SHE WAITED FOR him that early Monday morning for over two hours, sitting cross-legged on the hillside grass with the patience of a snake on a game trail.
And then the breeze carried the sounds of his soon to be arrival–muffled clacks of small rocks under boots along the gravel path. A tall, lanky man came into view.
‘Sam, what luck! I was just thinking of you.’
‘What the hell are you doing out here, Grace?’
‘Waiting for you.’
He snorted.
‘Okay, seriously, I came up here to see if we can’t sort things out. That was quite an argument you and I had last Friday.’
His expression hardened. ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’
She stood without using her hands and looked up at him. ‘I was sure you wouldn’t,’ she said, and jabbed him.
The next morning, Grace was alone in the biometrics lab when Director Kleinbein walked in. ‘Is Sam Colbey around? He called last Friday to schedule an appointment for this morning, but he didn’t show up.’
‘No, sir. I haven’t seen him. Did you call him?’
‘I did and went right to his voicemail. I’m concerned. Should I have someone check his apartment?’
‘I would, sir. It’s very unlike him to be out of touch.’
Kleinbein turned to go, then turned back. ‘That project proposal of yours–it seems to have a fair amount of risk attached to it.’
Grace’s smile was winsome. ‘I’m finishing off the safeguard specifications now. If possible, I’d like to meet with you this Thursday and go over the project.’
He smiled back. ‘Of course. Call Leslie and have her schedule it.’
Once he’d left, Grace texted Ira. Getting appt w/ little bone. You still ready?
What else? No need for me to pack for the transfer.
She smiled. The surviving consciousness of the Ira she loved was just as addicted to corn as ever. Soon, she thought. She glanced over at the equipment set up in a corner of the lab. Grace had a strong urge to switch Ira to audible, but couldn’t let anyone hear the artificial voice of an almost dead man.
Ira resumed. Will be interesting to see if, as one consciousness, we can still stim each other.
Perv. Wonder how it’ll feel with a phantom phallus.
You’ll never pee standing up.
Grace repressed a smile. Get used to squatting. And then reflected. What prevented her from paying for the surgical alterations to become a proper hermaphrodite? Just the money, really, and maybe steroid shots. Then shrugged the idea off. She was okay with becoming a vessel, but not a novelty mug.
Kleinbein still think it’s a mod to overcome agoraphobia?
Yes. Suspect he’s conflicted about remaining my mentor or making a move. Keeps him from focusing too close.
Gotta go LY.
Ditto
Grace sat at her desk, staring at a blank screen. It ate at her about Sam, but he’d snooped enough to suss out what she was really up to. The idea of immobilising him had been repulsive, but the act itself had been relatively uncomplicated once she’d acquired a wheelbarrow. There would be hell to pay once he was let loose, but by then she and Ira would be one hugely sensational and profitable media entity.
The meeting with Kleinbein went smoothly. The additional funds needed had already been allocated, enough for a hospital bed and a computerised setup that could handle the identity upload and the various probes and electrical contacts. He was still concerned about possible lawsuits and a wrongful death charge if Grace died, but she had reminded him of the waivers and disclaimers she’d signed to keep the lab from being sued in case things went fritzy.
She and Ira had theorised about bonding even before the car accident that mashed his body. Ira’s memories had already been copied off and stored, easy enough to transfer. His remaining consciousness, his pain-riddled geist, would be transferred before the lethal injection.
During a three-glasses-of-wine home-alone evening, Grace had fuzzily wondered about having a new-age minister perform a marriage ceremony just before the transfer, but decided it would be kitschy. And maybe blasphemous enough to alienate some viewers. And cohabiting without religious union might make it spicier for their audience.
She put Ira on audio. He never slept deeply, so no imposition.
His beloved voice had a stagey huskiness to it. ‘Get naked in front of the mirror for me.’
She laughed. ‘Sweetie, you’re going to be taking forever dumps with me, lots of mundane intimacy to come.’
‘Aw, don’t spoil the moment. Once I’m plugged into your biorhythms and hormones, I’m probably going to forget what a stud I was.’
‘Not likely.’
Their dialogue segued into technical matters and the legal niceties of truly joint accounts.
Ira paused. ‘How’s Sam doing?’
‘He’s okay. There’s enough food and dry toilet capacity for two more weeks. He hates me, of course, and I’m sure is plotting my ruin. But if we make as much money as we’ve projected, I suspect he can be bought off with two days’ proceeds.’
Ira laughed. The speaker made it sound like a cackle. ‘Pity that we had to pen him up. He was, after all, your long-ago lover.’
‘I know. Necessary, but certainly not fair.’
Two days later, with Kleinbein sitting in but oblivious, they ran the identity upload. The electronic Ira consciousness was kept viable in case things went awry, and one of Grace’s lingering doubts had been what to do with two sentient Iras. Especially since, as mercurial as Ira was, he could host contrary views in quick succession.
The brain doesn’t feel, so all Grace knew was an instant of utter confusion, followed by a sensation like falling to the concourse floor at rush hour in Grand Central Station and being trampled by commuters who shouted at her. Her mind screamed in attempted regurgitation, not at the additional data, but at the emotional overlayings that Ira flooded her mind with. Her brain waves froze for a few seconds, alarming the attending physician into reaching for a hypo, but then resumed in a seemingly more complex pattern, like interwoven major and minor musical chords.
Because of the lack of pain, Grace hadn’t been sedated and could experience the process full force. She screamed once, then settled into a high-pitched keening that wavered and warbled as first the shocks and then the spiritual incisions hit her. Her eyes had rolled upward, showing veiny whites. Her restrained body jerked spasmodically, and in between jerks had a convulsive tremolo.
The actual transfer took only thirty seconds, after which Grace, although still conscious according to her brain waves. The process had been too much for Kleinbein, who yelled, ‘Grace, Grace, my God, what have you, we, done? Doctor, is she all right?’
Grace turned her head toward him. ‘Calm yourself. What we’ve done is so much more than you know. Companies and wealthy folks will be flocking to the clinic. Pull up a chair and we’ll tell you what just really happened…’
As Grace/Ira told him, their voices changed from sentence to sentence, syntax and tone flickering back and forth. By the time the explanation had finished, Kleinbein could discern between Grace’s precise mezzo-soprano and Ira’s more expressive countertenor, the lowest that Grace’s vocal cords would let him get to.
Kleinbein, in shock, interrupted her. ‘But, but, that’s illegal. We’ll be arrested.’
‘Just the opposite. We’ll be famous and obscenely rich. The press releases are ready to go. We’ll schedule interviews, talk about sexual satisfactions and mind meld interplays, have podcasts, the works. And you have the equipment ready to replicate it, with our technical consulting, fee payable. If you like, we’ll call it the Kleinbein process.’
Kleinbein took further convincing, but two days later Grace/Ira let things loose. They also turned on the TV mounted high on the wall of Sam’s cell, tuned to CNN, so he could learn of what they’d done. Ten days later, they visited Sam in his cell.
‘As soon as I get out, I’m having you arrested for assault and imprisonment. And what you’ve done is an abomination.’
‘No, Sam, it’s an incredible transformation. You of all people should appreciate the intricacies.’
‘How did you—no, never mind, I’m not going to say anything until you let me out.’
‘We want to explain everything to you, and to let you know there’s a place for you with us.’
‘Never.’
‘Yeah, you may want to rethink that. Kleinbein has agreed to have you replace Grace as the senior staffer on the project. Double your current salary, interviews, seminars, technical papers—it’ll make your career. And we’ll always be available for your research. You were already going down a similar path in your work; it’s a natural.’
‘Let me out.’
‘Sure, the door’s open behind us. Here’s your cell phone if you want to check with Kleinbein. You may want to keep in mind that if you have us arrested or give out negative press reports, that job and those perks go away. Here’s a draft contract.’
Sam grabbed the phone and stormed out, still holding the contract. They smiled and, because it was so new to them, audibly vocalised to each other.
‘Do you think he’ll have us arrested, Grace?’
‘Probably not. And even if he does, I can hopefully sweet-talk him into dropping the charges. Or we can afford a really good lawyer who’ll provide more publicity and then talk our sentence down to time served.’
‘It was smart of us not to mention that other thing.’
‘Yeah, too soon, Ira. But I might be able to entice him into resuming our relationship. Then, when the novelty of your and my dual experience is wearing a bit thin with viewers, it’s only a half step to copying off his persona and linking that up with us while he and we couple physically. What a ménage à trois that’ll be.’
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