by Mark Wandrey
“But,” she said as the field reached her waist, and she sat up. She moved too fast, and she saw spots in front of her eyes. The blanket fell away to reveal a new cybernetic arm. It moved just like her old one, answering the long-learned muscle memory any five-year-old child possessed. She raised the hand to her face to examine it. The hand had three fingers and a thumb set slightly further forward than her old one. The arm was a dull, metallic gray that contrasted starkly with her skin where it joined her body, just below her armpit. She saw some scar tissue and a strange spider web of metallic filaments visible just below her skin.
“We didn’t have the technology to make an arm for you,” Dr. Bane explained, “so we used the closest Concordian-manufactured arm we could find. Cybernetic Medicine is my specialty. It’s my understanding that the species that used this type of arm is long gone, lost in the halls of time. It’s probably been extinct for a million years. However, a warehouse on a distant world has a sizable stock of replacement parts for them. Their biology and physiology are remarkably compatible with our own.” He gestured at the limb she was flexing. “It’s like these parts were designed for humans.”
“It only feels funny where my arm ends, and it begins,” she said.
“That’s partly because you are still healing,” he told her. “Soon, a remarkable chemical compound that infuses the cybernetic nerves will allow them to blend with your own. Once that knitting is complete, you’ll never know it’s not your arm, unless you look at it. Of course, it will always be a little strange. It’s not you, after all.”
“I understand.” She let the arm rest by her side.
“You shouldn’t feel sad,” Dr. Bane told her. “Your new arm is superior to the one you were born with in many ways.”
“Except it’s gray and has a three-fingered hand.” The doctor nodded and shrugged.
“Here,” he said and handed her a metal tube he’d been holding. She took it with her right hand without thinking. It felt like a simple metal pipe, about a millimeter thick and twenty millimeters long. “Squeeze it.” She did. “Hard,” he told her. Minu bore down on it. To her shock, the tube crumpled like a toothpaste tube. She dropped it over the side of the bed as though it were suddenly hot. It clanked as it hit the floor in testament to its true nature. “Physically, your new arm is roughly sixteen times as strong as a normal human arm for your sex and build. Structurally, it’s about a hundred times as tough. It’ll stop bullets easily, and the skin is tough enough for you to punch through brick. So that you don’t injure yourself, it has a tiny brain that interprets your instructions. While you could easily lift a thousand kilos with the arm, the hand will drop the load long before you pull your shoulder out of its socket. Civilian versions have automatic limiters in place.”
“Amazing,” she said and examined the palm. Sure enough, it was undamaged after crushing the pipe.
“You have to really think about pushing yourself for it to exert more than normal force. You wouldn’t want to pulverize your left hand while washing up for dinner, would you?” He laughed, amused by his own humor.
“Shall we continue?” Dr. Tasker asked. Dr. Bane looked self-conscious and stepped back. Minu sat and waited patiently until the field was completely gone, and she could move her legs. She turned and placed her feet on the floor. Two nurses, a man and a woman, moved to help her as she stood for the first time in many days. She was only a little unsteady.
“How long was I in this bed?” she asked.
“Two weeks,” Dr. Tasker answered.
Minu grunted in understanding. Once she was sure she wouldn’t tumble over, she reached down and lifted her nightgown. She was only mildly surprised to realize she was naked underneath. After the Trials, she wasn’t terribly embarrassed about exposing herself, and the male nurse, being a gentleman, quickly looked away. As she expected, she had a jagged scar on her abdomen that was about twenty centimeters long, just to the left of her navel. But there were also two neat, straight, and much shorter scars, one on either side of the long one, and they’d shaved her groin. She used her new cybernetic index finger to trace the long scar.
“We had to operate to repair the damage to your intestines,” Dr. Tasker said. “We usually shave patients a quarter-meter from any incisions. It’s standard procedure.”
“I see. How did the wound happen?” she asked, testing the story woven in her absence.
“I understand you hit a jagged rock when your raft overturned. You don’t remember?” Minu didn’t answer; instead she lowered her gown and took a few tentative steps. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, now that I can get up.”
“Good. You have an interview this afternoon.” Icy cold fear raced through her blood.
“Interview? With who?”
“The Chosen Leadership Council, of course,” said Tasker.
“But I thought…”
“What? That just because you’re injured, you’re out of the running? As the Daughter of the First, you should realize that a Chosen need not be physically perfect. And as Dr. Bane just told you, your arm is superior in many ways. It may end up serving you well, should you be Chosen.”
“Do I have to charge it, or something?” she asked Dr. Bane.
The man chuckled and placed a data chip on the nightstand by her bed. “Here are the technical specifications. The power in your arm is generated by a Mark 39 micro-EPC, which should last a lifetime.”
“There’s an EPC in here? Wow!” She began to look at the arm as more than just a symbol of her failure in the Trials or a reminder that she’d killed someone. That there was a Concordian-manufactured EPC in her body was incredible.
“If you’re feeling well enough,” Dr. Tasker said and opened a small closet, “there’s a uniform in here. Please get dressed. I can have a nurse stay if you—”
“No, I’ll be fine.” He nodded, and everyone left the room. Minu dressed somewhat mechanically, stopping part of the way through when she realized the new arm worked without thought. She didn’t pay attention to the clothes, beyond the fact that they fit. The only difficulty she had was tying the laces on her boots; her three fingers kept fumbling the laces, and she couldn’t understand why.
Dr. Tasker hadn’t said how long she had before the meeting, so when she finished dressing, she scooped up the chip and slid it into the room’s computer. It only took her a few minutes to figure out why she’d had a hard time with the laces.
“Some patients find that certain lifelong motor reflex skills, such as brushing their teeth, scratching unseen areas, or tying shoelaces can be difficult for a short time,” it read. “This is attributable to the reduction in the number of fingers from four to three, and is, more often than not, quickly overcome. The computer within the limb automatically sorts out the nerve impulses trying to control the missing finger. Eventually, the brain discards the superfluous instructions permanently.”
Minu held up her new hand and looked at it. She couldn’t help thinking the three fingers made it look somewhat cartoonish. “I wonder if I can find some flesh-colored spray paint?”
She finished tying her boots, concentrating on using only her thumbs and index fingers. The boots were modern and comfortable, unlike the simple shoes she’d worn during the Trials. She stood and looked at herself in the mirror, just as the door opened, and a nurse stuck her head in.
“You ready?” she asked. Minu smoothed the front of the jumpsuit over her scarred and slightly tender abdomen and nodded. “No problem tying the boots? Dr. Bane said you might need help.”
“I figured it out, thanks.”
“You must be chiseled from stone,” the nurse said in amazement.
“Why do you say that?”
“After that horrible accident, you get a new arm, and you don’t miss a beat. You’re ready for more!”
Minu thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. The nurse was almost ten years older. A mature woman was amazed at her, a fifteen-year-old girl? Maybe I am ready for more! “I kind
a thought you were Chosen,” she told the nurse.
“Me? Oh, no way. Not a chance. I thought about it, but I have an uncle who was in the Trials twenty or so years ago. They messed him up so badly, he doesn’t talk about them very much. How many women have there been? A dozen? You’ve got some big shoes to fill.”
Minu looked down at her boots and tested the feel. “These seem to fit me just fine.” The older woman looked at her in a way no one had ever looked at her before. Minu realized the look was profound respect.
“They’re waiting for you,” the nurse said and held the door open as Minu walked through. A short way down the gleaming, white corridor another door opened, and Dr. Tasker waved her inside. It was a simple room. A semi-circular conference table sat in the center, with empty seats arrayed along the rounded side and one seat on the long, flat side. She knew where to sit before he showed her.
“Your health is of primary concern; more so even than this interview,” Dr. Tasker explained. “You may ask for a recess at any time without it having a bearing on the disposition of your status.”
“I understand.” Minu took her seat and poured herself a glass of water. It was ice cold and refreshing. The doctor, apparently satisfied she wasn’t going to keel over, took one of the seats on her left. The only other door in the room opened, and people began filing in.
“You may remain seated,” the first one who entered said. She instantly recognized Second Among the Chosen Jacob from their earlier meetings. Everyone entering wore the signature jumpsuits of the Chosen, black as the depths of space. When she was a little girl, her father had told her the jumpsuits were like black armbands of mourning. “We serve to pay our debt,” he’d told her. “The color is symbolic of the pain our people suffer living on this alien world and not on Earth.” She’d never thought of Bellatrix as alien. It was the world of her birth, as it was her father’s and the twenty generations before him. Sometimes grownups could be so confusing.
It took very little time for the room to fill. She counted ten Chosen, including the doctor and Dram. The space directly opposite her remained empty. Once they were all seated and some helped themselves to water, the interview began.
“Minu Alma,” Dram said, “you are here, having successfully completed all phases of the Chosen Trials.” She looked dumbfounded. “You have a question?”
“I thought I failed the last part.”
“Why would you think that?”
“We never found the objective!”
“Young lady, there was no objective.” There was a disturbing twinkle in Dram’s eye, and Minu almost spat on the floor. “The last segment of the Trials tests several characteristics of the applicant, including problem solving, endurance, and sheer stubbornness. You passed on all accounts. Thus, here we are. Do you understand?”
“So you allowed us to wander around until we fell over, to see if we were stupid enough to keep going?”
“There is a fine line between stupidity and bravery.” Jacob spoke, and several of the others chuckled. “You held your group together better than most of the others.”
“Most?” someone asked.
“All,” Dram said. “Few would have continued to follow the river once it became impassable on foot. Yet, you persevered.”
“But someone died,” she said, her insides knotting up.
“Are you trying to talk yourself out of this?” Jacob asked.
“No Chosen,” she said and looked down.
“That’s more like it. For the last week, we’ve reviewed your file, and we’ve come to a decision. Only one final step remains. You must be confirmed by our masters.”
Minu looked up, her heart racing. The lights dimmed to half their former brightness, and the door swung open, revealing an inhuman shape. The being walked on four spindly backwards-hinged legs and stood barely taller than her. It entered the room with silent grace and considered her with unblinking, almond-shaped eyes of infinitely deep blackness. The Tog studied her, as she studied him.
Minu immediately rose from her chair and bowed low enough to almost touch her forehead to the floor. Her healing abdominal muscles screamed in protest, and her head spun. She was afraid she’d tumble over and crash into the table. She pushed the pain aside and stood up. The Tog inclined its vaguely-humanoid head ever so slightly in reply. They had no mouth or ears, only eyes and lizard-like nose slits for breathing. Her father said he believed they were completely deaf and communicated through a combination of hand symbols, smells, and bio-luminescence.
“You may resume your seat,” the Tog said through a device resembling an ornate necklace hanging around hser neck. The asexual Tog were addressed by hse or hser. The Tog’s hands wove intricately as subtle flashes of light came from its fingertips. Its arms were like tentacles, composed of dozens of tiny bones held together by a complex web of muscles. Hse settled on all four limbs in the empty spot opposite Minu. With great difficulty, Minu sat down, wishing her father had mentioned this aspect of the Trials.
“Minu Alma, offspring of First Among the Chosen, is who I speak with?” hse asked.
“Correct, Concordian master.”
“Your performance in the Trials was exceptional. Your desire to be Chosen must be overwhelming! Few have gone as far, or suffered as much misfortune, in pursuit of our service.”
“It is all I have wished for my entire life.”
The Tog was quiet for a long moment before continuing. “How has the loss of a member of your team affected you?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question, Concordian Master.”
“Someone who followed you, whom you led during the Trials, died. How has this affected your ability to lead?”
“I guess that’s a question I hadn’t considered.”
“Consider it now.”
Minu tried to think of a good answer; she tried to think of any answer. As the seconds dragged by, nothing came to mind, and she knew she had to say something. She kept seeing the look on the face of the boy she stabbed, but she pushed it away. “It would cause me to consider carefully the possible outcomes of my decisions as leader.”
“Would you make the same decisions again?”
“If the situation was identical?”
“Correct.”
“Yes,” she said without realizing she was going to say it. Suddenly, the uncertainty was gone. She remembered fully that Ivan’s group had attacked hers, and she’d responded the only way she could. It was life or death. She couldn’t question the decisions she’d made, where she’d led them, or how it had ended. “Did I make mistakes? Without a doubt. Will I make the same mistakes again? No. Will I make new mistakes in the years ahead? Undoubtedly. But this has not shaken my willingness, my ability, nor my desire to be Chosen!” She set her jaw and crossed her arms, unaware that the cybernetic arm was on top, highly visible against her jet-black jump suit.
“Very well, I have made my decision.” They all rose, and Minu followed their lead. “Minu Alma, you are Chosen.” With no further fanfare, hse turned and walked from the room. From behind, hse looks remarkably like a tailless horse, Minu thought.
The shock of hse naming her Chosen dissipated when she looked around the room and noticed the expressions on many of the other Chosen’s faces. Most looked surprised or confused, but Dr. Tasker looked quite pleased, and Dram looked positively smug.
Second Jacob bowed to her and affected a smile. “Welcome, Chosen Minu Alma.” The others echoed the welcome with varying levels of enthusiasm. “Your class already departed for training at Steven’s Pass. A secretary will meet you outside with your orders and a travel voucher so you may join them.”
“Thank you, Chosen Jacob.”
“You are Chosen now, you may call me Second.” She nodded, and everyone turned to leave. Last out was Dram, who gave her a small nod and a wink.
“What the fuck was that about?” she wondered as she left the darkened conference room.
* * *
The conference room walls weren’t
solid. They were made of opaque controllable moliplas, just like the portal chamber in Tranquility. After Minu departed, they reverted to their semi-transparent, default state. Anyone still in the room could see that ten Chosen and one Tog attended the Choosing of Minu Alma, but many more witnessed it from outside, including two more Tog.
The Tog who’d spoken to Minu joined the other two, accompanied by Second Jacob, Dram, and several other highly-placed Chosen. The Tog touched prime-fingers (rough equivalents to human middle fingers) in a customary greeting. “It is done, then,” said the one who was in the room.
“I must protest,” snapped Second Jacob with as much control as he could muster. To the other humans, he was obviously quivering with rage. It was anyone’s guess whether the Tog could tell as they turned their unblinking gazes on him. The feeling of being a germ in a petri dish was unavoidable.
“We are aware of your protests, Second,” said the first Tog, “and we have noted them.”
“Noted and ignored,” Second Jacob persisted. The other Chosen nodded in agreement, except for Dram, who remained impassive. Dr. Tasker moved up behind them and quietly listened. No one noticed his arrival.
“She is in no condition to be Chosen,” said one of Second Jacob’s supporters.
“She can barely walk!” agreed another. “And she may never be the same after suffering that kind of trauma!”
“Are any of us the same?” asked Dram in his deep voice. “The Trials change you.”
“But for the women, girls really, they are unjustly hard,” still another complained.
“Physically, she is recovering well,” Dr. Tasker said, causing several Chosen to look at him in surprise.
“As well as possible,” Second Jacob growled.
“This argument is based on your human concern about sexuality?” The speaker was one of the Tog who’d remained silent thus far. It was difficult for humans to tell one Tog from another, as the only difference between them seemed to be subtle color variations in their extremely fine fur. Even more challenging was the fact that most of the color variations were invisible to the human eye. The Tog who spoke was a vivid shade of green with a small dark patch where a chin would have been.