wind and tossed into my ears. A lilac-scented puff of air accompanies the blonde as she passes me to sit on a bench. The other girl joins her, blue-eyed and sporting orange lipstick.

  I stare. Oh my gosh. It’s Blair and Krista.

  This is the first time I’ve seen them since Thanksgiving. They don’t recognize me, of course. To them I’m just a random stranger standing by an MT shelter. Krista’s hair is cut in chunky layers; Blair looks about the same. I wonder why they’re way out here in the Blue Zone.

  “That was fun,” Blair says to Krista. “Thanks for helping me pick out my perfume. I’ll smell awesome on Friday.”

  Krista tilts her face to the sun. “Lilac is so romantic and feminine. Maybe I should’ve bought some.”

  “I’ll share mine,” Blair says.

  Ah, that explains why they’re here. There’s a humongous perfume store in the Blue Zone mall. I try to concentrate on the pavement a few feet away instead of staring, but it’s no use. I want to keep looking. Their faces are heart-achingly beautiful. I’d like to memorize every last inch and pore of them. Who knows when I’ll ever see them again.

  “What time does the party start?” Blair asks.

  “Everyone’s gonna be at my apartment around seventeen hundred. We’ll hit the Flash Point after the pizza and cake.” Krista taps her foot to music from a nearby building’s vidscreen. “Let’s dance until oh-three-hundred when the club closes.”

  I can’t believe Krista’s birthday is next Friday, and I’m not going to be a part of her celebration. I’m tempted to show up at the Flash Point. Stay close by, soak in the celebration vibes. Pretend everything’s the way it used to be. Or better yet, I could walk over right now and start a new friendship with them as Ana. Maybe I could even tell them who I used to be.

  My daydream bubble bursts. No. That would be foolish, since Enforcers might still be keeping an eye on Vonn and me. Maybe on Blair and Krista, too.

  Blair scans the MT shelter area, and our gazes meet. There’s no recognition in her eyes, like I’m invisible. Krista starts to say something to Blair, when a news flash erupts from the building wall beside us. We turn toward the vidscreen. A reporter materializes there with a jubilant expression.

  “We interrupt this viewing to announce that the State of California has convicted Walter Herry, the mastermind behind the WHA attacks on The Body Institute,” the reporter says. “Herry’s increasingly violent measures were a serious cause for concern, especially last fall when he teamed up with a maintenance technician for the horrific bombing of the Institute’s Los Angeles branch building. Herry was arrested in December after—”

  My heart twists. On one hand, I’m glad they caught the man who’s responsible for the death of my real body. On the other, who knows what they’ll do to him now that he’s been convicted. Lucky for him, he’s too well-recognized to be brain-stripped and turned into a Spare.

  “According to the WHA, a new president has been chosen,” the reporter continues. “He’ll speak tonight at the Crowl Auditorium in the White Zone at nineteen thirty. This man, Russell Alleger, has condemned Herry’s violent measures in the past. He vows to reform the WHA and take down The Body Institute by peaceful means.”

  The reporter and his smirk fade, replaced by an ad-vid for children’s indoor play equipment.

  I turn back to Blair and Krista, who seem to wilt against each other on the bench.

  Blair tucks a renegade wisp of hair behind her ear. “That awful Institute and its Reducer program. I wish Morgan could be at your party. I miss her so much.”

  Krista doesn’t answer. She looks close to tears.

  My hands ball into fists. I can’t stand this. If they only knew the truth…

  “I just don’t want her to be dead,” Blair says in a near-whisper, so low I barely hear her. “I want to know what happened at that airport. She wasn’t on any of the flights. Was it really her brainmap in that girl they found by the river?”

  “Please. Don’t talk about it. Going over and over that stuff doesn’t change anything.” Krista bites her lip and stares off across the MT tracks.

  An urge seizes me to run over and enclose both of them in a giant hug. To tell them I’m alive. To say how terribly I miss them and that I’ll always be their friend, no matter if I never see them again. I think they’d be comforted to know I have a good life as Ana. That I’m working toward tech school, and Vonn is my sweet and devoted boyfriend. My Superguy.

  I take a step toward the bench and freeze. My mind wars with my legs. I want to do it so badly, but it’s not smart. Not smart at all.

  Blair scoops up her shopping bag and nods toward the street. “MT’s coming.”

  I shrink back. I’m out of time. Which is probably a good thing.

  Krista rises to her feet. The solar-activated colors of her skirt do a dancing kaleidoscope in the sun as the MT to the Yellow Zone whirs to a halt in front of us. She boards with Blair. I lean to keep their faces in sight for as long as I can through one of the windows. Their images recede as the MT resumes motion, a square snapshot of one sassy orange smile and one ex-Catalyst-Club partner.

  Three words pop into my mind. Adiós, mis amigas!

  Good-bye to my friends, in the language of the girl who used to occupy my body. Phrases like that spring into my brain a lot. It’s just as unnerving as constantly singing this one unknown song I’m sure comes from Jodine, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

  I wait for my connecting train to arrive on the other tracks as the energy of the encounter seeps away. It hits me full force that I’m no longer Morgan Dey. My life is forever different. I’m stuck with listening in from the outside, a stranger to my friends’ and family’s lives.

  The newsvid words claw at me. Walter Herry’s conviction. That Alleger guy who vows to lead peaceful protests. The timing could finally be right for me to do something about Leo and the Institute. About the Spares. I’ve been hiding out while all those bodies lie like gruesome pickles in a room that stinks of grease and antiseptic.

  Vonn and I highly suspect his friend Steven was turned into one of those Spares. His minor arrest only three weeks before Chad was Transferred into his body is mighty coincidental. Chad did say he woke up in Seattle—where the Spares are housed. Death-row inmates…what a flippin’ lie. It’s body recycling, tossing out people’s minds and replacing them with “better” ones, as if their first minds were worthless.

  Yes, I think I’ll join with Alleger in taking down the Institute. Especially since Leo and his Spares will go down with it.

  I call Vonn and let him know I’m heading to the White Zone, a journey that takes the rest of the afternoon. My nerves writhe inside me. It’s hard to believe I’m thinking about joining the very organization that attacked me and helped destroy my Morgan body. Will Alleger’s leadership make a difference?

  At the Crowl Auditorium, I take an aisle seat near the back of the room. The place fills with people, young and old, male and female. The brisk aroma of coffee fills the air. Conversation buzzes.

  A woman in a bright green jacket plops down beside me and peers at me. “You’re Rosa, right? You went off with Herry’s ‘army’ to storm The Body Institute, part of that Los A
ngeles riot. Did you get arrested?”

  A bolt of shock runs through me. Rosa. That name sounds personal, close to my heart. I lean away from the woman. “No, that wasn’t me. My name’s Ana, and this is my first WHA meeting.”

  The woman scrutinizes me a little longer and gives a bouncing nod. “Sorry. My mistake. Rosa had a thick accent. She looked sadder around the eyes, too. Welcome to the WHA, Ana.”

  “Thanks.” My tension eases—until a scene flashes in my mind. A security fence. The irritating blue of Enforcer uniforms in my peripheral. I’m running. Breathing fast. An obese man lumbers into my path: a Reducer. Anger churns inside me. These stupid, stupid people who help the Institute abuse rights and force their ideals about perfect weight on everyone. We can’t all look like athletes in a freaking sports vid. I shove the man, hard, and he tumbles to the ground. His legs flail. I start to step past him, but a shock of pain slams into my spine. Ay! Everything goes blurry as I fall. I’ve been shot—shot by a stun gun—

  The vision clears. I shake my head, and the woman next to me throws me a puzzled look Whoa. I think that was a memory of Rosa’s. Probably because I’m here in her old territory, mingling with the WHA. Is her involvement in the riot the offense that got her turned into a Spare? I haven’t had any other residuals beyond bits of Spanish. Certainly nothing murderous. I’m betting she was never on death row, like the protesters never were.

  That’s a relief, but it also means the Institute is stripping brainmaps from anyone who gets in the way. Not a good revelation.

  My attention shifts to a tall, bronze-skinned woman who takes the stage and gives a brief background of the WHA and Herry’s last three years. She beckons to someone offstage. “At this time, I’d like to present the new head of our organization, Mr. Russell Alleger.”

  Alleger strolls out to wild applause, all stringbean legs and gentle-eyed in a suit, his graying hair tied back into a neat ponytail. He speaks for a few minutes against Herry’s violent strategies, and in support of privacy, freedom, safety, and choice.

  He spreads his arms wide. “I’d like your help in joining our new campaign, which is to gather enough signatures to shut down The Body Institute. We also need funding for ads on TV and city vidscreens. On that subject, I’m pleased to announce we’ve received a donation of a million credits from one of our new members, Dr. Charles Kowalczyk. Please acknowledge his generosity and welcome him and his family.”

  The Kowalczyks are here. I sit up straighter as the audience cheers and three people stand in the front row: Dr. and Mrs. K., and Jodine. Jodine walks up the steps behind her parents wearing a ruffled blue dress. Her body is toned and curvy, and she has a glow about her. She flicks a long coiled strand of hair behind her shoulder.

  I do a quick calculation and smile. Yes. Less than three weeks in her real body, it really is Jodine up there. I hope that glow means she’s enjoying making scrumptious meals with Nettie again, and she’s getting some quality face-time with her parents. Seeing her look healthy is awesome, but it kind of grates on me that she’s been forced to look like this. She’ll be on Leo’s “strict” maintenance program for the entire next year. I’m sure her weight will be closely monitored for the rest of her life.

  Rosa’s right. We can’t all be buff athletes. The government and the Institute are defining what makes a perfect body, forcing us to look a certain way.

  Dr. K. accepts a microphone from Alleger. “Thank you. I’m excited about this campaign, and I fully support Mr. Alleger and his new direction for the WHA. There’s a lot of potential for ERT technology to go awry, and we need to neutralize it. My daughter Jodine would like to speak about this.” He wraps an arm around her shoulders and hands her the microphone.

  Jodine clears her throat, the sound coming out velvety. “Um, hi. I was nearly a casualty of the Reducer program,” she says in an eerily familiar voice. “I’ve lost weight, but in November my original brainmap file was destroyed. The backup files too. If my father hadn’t insisted on keeping a copy, I wouldn’t be standing here tonight. Another girl would be inside my body, living an entirely different life. ERT’s too risky of a procedure to keep using.”

  A chill ripples over me. What they say is true. As brilliant of technology as ERT is, it needs to be banned. There has to be a better way to solve the health care crunch.

  This is a Jodine I’d love to talk to sometime, maybe even tonight. See what else she knows about the Institute. How she feels about the Spares. Find out if she has any of my memories, and if losing weight has changed her life or made her different inside.

  I’m not sure about myself and my own life. I seem to be a confusing blend of Morgan, Jodine, and Rosa. Partly because of residual memories and partly because of everything I’ve been through, but also, as Granddad said back in September, maybe I act differently because I look different.

  I’m Ana Ramos, a whole new person.

  Alleger murmurs in Jodine’s ear. A rosy blush spreads across her face under her freckles.

  “Mr. Alleger would like me to lead you in singing the national anthem, as a pledge to keep this country safe and free. Please rise.”

  Members of the audience surge to their feet. Dr. and Mrs. K. look happy. Proud. Jodine begins the song, the words flowing rich and resonant. The crowd joins in. There’s no musical accompaniment, only the sound of raised, passionate voices. Jodine sings into the microphone, her words coming out strong. And just like when I first tried out the Kowalczyks’ karaoke machine many months ago, her voice gives me the absolute freaking shivers.

  Chapter 34

  The crowd swarms the Crowl Auditorium, alive and humming with conversation. As people filter out the doors and into the night, I scan the room, trying to keep an eye on Alleger and the Kowalczyks. I struggle to move closer, but too many people block my way, clogging the aisles. The Kowalczyks shake hands with Alleger and head toward a back exit.

  My hopes sink. I won’t be able to talk to Jodine like I wanted. Well, maybe I can do that another time if she attends more WHA meetings.

  That leaves Alleger. I have to tell him about the Spares. But a group of people is knotted around him. I’m about to give up when I notice the bronze-skinned woman a few feet from me. I motion her closer.

  “If I could,” I say, “I’d like to meet with Mr. Alleger to tell him something serious and dangerous about The Body Institute.”

  Her eyebrows go up for a second, then she directs me to an empty room by the stage. After about ten minutes, she ushers in Mr. Alleger and leaves.

  He scoots up a chair and leans forward, his eyes intent. I tell him everything. The Spares room. Leo’s involvement. The protesters who aren’t really death-row inmates.

  “Is there something we can do about this?” I ask. “The government is involved, so we can’t get help from there.”

  “We could appeal to a higher authority,” he says. “The International Nations Council is headquartered here in Los Angeles, but I’m afraid they might not believe anything I tell them. Herry hasn’t exactly made the WHA a credible source of information the past few years. We really don’t have hard evidence of this, either, just your personal experiences.”

  I frown. No way. I refuse to accept that nothing can be done. “Dr. Kowalczyk can verify the existence of the Spares and that they’re housed in Seattle.”

  As Alleger nods and taps his finger against his chin in deep thought, a hard and cold weight settles over me. No. I don’t want Dr. K. or even Alleger to be involved with this. There’s only one way to do it.

  I rise to my feet. “Never mind. It’s not safe for you or Dr. Kowalczyk to be the one to blow the lid off this illegal stuff. With the government and its Enforcers involved, it’s not safe for anyone. It has to be done under the radar, totally anonymous. I’ll get the info and some proof to the Nations Council myself.”

  “Are you sure? Please assess the risks and be careful, Miss Ramos,” Alleger says. “If you really do go ahead with this whistle blowing, your best contact there will
be Ambassador Bowman.”

  “That’s helpful, thanks.” With my mind already spinning with plans, I shake his hand and leave the room.

  Over the next week, I prepare for my trip to the Nations Council headquarters. Vonn helps me. We make sure we don’t do anything related to the task on our phones or with our ID chips, to stay untraceable. To plot my course across the city, I study MT schedules while standing at bus shelters. For my anonymous letter, since I can’t send an email, I visit a local pawn shop and select an old-fashioned print book like the kind Granddad keeps on his shelves. I don’t use my ID chip to purchase it. The shop owner agrees to swap me for the earrings I’m wearing.

  At my apartment, I slice a blank page from the back of the book and compose a letter with snips of words and letters from the novel. In a ransom-note style that I once saw in an old movie, I glue the words onto the page with a paste made from flour and water:

  Ambassador Bowman—

  At the Seattle branch of The Body Institute, a high-security area exists behind the suspended animation room. This area houses bodies called Spares that Director Leo Behr uses when a Loaner body dies. He claims these bodies are all harvested from death-row inmates. THIS IS A LIE.

  If you will compare numbers of inmates with the high number of bodies in that room, you’ll find they don’t match. Also, the bodies of at least three WHA protesters who attacked a teen girl at the Los Angeles branch on September 30 are stored there: A balding man, a stout wavy-haired woman, and a bearded man. The date on their capsules read October 1, just one day after the attack. They can be found in Row E. Judging from online articles about their arrest, their names appear to be Peter Sandella, Marcy Willaby, and Rick Leymund.

  I am writing anonymously, since the government and its Enforcers seem to be involved. Please help correct this wrong.

  —A concerned citizen who knows too much.

  I make an envelope from more blank pages from the book, seal the letter inside, and inhale a tired but resolute breath. I’ll incinerate the tattered book somewhere, soon. I have to say, right now I agree with Granddad about the inconvenience of a society that uses virtual credits instead of paper currency. But the hassle of finding paper is better than the risk of using anything electronic.