by M. D. Cooper
A countdown appeared on the window, and Tanis checked her harness, ready for the vomit-inducing ride that was velocity matching with the ring.
Though the Marsian ring—imaginatively named ‘Mars 1’—orbited the planet at geosynchronous altitude, it needed to rotate around the planet just over eight times a day to produce a comfortable—for Terrans, at least—0.9g.
What that translated to was just over fifty-thousand kilometers per hour of angular velocity.
While the four massive elevator shafts that held the ring in place did so by sliding along huge maglev rails, the passenger and freight cars split off onto ‘gently’ arching maglev lines, where they accelerated to match the ring.
There was a slight shudder as the passenger car shifted off onto the spur line, and Tanis was pushed back into her seat as the car worked its way up to five gs.
She always found it wild—and a bit insane—that whoever had built the elevator cars had thought it would be a good idea to give the passengers a view of what was happening.
Especially because there was always someone who screamed in terror as the car began to race toward the ring, the feeling of Mars’ 0.38gs completely lost in a rapid ascent that turned ‘rising’ into a feeling of falling.
Right at the point when the car’s track began to match the curvature of the ring, all direction lost meaning. Up became down and forward became backward, as the car inverted and then spun for the final velocity matching.
The thing that Tanis loved most was how the feeling of acceleration, simply faded away, replaced by a gentle tugging at her feet as the delta-v became zero.
“All passengers, we have arrived at M1R Surface Terminus 103. You may now remove your seat restraints and exit the cabin. Welcome to Mars 1.”
Tanis pushed up on her restraint and rose from her seat. All around her, the other passengers were following suit. Most were fine, but a couple seemed wobbly on their feet.
It surprised her that the travelers didn’t have the mods to handle the disorientation, but she knew from experience that Mars had its share of low-tech folks who liked to live with as few mods as possible.
Tanis—and, more importantly, her parents—did not have such a mindset; she’d been born with mods, only getting more as time went on. Add to that the alterations the military had made to her body, and she was almost as far from stock human as one could get—at least while still appearing normal on the outside.
Tanis sighed as she pulled her rucksack from the netting beneath her seat and turned toward the exit, trying to decide if it was even worth replying to Darla’s suggestion.
* * * * *
“I look like a pom-pom,” Tanis muttered as she turned back and forth in front of the holomirror. “And why does this upscale boutique not have simulated dressing rooms? Trying on clothes before you buy them feels so archaic.”
Tanis glared at her reflection, wishing she’d never let Darla bully her into coming to the store, let alone convince her to try on the dress.
“Do you need a hand, miss?” a voice called from outside the dressing room, and Tanis tensed almost as much as when in combat.
“No! Uh, I mean, no. I’m fine, just taking it in.”
“OK. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
“It’s auto-fit,” Tanis muttered. “What could she possibly help me with?”
She looked back at the holomirror, shaking her head at the image it displayed. The light pink material was very tight around the waist, drawing her in to the verge of discomfort. From there, it rose to cup her breasts before erupting above them in a white and pink explosion that Tanis could only describe as ‘willowy cloth feathers’. Below the waist, the same feathers formed a near sphere that ended just above her knees.
Beneath the soft feathers, the dress had formed an almost rubbery ball to hold its shape—one that held her knees only a few centimeters apart, making it nearly impossible to take more than mincing steps.
Tanis bit back a caustic remark, not wanting to burst Darla’s bubble—so to speak.
She sat in the chair, and sure enough, the bottom of the ball flattened out enough that she wasn’t worried she’d roll off onto the floor, though her rear was still several centimeters higher than it should be, making her center of balance feel off.
Tanis rose carefully, wobbling slightly as the dress resumed its spherical shape, once again pinning her legs together.
Tanis couldn’t help but laugh.
Darla snorted a laugh.
Tanis had, but she’d paid them little heed. Most body mod fashions were replaced by the next must-have mod in a few months. The majority of people could barely keep up, which made the general population look like a smorgasbord of the last few years’ hot trends.
Despite the ability for anyone to turn themselves into just about anything, most people opted for something pretty close to a stock human appearance.
Tanis couldn’t disagree with Darla’s logic, though she knew the AI was really just using it as an excuse. She’d been playing fashion consultant even before Harm Ellis had recruited them to Division 99.
She blew out a long breath as she pulled the dress down.
Tanis had a sneaking suspicion that Darla was up to something, but she knew that the only way out was through. She pulled the mirrorsheath out of its protective packaging and flipped it over, looking for the fastener slide.
“Great, one of these,” Tanis muttered as she stretched out the neck hole and stepped in. “Stuff like this always makes me feel like I’m vacuum sealed.”
Darla only made an encouraging sound, and Tanis slid th
e rest of the way into the sheath, getting her feet into the ends to find that the covering even separated her toes. A minute later, she’d gotten her arms in and wriggled her fingers to the ends of the gloves.
“I don’t get why they make things like this when they don’t need to be airtight,” she complained. “Stars, even civilian vacuum-safe gear uses fasteners.”
Tanis turned to the holomirror and almost had to shade her eyes. From the neck down, it appeared as though she’d been dipped in mercury and polished to a mirror shine. Her body was so reflective that her torso and the holomirror created an infinity reflection.
“And the dress over this?” she asked in disbelief. “This can’t be a real fashion right now.”
Darla flashed images of popular vid-stars, athletes, and politicians in similar outfits across the Link.
Darla’s words were cut off by the door to the dressing room opening behind Tanis, and a figure entering.
“I don’t need—” her words were cut off as she came face to face with herself.
Tanis reacted instantly, slamming the heel of her hand into her doppelganger’s wrist, and then aiming a blow at her chin. The pistol was knocked free from her attacker’s hand, but the other strike was blocked.
Neither Tanis spoke as they exchanged a flurry of attacks, blocks, and counters in the small space, dancing around the duffle on the floor and the ball-dress draped over the chair.
The doppelganger grabbed her calf, but Tanis was able to wrench her leg free, aided by the slick finish on the mirrorsheath.
Darla’s words came just as Tanis swept her attacker’s leg, and the woman—or whatever—fell to the floor with a loud thud.
“Is everything OK in there, miss?” the salesperson’s plaintive voice came from outside once more.
“Yes, just slipped. Don’t worry, nothing was damaged.”
“Maybe I—” the door began to open, and Tanis slammed her hand into it, pushing it shut.
“No.”
The salesperson gave an alarmed squeak, and then muttered something about being pushy, but she didn’t make any further attempts to enter the dressing room.
Releasing a passel of nano to keep an eye on the salesperson, Tanis knelt down to examine her attacker. She was dressed in the same sundress Tanis had worn into the store, and so far as she could tell, the person on the floor was a perfect mirror image of herself.
Tanis sat back on her heels, nearly slipping onto the floor in her frictionless outfit. “Who would send something like that after me?”
‘Maybe?” Tanis replied. “Seems like a lot of trouble—and expense.”
“Where exactly are you going with this?”
“What about me?” Tanis asked. “This thing probably has instructions to dispose of the evidence.”
“You realize that you say that whenever I specifically won’t love something.”
Darla ignored her.
* * * * *
Five minutes later, Tanis was stuffed inside the horrid dress’s ball and hung back up on the dressing room’s racking machine that would return the dress to its display location.
Then the Infiltrator Chameleon cleaned up the scene, grabbed Tanis’s rucksack, and left without a word.
Tanis had begun wriggling out of the hole that the IC doppelganger had cut in the dress; once she got an arm free, her body slid out and landed on the floor.
Tanis rose to her feet and looked around, realizing that the ball dress was the only other piece of clothing in the room.
She pulled it off the rack and activated its self-repair cycle. “You know, Darla, if I didn’t know better, I’d think that you orchestrated this whole thing just to get me to buy the dress.”
The AI snorted.
Tanis wriggled into the dress and gave a defeated sigh as it reformed into its ‘proper’ shape. “I suppose ‘Claire’ would be the best cover to use—she’s got that whole debutante thing going on. You know, I suspect you aided Harm in making this cover.”
Tanis wasn’t certain that Darla was being honest, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now.
“Here goes,” she said, while drawing in a deep breath and steeling herself for the facial appearance alterations.
She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth as her face’s bone and muscle structure changed to match that of Claire, a wealthy woman who owned several asteroid mining companies that operated in the Oort Cloud—well beyond the range of easy inquiry—and liked to travel about the Sol System, spending money like it grew on trees.
“Guh, that hurts,” she muttered as the transformation completed.
The woman in the mirror staring back at Tanis had vaguely similar features to her own—which made the transformation easier—but Claire’s jaw was a bit rounder, and her brow smoother. The woman’s cheekbones were higher, and her lips were fuller, with a slight sneer even at rest.
As Tanis looked herself over, her hair shifted from blonde to black, growing a few centimeters in the process.
“Looks good,” she said while turning her head side to side.
“What now?”
Tanis pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything as
she reached into the package the mirrorsheath had come in, and pulled out a gleaming silver mask.
Just as she was about to put it on, the door pushed open and the waifish salesperson came in, a scowl on her face. “If that woman dama—”
She stopped when her eyes settled on Tanis, and her mouth fell open.
“Who—? Stars…if you people are going to fuck in the changing rooms, at least let me know so I can wait ‘til you both leave.” Her eyes took in Tanis, still holding the mask in her hands.
“She…ahhh…left with my clothes,” Tanis said sheepishly, then caught herself and gave the salesperson an indignant glare.
The salesperson rolled her eyes. “Well, after whatever you two got up to in here, you’re buying that! I’m not cleaning and restocking it.”
“That was my plan,” Tanis said while looking down her nose at the salesperson. “Are you going to crowd me in here all day, or are you going to get me some suitable shoes to go with this?”
She added the same tone to her voice that she reserved for errant crewmembers, increasing in volume so much by the end that the poor salesperson almost jumped as she scurried from the room, nodding furiously.
Tanis put the mask on, glancing in the mirror to see it mold to her face, giving her the look of an automaton—something that she found more than a little unnerving. She took a deep breath, telling herself that she was no longer Tanis, she was now Claire—and that it was perfectly normal for Claire to dress like this.
Tanis nodded absently as she waddled out of the dressing room, then stopped and accessed the dress’s interface, pulling up its menu on her HUD. Sure enough, the ‘gait restriction’ was on the highest setting.
Who buys a dress with settings that make it impossible to walk? she wondered, while reducing the value to the point where she could get a dozen centimeters between her knees.