Body Politic
by Philip J. Lees
The skin color was just right, but my breasts were too big. I’d ordered oranges, or maybe grapefruit, but definitely not cantaloupe.
“What the hell is this?” I indicated the offending parts.
“RTFM,” Dr. Welch snapped without turning around. She had her back to me and was pounding away on a keyboard like it was a steel drum.
I didn’t need to read the manual. Manuals were for beginners and I’d been this way enough times before to know what’s what. So I closed my eyes, flipped through some menus and eventually found a slider sitting at about two thirds of max. I pulled it down a ways and felt my chest deflate. Cool! Judging from the scale I should be able to manage anything from Satsuma all the way up to watermelon.
Before you go out on a mission you get to pick the body you’ll come back in if anything goes seriously wrong. I’d decided it would be fun to be a woman again—I hadn’t done that since ‘53. It looked like being even more fun than I’d expected.
I played around in front of the mirror, fiddling with controls that varied my vitals—chest, waist, hips—until I found a combination that fit with my height. I was tall for a woman and had no desire to be either a fashion scarecrow or a Brunhilde. Satisfied, I hit ‘Save’ and shut the menus down. They would be there later if I changed my mind.
Things had moved on a lot since last time. I wondered how long I’d been out.
“What year is it, doc?”
“Sixty two.”
Three years. Not too bad, especially when you considered the alternative. Sometimes you could be kept in storage for more than double that if things got busy. They must have started this body growing right after I got zeroed. You couldn’t hurry it too much, even if people were waiting in line. I looked to be about twenty-three, which was just fine. Much younger and people didn’t take you seriously. In my job I couldn’t afford to waste time on things like that. Anyway, I’d gained five years or so—I couldn’t complain.
Not that I would complain, anyway. The Company looked after you. That was what kept you going back, time after time, into situations where your survival chances were ‘prejudiced’, as the contract phrased it. If you did get out in one piece it felt great. If you didn’t, then you never remembered it, naturally—that part never made it into store.
“Name?” Dr. Welch asked.
“Huh?”
“What name should I enter?”
“Oh.” I thought for a moment. I felt like indulging myself and I suppose I was feeling a bit frivolous.
“Marylise,” I said, rolling the syllables over my tongue. “Marylise Bonnevie.” I spelled it out.
Dr. Welch snorted and rattled on the keys again. “Getting fancy, aren’t we? I hope you don’t live to regret it.”
Charming! I thought. I tossed my head, feeling the russet hair brush around my shoulders. Some things you never forgot.
“Clothes?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. I could be just as brusque as her.
“In the back.” She banged one more key and turned to look at me for the first time— brown hair cut in untidy bangs, muddy eyes, bad skin. “Your ID’s printing now. You’ll find it in the slot on the table. Close the door on your way out.”
I didn’t blame her really. She’d been nurturing this body for the last thirty months, tailoring it to the design she’d been given. As soon as it was ready she’d had to hand it over to me, knowing that she’d probably never see it again. It couldn’t feel good.
I found the plastic ID card where she’d told me, but I left it there until I had somewhere to put it. I didn’t even thumb it to check the credit limit—I knew it would be more than adequate. That was my public ID, of course. My Company ID was built into this body, encoded into the chip under the skin at the back of my neck, matched with my new DNA. No chance of forgery there.
There wasn’t much of a choice, but I found some underwear that fit and a pants suit that didn’t look too bad. The pants were a bit snug around the waist, so I accessed the chip again and took a couple of centimeters off my middle until they felt comfortable. That would do for the time being. When I went shopping I’d buy a size larger. They hadn’t figured out how to adjust feet yet, so I forced mine into some shoes that were soft enough that the tightness didn’t matter too much, slipped the ID in my pocket, then let myself out. I thought of leaving the door open, just to annoy Doc Welch, but decided against it. Like I said, it wasn’t really her fault.
As a man, I’d never enjoyed shopping for clothes, but as Marylise I spent over an hour trying things on in front of the mirror, picking color combinations that suited my pale mahogany complexion—a good choice, I decided—it went very well with the hair. Then makeup, which I applied there and then as soon as the clerk had whisked my card through the scanner. I already looked gorgeous and I could play around with my features later on when nobody was looking and get them just right. Marylise was having fun!
The fun lasted right until I left the store, walked around the corner and found myself being mugged. I took out one of the men without too much trouble, but Marylise’s reflexes weren’t yet quite in sync with my old ones and by that time the other man and the woman had me in a double arm lock and were putting the pressure on. I made myself relax—no sense making them inflict more damage than necessary—and then I felt the hypo spray puff against my bare upper arm. I was vaguely aware that the guy I’d put down was getting to his feet.
“Don’t hurt him,” I heard the woman say. Now that was odd. I could feel my senses slipping away and I was no longer in any shape to hurt anybody. So who was she talking to? I carried that question into the blackness.
§
I’ve been trained to wake up without showing it—it sometimes gives you an edge—so by the time I opened my eyes I’d already checked out my situation as best I could. The chip told me it was 18:20 on the same day, which meant I’d been unconscious for a little over two hours. I also knew my GPS coordinates, but that information wasn’t likely to be useful. Nor was the barometric pressure, and as for the temperature and humidity I could feel those for myself. The air was warm and damp, with a faint chemical smell. I was sitting in a chair with tight straps round my wrists and ankles. Another strap held my head back against a rest and there was a pressure against the back of my neck. Not good. I was also naked. Damn! I hoped they hadn’t ruined those new clothes getting them off me.
“Uuuhhh!” I said. “Hnnnn.” Although I was now fully conscious I intended to act woozy for a while longer.
“Well, Joe,” a voice said from behind me, “you gave us a bit of a runaround.” There were footsteps and a man came to stand in front of me—tall, slim, dark skinned—I’d never seen him before.
“We didn’t expect a woman,” he said. “That was a nice touch.”
I looked around as best I could without moving my head. We were in a room about four meters wide, cement floor, dusty, no windows that I could see. Whatever light there was came from behind me. I tried to appear alarmed. It wasn’t difficult.
“Uh, where am I?” I said, rolling my eyes and trying to make my voice sound as weak and scared as possible. The man just laughed.
“Nice try, Joe,” he said, “but cut the pretense. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all me.”
“Why do you keep calling me Joe? My name’s Marylise. Marylise Bonnevie. You can check my ID.” Marylise had quite a pleasant voice, with a natural huskiness that I tried to compress into a squeak. I wasn’t giving up yet.
“I already did. Quite a name you’ve picked for yourself this time. You never used to be so imaginative.”
He knew a lot more than he should. This was serious.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Not very original, but it would have to do.
“You’re wasting time, Joe. My time and yours. We both know who you are.”
“I tell you, my name’s not Joe.” Or Jo, for that matter. I’d automatically assumed he was talking about a guy. I would have to get used to thinking differently. Either way, I’d never been called that.
“I think he believes it,” another voice said from behind me. I recognized that voice. It was the woman who’d put me to sleep. “The monitor says he’s telling the truth.”
That was what I’d been afraid of when I felt that pressure on my neck. They must have hooked into the chip somehow. These people definitely knew more than they should. Time to fess up, I decided. I gave up the scared act and pulled my face together.
“Okay, who are you people?”
The man in front of me was frowning.
“You mean you really don’t recognize me?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Should I?”
“True,” the woman’s voice said. “Unless he’s found a way to fake out the monitor.”
“Not this quickly,” the man said. He tapped his cheek bone twice with one finger and I knew for sure I’d never seen him before, even disguised. I wouldn’t forget that gesture.
“This makes things more complicated,” the woman said. She walked round to stand next to her accomplice. She was shorter than me, with close cropped blonde hair and an angular face that seemed set in a severe expression. Sit her on a bar stool next to Marylise, I thought complacently, and not a guy in the place would give her a look. But that would have to wait. While she wasn’t following the monitor I had to make the most of it. I mentally set some search parameters and started them running through the database.
“They must have wiped it all,” the man said. He turned to the woman. “Can you upload the backup?” She scowled.
“It’s a mess,” she said. “If I do a straight upload we’ll lose the information we’re after. It’ll just be overwritten. I’ll have to think about it.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. The chip in my neck was one of the most secure devices possible. Monitoring it was one thing. Messing with its contents was quite another. I hadn’t yet had time to really enjoy being Marylise and I was beginning to think I wasn’t going to. I wasn’t even on a mission, so I couldn’t be sure if the Company had kept a backup of my memory store or just deleted it after transfer to this body. No. They wouldn’t do that. Would they?
“Look,” I said, “can we discuss this? Anyway, I need to use the bathroom.”
“No you don’t,” the man said without looking at me.
The woman was looking at me, though. Quite intently. I didn’t like that look.
“Why don’t you tell me your names,” I suggested. “It might ring a bell.”
She laughed, if you could call it that—a short, barking exhalation. As she did so, a name popped out of the database and into my mind, along with an image of the first page of a file, with a two-dee image on it. That was her all right. Renata Sorenson. A few seconds later I had the man, too, so I quickly erased all trace of the search. The monitor should show nothing of what I’d just done.
There must have been something in my expression, though, because both of them were now looking at me suspiciously. It wasn’t surprising my face had given something away. Renata Sorenson and Pavel Klimsky. These people were top level agents of the Consortium!
Sorenson walked behind me again and the pressure against the back of my neck increased suddenly. I strained against the straps, but I might as well have been trying to shift Mount Everest. Then there was that hypo spray draft again.
§
When I came to for the second time that day I was still in the chair, but the straps were loose and I could see my clothes on a table by the door, neatly folded. It was now 21:30. I was relieved, not to say surprised, to find myself awake and uninjured—the Consortium wasn’t usually so generous. With that thought came suspicion. What were they up to? I got myself to my feet and dressed, pondering. I would have to watch out. Something was going on and until I found out what it was I would move very carefully.
The Consortium was the organization that the Company had been created to oppose. Unlike us, they had no codes of practice, they achieved their nefarious purposes unhindered by any ethical considerations. As a mere operative I didn’t get to see the broader picture, of course, but we had all heard the stories. I had no memory of any previous personal encounters with their agents, which meant that any such contact must have been fatal.
So why was I still alive?
The room I was in turned out to be in the basement of an abandoned office building in a poor part of town. No place for Marylise! Oh, I was sure I could deal with anything that neighborhood could throw at me—I just didn’t feel like it. So I walked quickly through the streets until I got to the restaurant district, guided by the map the chip provided on request. As far as I could tell, nobody was following me.
My destination hadn’t been a conscious decision, but the signs and picture windows with folk at tables reminded me that Marylise was hungry. I picked the place that offered the biggest variety. One problem with a new body was that you could never be sure what kind of food would suit—your tastes sometimes changed.
It was a smart joint with maroon tablecloths and small lamps dotted around for ‘atmosphere’. I found a free table in a corner close to the kitchen door, from where I could watch the entrance and bolt out the back way if necessary. Not paranoia, just prudence. I thumbed through the menu. Asparagus felt all right. Chicken Kiev—why not? Fries or rice? Rice I decided, for no special reason. Mineral water. No alcohol for Marylise—I didn’t know her tolerance.
The meal came quickly and I tucked in, keeping one eye on the door. It tasted good and I was halfway through it, chewing on the tasty, tender chicken and enjoying the aroma of garlic, when my vision seemed to shift. It was like waking up from a dream, or one of those moments when you’re driving along a route you know well and suddenly realize you have no recollection of the last mile or so. Out of reflex, I spat the food back onto the plate. What was I doing eating meat? I was a vegetarian! Confused, sickened and dizzy I groped my way to the bathroom where I gratefully threw up into the toilet bowl.
After a few minutes I felt better. I came out of the cubicle and saw a guy standing by the washbasins, staring at me strangely. A guy—I was in the Gents’. Oh well.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes straying towards my neckline.
“I’ll be fine,” I said shortly, not encouraging him. I’d have liked to check myself out in the mirror but it was better to get out of there right away. I found the waiter, stood there while he ran my card through the scanner.
“Didn’t you like the food?” he asked, nodding towards the wreckage on my table.
I grimaced. “Stomach bug,” I said. “The food was great. Sorry.”
I was managing to sound calm, but inside I was anything but. Strange stuff was going on in my brain. Had Pavel and Renata given me some kind of delayed action drug? And why was I thinking of them by their first names? For some reason I felt I knew them, from before today—but remembering how or why was like trying to come up with a name that’s feels like its right on the tip of your tongue and at the same time stays stubbornly buried in your mind.
I had never been a vegetarian—or had I? ‘Yes,’ said one quiet voice; ‘No,’ said another, louder one. I left the restaurant and walked fast, not caring where, going in circles probably, just trying to clear my head. The Company had done this to me. No, not the Company, the Consortium. ‘The Company,’ that quiet voice insisted. I found I was muttering to myself as I paced the sidewalk. That wouldn’t do at all, and I pressed my lips together, but with each step fragments of memory were resurfacing, slotting together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, as if my very momentum was forcing a pattern on the disjointed fragments. It was like one of those pictures where if you look at it one way you see a pretty girl; look at it in another and you see a crone. I was flipping between the views so fast it made my head ache. I walked even faster.
Then all of a sudden everything made sense and the shock was so great it stopped me in my tracks, so abruptly I almost overbalanced. You bastards! I thought. Now I know what you did.
My preoccupation had made me careless and by the time I noticed that the long, gray Chrysler with smoked windows had pulled up by the curb right next to me it was too late to start running. The adrenaline was already flowing and I tensed myself up to fight as the door opened and a leg appeared, then a body, then a head.
It was Pavel, and at the sight of him I felt a flood of relief. He looked at me, still half sitting inside the vehicle, one hand on the door jamb, the other grasping the bottom of the window frame.
“Have you figured it out?” he called softly.
“Yeah. Just about,” I said. “You restored my backup, right? The real one. The one the Company replaced.”
He nodded and I could see him start to relax. “I’m glad you’re here,” I said, just to help him along. “Perfect timing.”
We rode together in the back of the Chrysler. Renata was driving us to Consortium headquarters, where I could start getting my life together again. She must have done one hell of a job of programming, because I could still remember everything I’d done as Marylise, but now it all fit smoothly on top of the old memories—the real me. The history the Company had forced on me was there somewhere, but belonged to someone else, like a detailed biography I’d read some time.
“Nice to have you back,” Pavel said.
“Thanks for taking the trouble.” I smiled. “Even though I thought I was losing my mind for a while back there.”
He shrugged. “That’s what friends are for.” Then he frowned.
“So,” he said. “You’re looking great, but what about the name? Are you planning on sticking with Marylise? And Bonnevie? It doesn’t really seem your style.”
I thought for a second. Pavel was right.
“Walker,” I said. “Josephine. Call me Jo.”
It was good to be home.
- End -
© Copyright Philip J. Lees 2006