Spare Parts

Copyright © Sally Rogers-Davidson 1999
All rights reserved
First Published in 1999 by Penguin Books Australia



Skin 
What a wonderful thing is skin 
It’s the stuff that our body lives in
It covers our eyes
And keeps out the flies
And keeps all the gooey bits in

Dennis Stephan and Stephen Hockey
Pembroke High School 1979

Chapter 1             

As always the subway was crowded. Kelty was jostled as passengers boarding at the station pushed past her and raced for the few remaining seats. Kelty hadn’t bothered with the seat rush today. She wasn’t travelling far and, besides, she had more important things to worry about.

            Trying to ignore the smell of so many bodies steaming from the rain and packed into the tight, airless carriage, Kelty breathed shallowly and gazed at the welcome distraction of the ad panel on the wall across from her. The colourful semi-3-D display was showing a place as far removed from this stinking, crowded world as Kelty could dream of. A paradise: a vast, featureless desert stretching out to an impossibly distant horizon where the land met the sky in a perfect line. Kelty couldn’t imagine so much open space… she’d barely ever seen the horizon.

            Sometimes she’d squeeze into the crowded elevator of one of the few towers that granted public access to its observation deck, but none of the public buildings rose high enough above their neighbours for her to see further than a few blocks. Sometimes if you waited long enough you could push your way to a window where you could see between the avenues of towers to where the jagged city skyline shrank to obscurity. But even when the sky was clear it was never the pure cobalt of the display. On the days the murky, grey clouds parted briefly to remind the residents of the city there was a heaven above, the sky was at best off-white… never that deep shade of blue. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky on the display, and though there was some foliage in the desert scene, Kelty was certain rain was only a freak occurrence in that vast, sun-baked wilderness. She counted on it. Sometimes she even dreamed of lying on the dry red dust of the desert, basking in the warm rays of the sun. Feeling the heat penetrating her damp clothing and skin, sinking through her flesh and into her bones…

            But that was a dream she knew would never happen. Even if she found herself in that ideal place, she wouldn’t feel the sun burning through her flesh and into her bones. That kind of experience wasn’t for the likes of her, a C-grade citizen of the Greater Melbourne Metropolis. A Subby: one of the masses that teemed and swarmed around the bases of the mighty towers of the city. One who could only look up in envy to the clean, dry towers, all crystal and light, with their own interconnecting skyways and restricted-access elevators that kept the riff-raff down in the street, and the more privileged Metropoles safe and warm above the oppressive clouds. The closest Kelty ever came to the opulent existence of the A- and B-graders: the Skywalkers, were her nightly vacations before the holovid screen.

            In her younger days she’d enjoyed those brief glimpses of life above the clouds. She’d watched the daily traumas and treats of the rich and famous in rapt anticipation. Dreaming of a rosy future where she would be one of the lucky few that managed to rise above the streets and work her way up the beckoning towers. But a year past her graduation, Kelty’s dreams of breaking free from the oppressive designation she was born into had shattered like a champagne glass dropped to the pavement from a penthouse balcony. The nightly soap operas that had been a welcome respite from her dull existence were only a bitter reminder of the life she could never lead. The towers that once represented hope and promise to her only pushed her down into the gutter with their suffocating weight.

            The train slid alongside another overcrowded platform and Kelty stepped back from the doorway, pressing against the partition of the entranceway. Drably dressed C- and D-graders with closed expressions pushed past her into the rapidly filling carriage. A D-grader wearing a control collar took up the place opposite Kelty, reminding her uncomfortably of where her growing resentment of the classes above would get her if she wasn’t careful. Compared to the D-grader Kelty was privileged.

            With nothing outside the train windows but blackness, Kelty’s gaze was again drawn to the display panel. Now it was partly obscured by the collared man, but its images were even more poignant for the contrast. Without being obvious, Kelty compared the sad man to the beautiful and healthy recruits frolicking into view. They were laughing and their eyes gleamed with the promise of endless possibilities. There was no hint of regret in their faces for the path they’d chosen.

            Kelty suspected she should be cynical of the recruitment displays. Their seductive images of perfect people and far-off places were carefully designed to tempt citizens like her, with their promise of escape from the oppressive city. But now Kelty was forced to abandon her dreams of tower-life, the Corps offered the only alternative to the fifty-odd years ahead of her that promised nothing but depression and drudgery in the shadowy basements and streets of an endless urban sprawl. She couldn’t ever hope to see wilderness, not in person. The few snatches of wilderness left on the planet were the province of A-grader vacationers and the few B-graders lucky enough to work there. The agricultural provinces were off-limits to all but the technicians who serviced the massive farming machinery. The only chance left to Kelty of ever experiencing anything but grey city streets was represented in those colourful and alluring displays.

            Even her night time viewing had turned away from the tower soapies to the more adventurous programs of life away from the metropolis. If she couldn’t have a life of luxury and opulence, then travel and excitement didn’t seem too bad an alternative, even with its drawbacks.

            Kelty read the caption as it flashed on screen for the fourth time: Join the Space Corps… Sacrifice has its rewards.

            Kelty had to admit it didn’t look like such a sacrifice from where she was standing. It looked pretty darn good, in fact. But then, she wasn’t about to make that kind of decision, not now… probably never. It couldn’t be as great as they made it look in the displays; even she had to admit that. There was no denying that space was a dangerous place, and the sacrifice one had to make to go there was pretty astronomic, but if there was any grain of truth in the ads the sacrifice did have its rewards. Compared to the alternative maybe it was worth it.

            Kelty shook her head, trying to clear it of the dangerously tempting idea. Her heart was beating rapidly and she was gripped in terror that she could even consider such a radical move. Anyway, she told herself, the Corps probably wouldn’t accept her even if she did try to join. She calmed herself with the assurance that joining the Corps wasn’t really an option, and remembered her mother’s advice to accept life the way it was. It wasn’t so bad after all, was it? She had a roof over her head, food in her belly, and an adequate home-entertainment centre in her living area. The apartment she shared with her mother wasn’t too mildewy, and the money she earned from her part-time job at the garbage refinery furnished her with a few modest luxuries. She had friends and a cosy local pub to meet in. She wasn’t doing too badly really.

            The train stopped once again and Kelty was shoved painfully into the partition behind her by the new influx of passengers. She felt her temper rising and was about to snap at her assailant, when a tell-tale buzz drew her attention to the D-grader who was buckling over in pain, clutching at his control collar. A shiver ran through Kelty and she rubbed her own throat in sympathy knowing her flash of temper would have landed her in the same predicament had she been wearing a collar.

            Kelty wondered what crime the man had committed to earn the collar.

            He was straightening up now, embarrassed by the shocked looks of those around him. At least he’d gained himself some space. Everyone was squashing over to Kelty’s side of the entrance. She could barely breathe at all now.

            Was this all she had to look forward to for the next fifty years? If she lived that long. One lousy year out of school and her only hope of winning an up-grade and a place at university had slipped through her fingers. Her marks had been more than adequate, but that was the year they cut back on C-grader scholarships. She’d waited all year hoping a place would open up, praying someone would drop out or die, but now another class was graduating and her chance was gone. If she hadn’t come so close to achieving her ambition maybe it would have been easier for her to accept her lot in life, but even her teachers had been confident of her winning a place at university, which made her ultimate defeat that much more painful.

            Her bitterness curled inside her like a spiny slug. All her anger and resentment for the unjust system that robbed her of the thing she’d worked so hard for came flooding to the surface, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

            And as if that wasn’t bad enough; now this… Tears welled in Kelty’s eyes but, thankfully, just as her thoughts were threatening to overwhelm her, the train reached her destination. She squeezed out onto the platform, struggling through the tide of bodies wanting to board. As the train disappeared back into its tunnel, Kelty stood there drawing in deep, calming breaths.

            She wasn’t in any hurry to get where she was going. The Little Sisters of Mercy Public Hospital was a place she’d hoped she’d never have to see again. She’d managed to avoid it for five years now. She’d even managed to put it from her thoughts. But now as she stood on its platform, memories of the grim, shadowy ward and her father’s dying face came flooding back to her.

            The hour each day she’d spent sitting by his bed had been an eternity of agony to her. She’d watched for four months as the cancer slowly ate through his body. When he’d finally died her father was a mere shadow of his former self. It was a relief to see him at peace, but more than anything it was a relief not to have to go to the Little Sisters of Mercy Public Hospital.

            Kelty had vowed she’d never go there again… but now, here she was.

            She forced herself on toward the ancient escalators at the end of the platform, trying to make sense of the need for any living being to go through such degradation. Her father had been so robust, so in charge of every situation. Nothing had ever been too much for him to solve… until the illness. You can’t take cancer outside and beat it up, you can’t even reason with it. Kelty lived in fear of it.

            The hospital’s reception counter lay beyond glass doors at the top of the escalators. Nothing had changed in the three years of her absence. Kelty’s knees were weak as she approached it, and her voice was shaking as she spoke. ‘I’m here to visit a patient. Mary Tan.’

            There was a moment’s pause as the ancient computer processed her statement. Then, a visitor’s badge slid out of a slot in the counter and a disembodied, but sympathetically toned voice directed her to the east-wing elevator. Third floor. Ward 12B. Bed 9.

            Kelty pinned the badge to her shirt, repeating Mary’s location under her breath to help her remember; she tended not to pay enough attention to details in situations like this.

            As she rode the east-wing elevator to the third floor her one consolation was that her father had been in a different section of the hospital. When the doors opened onto the long, stark corridor that led to Ward 12B, however, it all looked exactly the way she remembered it. She fought the urge to run away screaming. Mary was expecting her.

            She paused at the door of the ward only long enough to paste a cheerful grin on her face. She swept into the ward, counting the beds. Mary’s was in the middle on the left, with a tall, dirty window behind it. The window contained ancient glass, strengthened by wire mesh. There were dead flies and a thick layer of dust on the sill. Kelty didn’t have to see the sill to know this; she remembered it from the time she’d spent by her father’s bed.

            ‘Well, this is a fine mess you’ve got yourself into, I must say!’ she said playfully, grinning.

            Mary looked up at her and what remained of her face contorted into a semblance of good humour. ‘Kelty, thanks for coming,’ she slurped. Her words were barely audible. Kelty had to lean in close to make them out.

            ‘No problem,’ she answered casually, forcing her voice not to shake. Mercifully there was a chair by the bed. She pulled it into position and sat down just before her knees went out from under her.

            When Monica Tan had called to tell Kelty her friend had been in a terrible accident, she’d prayed it wouldn’t be this bad. Mary’s mother was crying when she asked Kelty to visit her daughter. ‘It’s bad, Kelty. The doctors don’t know if she’ll survive.’ The way she looked, Kelty thought it might be better if she didn’t. But, selfishly perhaps, Kelty didn’t want to lose her best friend. Despair knotted up inside her and she dug her fingers into her thigh painfully to stop the tears from welling. I’d do anything if I could save you from this, she thought.

            Sensing her friend’s discomfort, Mary apologised ‘You shouldn’t have come. I told mum to tell you not to come.’

            ‘Don’t be stupid! Of course I had to come.’

            ‘I don’t want you to have to remember me like this.’

            ‘What are you talking about “remember”? You’re not going anywhere.’

            Mary’s eyes were sad. ‘It’s okay, I know the score… you don’t have to pretend.’

            Kelty didn’t know what to say. Mary’s right arm was lying out of the sheet… the left side of her body had taken the brunt of the explosion, and Kelty guessed there wasn’t much left of her friend’s other arm. Her right hand was almost completely untouched, though, so Kelty took it in hers and held it. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she assured her. She couldn’t bring quite the amount of conviction to her words that they required, so she squeezed Mary’s hand to make up for it. Mary squeezed back, weakly at first, but then with an increasing force that betrayed the spasm of pain sweeping through her body.

            Kelty closed her eyes, conjuring up Mary’s real face. When she opened them again, she tried to keep Mary’s real face before her so she could feel love, instead of horror for this hideously mutilated creature. It’s Mary, she told herself. Remember, it’s Mary.

            Mary whispered, ‘You don’t have to pretend with me, Kelty. I know I’m dying. Do you think I’d want to live like this?’ A tear traced a path over the shining surface of her burns dressing. Kelty wondered why they didn’t make the artificial skin opaque. She supposed the doctors needed to watch the wound’s progress… it was unfortunate everyone else had to as well. She prayed Mary didn’t have access to any mirrors.

            ‘But they can fix you up,’ she assured her friend. ‘It’s amazing what they’re doing with bionics and plastic surgery and stuff.’

            ‘Yeah,’ Mary said bitterly. ‘If I was a Skywalker.’

            Kelty couldn’t argue with that. How could a C-grader ever hope to pay for that kind of expensive treatment? Resentment burned inside Kelty. A Skywalker in the same position wouldn’t be left to die in agony. A Skywalker would have been recovering in a new body by now. Skywalkers changed their bodies like they changed their cars, and they rarely had such good reason to seek out new flesh. Turning forty was a good enough reason for most of them to discard a less-than-perfect body, but they could afford to buy a healthy young body. Of course, sometimes if the Skywalker was feeling altruistic they might donate their used body, but the lower grades could rarely afford the cost of a transplant.

            Kelty wanted to ask her friend about transplant, but she supposed if it were an option, someone would have mentioned it by now. She sat there for some time, silently holding Mary’s hand, lost in her own thoughts. Mary was exhausted and content just to drift in and out of sleep with the comforting warmth of her best friend’s hand in hers.

            Life really sucks! There’s no doubt about it, Kelty thought. Why Mary? She had so much to look forward to.

            It should have been me. It might as well have been me. What do I have to live for? I’m not starting at university after Christmas. Why did it have to be Mary working last night?

            Almost as though she’d read Kelty’s mind, Mary whispered, ‘You can have my place at uni now, Kelty.’

            Mary’s words drove into Kelty like a dagger. She couldn’t remember how many times the two of them had wished up ways for it to be possible for Kelty to go to university too, but even though Kelty had been envious of Mary, she’d never wished for this. ‘No, Mary…’ Kelty couldn’t talk or she’d break down in tears.

            ‘I want you to, Kelty. If my death means you get your chance, then somehow it’s worth it.’ Mary could hardly speak and the effort exhausted her, but she had to feel there was some reason for this tragedy. Kelty didn’t have the heart to remind her friend it was too late. Her place would go to one of this year’s graduates, not her. ‘Promise me you’ll take my place, Kelty.’

            Kelty looked at Mary lying there dying and thought, If I could take your place, I would. Then you could become the brilliant systems analyst you always dreamed you would be, and I wouldn’t be losing the one person in my life that made it all worthwhile… Mary closed her eyes in pain and Kelty was spared the need to lie to her that she would take her place at university. Kelty willed all the strength she had through her hand and into Mary. ‘You have to fight, Mary. You can’t give up. I can’t lose you.’

            There had to be a way to save Mary.

            Kelty was so deep in thought she didn’t notice the doctor. She jumped in shock, and blushed when she caught the doctor’s eye. Her heart was pounding at the shocking idea that had occurred to her. She knew the doctor expected her to leave so she squeezed Mary’s hand a final time and leaned in to kiss her on her right cheek, which wasn’t so badly burnt. ‘Hold on, Mary,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t give up yet. I’ll think of something.’

            She walked away from the bed, not turning back until she reached the door to the ward, then she paused and watched the doctor pull the curtain around Mary’s bed. With the light of the window behind, Kelty could see a vague silhouette of the doctor pulling the covers back. Mary, who’d been so brave in the presence of her friend, whimpered now, and moaned at the sight of her uncovered body.

            Kelty retreated around the door and burst into tears. Passers-by glanced briefly in her direction and looked away; embarrassed or uninterested; they were used to seeing such displays on this floor. Kelty would have taken herself away but she figured it was better to make a spectacle of herself here where people understood. Besides, she wanted to speak with Mary’s doctor when he came out.

            By the time he appeared, she had managed to control her emotions. He would have shot right by her but she jumped to intercept him. ‘Doctor, can I speak with you?’

            He seemed a little frustrated at the delay, and glanced anxiously at his watch. ‘I’m very busy,’ he told her.

            ‘Please!’ she begged. ‘It won’t take a moment.’

            He sighed with resignation.

            Kelty was shaking. She could tell from his expensive clothes and distinguished bearing he was an A-grader, probably doing his rotation of charity work in the public hospital. At first she’d thought he was an intern, he was so young, but realised he was probably much older than that. You could never tell the true age of a Skywalker. He could have transplanted once or even twice.

            This one must have transplanted at least once, though. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties, but he wore the gold signet ring with the symbol of Caduceus that identified him as a master surgeon. She was familiar with the ring because the patriarch of the Pasteur family in Kelty’s one-time favourite tower soap was a master surgeon and he wore that ring. Louis was onto his fifth transplant, but that was soaps for you, every time an actor wanted to leave the series they’d just say they were transplanting and a different actor would take over the character. Kelty doubted that so many transplants could be possible in real life.

            This man reminded Kelty of the Louis Pasteur character, with his holo-star good looks and haughty attitude. His hair was black and wavy and his eyes a piercing blue. His lips were narrow, but curvaceous, and his nose was just slightly on the large side. He was tall and slim, and it was intimidating just being in the vicinity of an A-grader, let alone speaking with one. Kelty was amazed he’d agreed to listen to her at all.

            ‘She’s dying, isn’t she?’ she said at last.

            ‘The prognosis isn’t good.’

            ‘Is there any chance…?’ Kelty was afraid to ask. ‘Her brain’s good. Isn’t there any possibility of a transplant?’

            The doctor looked at her sadly. ‘I understand she’s your good friend.’

            ‘I’ve known her all my life. She’s like a sister to me.’

            ‘I’m sorry, but you must have some idea of the cost of that kind of surgery.’

            ‘Well, obviously she can’t afford a young body, but isn’t it true that A-graders sometimes donate their old bodies? A forty-year-old’s body is better than nothing. So she’d lose twenty years, at least she’d still be alive, and whole.’

            The doctor was sympathetic, but also realistic. ‘Even if there was a body available, how would she pay for the transplant?’

            Kelty wanted to tell him to do it for free, but she couldn’t be that impertinent. ‘I know she can’t afford to pay, but she’s special, and not just because she’s my friend. She’s brilliant. She was supposed to be going to university next semester. She scored in the top percentile of the entrance exams. Aren’t there charities that help people out in special cases?’

            ‘Even if something like that could be arranged, the chances of us finding a donor body in time…’ He shook his head at the logistics of the task.

            ‘What about a cyborg body?’ Even as she said it, Kelty knew it was impossible. Cyborg bodies were just as expensive as healthy, young human bodies. Turning away, Kelty slapped the wall in frustration. ‘It isn’t fair! It’s just not bloody fair!’ She looked back at him briefly to say, ‘Forget it. I was stupid to ask.’

            She turned to go, but the doctor stopped her. ‘Wait,’ he said, looking at her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. ‘There might be a way you could help your friend.’

            Kelty’s heart leapt as she looked up at him expectantly. ‘How? I’ll do anything.’ Even as she said it, the final words caught in her throat.

            The doctor leaned in to whisper, ‘Anything? Do you really mean that?’ He looked her up and down with the critical eye of a surgeon. ‘How far would you really be willing to go to save your friend?’ Kelty’s blood ran cold as he handed her his card. ‘Think hard, and if you’d like to discuss it further, just give me a call.’

            Kelty felt a little nauseous as she watched him walk away. She knew what he wanted of her. Hell, the idea had occurred to her earlier as she’d sat holding Mary’s hand, but it hadn’t seemed like a serious possibility then. Now it was. She eyed the doctor’s card fearfully. It felt like she was holding a death sentence in her hand.

Chapter 2             

The train ride to Footscray station was less crowded. Kelty sat on one of the cold, metal benches, clutching the surgeon’s card in her hand. It was a thing of beauty. Kelty had never seen anything so flash. On one side in golden 3-D letters on a sparkling holographic background was the name of the clinic: Napoleone Lafayette Transplant Clinic, and the partners: Caryn Lafayette and Peter Napoleone, each trailed by a sequence of letters denoting their impressive qualifications. The type looked as though it was solid and floating above the surface. Kelty knew it wasn’t, but the illusion was so perfect she couldn’t help running her fingers over the card’s surface to confirm it was flat plastic. Her fingers were shaking.

            Even she recognised the name on the card. Peter Napoleone was one of the leading transplant surgeons in the city… and this was the doctor she’d asked about Mary’s transplant. Talk about going to the top! Mary was privileged to have him as her doctor. Kelty was flabbergasted such an important surgeon had the time for charity work… unless he was trolling for donors? Kelty scoffed at the idea, he’d be after bodies not brains, and Mary’s body wouldn’t be much good to him except for spare-parts surgery and he was way too important to bother with minor stuff like that.

            Kelty was frightened, staring at the card in grim fascination. Years of paranoid conditioning against what Napoleone offered tempted her to throw it in the recyc and forget the whole thing, but she couldn’t forget Mary’s melted face, or the stump under the blanket where her left arm should have been. If the leading transplant surgeon in the city was offering to help her best friend out of her predicament, Kelty at least owed it to Mary to hear him out.

            Besides, how could she discard such a pretty object? The flip side was even more impressive. The image had such depth, she felt as though she could reach in and touch the perfect, naked bodies of the man and woman standing with their arms and faces raised up to the sky. Golden beams of light shot out in every direction from their bodies. They were standing on a platform of letters with the simple message: Forever Young!

            Kelty glanced from the card to the Space Corps poster on the wall opposite her. It was a different one in this carriage. This one showed a group of recruits posing by a river in an open meadow of lush grass. In the distance there was a forest and rolling hills, and the sky was purple and clear except for a few tiny fluffy-white clouds. The poster’s caption read: Space Corps… because there’s more to life.

            She stared at the idyllic scene and the beautiful young recruits, picturing the ruined faces of her dying father and her mutilated friend. They’d been young and perfect too once. Only yesterday Mary’s body was whole and healthy, she’d had her whole life ahead of her…

            The human body was so fragile. Kelty dreaded the inevitability of some terrible accident or illness landing her in the Little Sisters of Mercy Public Hospital. The only thing of value she owned was her perfect body. How long did she have until it was worthless? Hadn’t she been considering the Space Corps anyway? If she ever meant to consider the option seriously, she had to choose now, especially if it meant she could also save her friend.

            When the train pulled into her local station, she went to the public telephones before she could change her mind. She slid the card into the slot and after three rapid heartbeats, the face of a stunning young woman with honey blonde hair and emerald-green eyes smiled out at her from the view-screen.

            ‘Napoleone Lafayette Transplant Clinic… How may I help you?’

            Kelty nearly slammed the disconnect pad, but she stayed fast and after a moment found her voice, shaky as it was, to say, ‘I need to make an appointment with Mister Napoleone,’

            The receptionist looked doubtfully at Kelty.

            Kelty was painfully aware of the contrast between them. They were probably the same age, both recently graduated from school, but while everything about Kelty was cheap and grubby from the streets, the B-grader receptionist was as immaculate as the A-graders she worked for. Her white uniform was so clean it almost glowed. Her hair and make-up was styled like a model’s. Kelty’s hair was damp and flat from the rain, and she never bothered with make-up except on special occasions.

            ‘He gave me his card,’ Kelty explained. ‘He told me to call.’ She wanted to stop there but the receptionist still didn’t seem quite convinced, so she added, ‘He said he had a proposition to discuss with me.’

            The receptionist finally caught on. She seemed just the slightest bit flustered as she told Kelty to hold. Her face was replaced by an ad for the clinic: an old wrinkled couple scaling a rocky cliff in some dark stormy land. The wind was blowing their hair and loose clothing around, threatening to plunge them into the abyss below, but they persevered and finally made it to the top where there was a glowing pool in the rocks. The couple stripped off their robes, revealing hideously wrinkled and liver-spotted skin. They slid into the pool and disappeared beneath the surface. The water bubbled while mist evaporated off it into a cloud. The atmospheric background music switched to a triumphant march as the couple emerged from the water, young and healthy, their faces glowing with renewed life. They threw their arms up to the sky and beams of light shot out from their bodies in all directions. The words: Forever Young! flashed across the screen, followed by: Napoleone Lafayette Transplant Clinic… we are The Fountain of Youth!

            Kelty concentrated on her breathing as the light beams swirled into a pattern of brightly coloured fractals. By the time the receptionist returned, she was so mesmerised she almost missed her words. ‘Mister Napoleone will see you in one hour.’

            It was Kelty’s turn to be flustered. She hadn’t expected such an immediate response but they couldn’t afford to procrastinate. Who knew how long Mary had? ‘I’ll be there,’ she said.

            The receptionist looked at her as though to say, Of course you will! She would have disconnected, but Kelty quickly asked, ‘How do I get there?’

            ‘A car is coming for you,’ the woman answered. ‘Please remain at your present location.’

            The screen went blank and a prompt told Kelty to remove the card. She took hold of it, wondering what she was getting herself into and whether she should get the hell out of there before it was too late?

            She didn’t though. She found a seat by the station entrance and waited there for twenty minutes, staring at yet another Space Corps ad panel. In this one the recruits were swimming at the bottom of some alien ocean, surrounded by colourful, aquatic life forms. Even though they were obviously nowhere near the surface, they wore only tight rubber suits. The caption read: The Space Corps… Opening up worlds of opportunity.

            ‘Worlds of opportunity,’ Kelty whispered to herself as she glanced around at the other ad panels in the atrium. They weren’t very ambitious since they were only aimed at Subbies. There was a beer ad with little grey aliens exiting their flying saucer that was parked on the roof of a brewery. The slogan read: Best Brew in the Galaxy. ‘Not even the best in Melbourne,’ Kelty mumbled. There were ads for rain slickers and deodorants that she’d seen too many times before. She was turning back to the Space Corps ad when she noticed a new panel that was even more sophisticated than those of the Space Corps’. It was a live-view holo of a fantastic starship being assembled in a space dock. At the top of the screen were the words: The Calypso Centennial Project, and at the bottom of the screen: An initiative of HUMAN Interplanetary.

            Kelty was intrigued. How come she hadn’t heard of this before? What was the Calypso project? HUMAN Interplanetary was a private mega-corp. Could the Calypso be the first privately funded starship? Until now deep-space exploration had been the domain of government-funded ventures. Was HUMAN Interplanetary setting itself up as a rival to the Space Corps?

            Kelty hadn’t begun to consider the meaning of this when a limousine rolled up. The driver’s window slid down revealing a B-grader in chauffeur’s livery.

            Now that’s class! Kelty thought. A real live chauffeur!

            She could see little of him other than a ponytail of straight black hair extending out from the bottom of his cap and the smooth light-brown skin of the lower part of his face. His eyes were concealed by his dark driving glasses, but his jaw was strong and angular and his lips quite full and nicely shaped. Kelty’s gaze was drawn to them as he asked, ‘Are you the lady I’m supposed to collect?’

            She jumped to her feet and approached the limousine, holding the business card out for identification. When she was close enough she said quietly, ‘You’re from the Napoleone Lafayette Transplant Clinic?’

            The driver nodded almost imperceptibly and unsealed the door to the passenger compartment. Kelty looked into the luxurious cabin and wondered if she should have told somebody where she was going. She looked back at the driver nervously. If she could have seen his eyes it would have been easier for her to know whether she could trust him. She was starting to wonder if she should just step back from the vehicle and run when he said, ‘Hop in. We don’t have all day.’

            Kelty, who was used to obeying orders, jumped in.

            She couldn’t believe the luxury of the interior. There was thick plush-pile carpeting on the floor and velvet on the roof. There was a bar and a holo-vid, and the massive, overstuffed seats were upholstered in real leather. Kelty sank down into one, revelling in the warmth and comfort. The air in the cabin was warm and dry and perfumed with the scent of flowers.

            A soundproofed wall separated the driver’s cabin, but his voice came over the intercom, ‘Help yourself to a glass of champagne.’

            Kelty had noticed the open bottle chilling in the bar, but she’d assumed it was there for more important passengers than her. ‘Can I really?’ she asked.

            ‘Go for it,’ he urged.

            ‘I’ve never tasted real champagne.’ She wondered if she dared.

            ‘Everyone should taste champagne at least once in their life.’

            ‘And it’s doubtful I’ll ever get another opportunity.’ Why not? she thought. And it’ll help to ease my nerves. She leaned forward in her seat and reached out for the bottle. It was made of real glass, and much heavier than she’d expected. She nearly dropped it. What a waste! She took more care when she reached for the lead-crystal tulip glass, but then she poured the champagne too quickly and it bubbled up. She sucked madly at the fizz, trying to stop it pouring on the floor. Her trouser leg got the brunt of it. She replaced the bottle and glass in the bar and dabbed at the spilled champagne with a linen napkin. ‘Great!’ she moaned. ‘Now I’ll smell of champagne.’ Oh well, she thought, if I smell of it, I might as well have actually drunk some. Very carefully she filled her glass and took a sip.

            It was dry and fizzy, a strange taste. She didn’t really like it. She’d expected it to be sweeter, like shampane. But it wasn’t completely without merit. She liked the way it tickled her nose and it was very refreshing. Still, she didn’t quite see why people were willing to pay so much money for it. She supposed you developed a taste for it. You could learn to appreciate most things if you were determined enough.

            She persevered, and after the first few sips her tongue adjusted to its sour tang and she found champagne wasn’t too bad after all. By the time she finished the glass she was tempted to have another but, as she reached for the bottle, she suddenly felt light-headed and realised the beverage was far stronger than the cheap shampane she was familiar with. She was thankful she hadn’t had more than a glass… the last thing she needed when she was considering such an important life-decision was to be dunk out of her brain. She hoped that wasn’t the point behind Napoleone’s generous hospitality. Kelty took a handful of the nuts that were also on the bar and shoved them into her mouth.

            The limousine pulled into the parking basement of Hollows Towers, which was one of the leading privately funded transplant and research facilities in the city. They stopped at a bank of elevators and the chauffeur stepped out of the vehicle and opened the door for Kelty. ‘Go to elevator twelve,’ he told her. ‘Use the card and it’ll take you straight to the clinic. They’re expecting you.’

            ‘Thanks,’ Kelty said weakly, not really following his instructions. Even with the effect of the champagne, she was growing increasingly nervous the closer she came to the clinic. He climbed back into the car and drove off before she could ask him what he was talking about. She shrugged and headed toward elevator twelve, figuring she’d wing it.

            In place of the usual call buttons, there was a card slot. Even a D-grader could have worked it out… you didn’t get in unless you had the right access. Kelty pulled the card out of her jacket pocket and slid it into the slot. It disappeared completely and Kelty held her breath as the heavy glaz security doors of the outer cubicle slid closed, trapping her inside. She knew she had a perfect right to be there, but she couldn’t help worrying that some defect in the card would trigger the security system. Any second now she expected the compartment to fill with antax-gas. Fortunately the green “Access Granted” light flashed on instead. A well-modulated feminine voice told her, ‘Welcome to Hollows Towers. The elevator will arrive in twelve seconds. Please remove your card from the slot.’ The card reappeared and Kelty put it back in her pocket as the elevator door opened for her.

            She was taken aback by the inner decor of the elevator. It was all gold and velvet… way too good for the likes of her, but she couldn’t have turned back now even if she’d wanted to, the security doors of the outer cubicle wouldn’t re-open until the elevator was safely on its way. Kelty couldn’t help feeling it was to stop her changing her mind.

            With a steadying breath, Kelty stepped across the threshold onto the thick, plush-pile carpet. She turned, looking for the floor buttons, and realised she had no idea which floor the clinic was on. As the elevator door swooshed closed and the stomach-churning ascent began, she realised the card had programmed her destination into the elevator. She shook her head at the marvel of it all. Of course, she knew all this stuff existed, she’d seen it on her holo-vid programs… it was all part of the everyday scenery of the Skywalkers. She’d just never come across it in her everyday life. Most of the public-sector buildings were well over a century old; they didn’t have any mod cons.

            Just as she was adjusting to the rapid altitude shift, the elevator came to such a sudden stop that Kelty’s stomach seemed to rise up into her throat… at least it felt that way. As the door slid open, she found herself face to face with the receptionist she’d spoken to over the phone. She was even more intimidating in person. Kelty took one look at her and knew she was going to throw up.

            ‘Could I please use the bathroom?’ she asked, holding one hand firmly over her mouth.

            With admirable efficiency the young woman escorted Kelty to the cleanest, brightest, sweetest-smelling bathroom she’d ever seen. After she was finished, the high-tech cleaning system flushed away every trace without a problem.

            Amazingly, there was a cotton face-washer and a glass of sparkling water waiting for her by the marble hand basin. Kelty washed her face and rinsed her mouth. Then she dried her hands and face on a deliciously warm hand-towel. Even disposable brushes were provided. Kelty broke one out of its plastic wrapper and ran it through her hair. There was a waste chute for the used brushes, but as the brush was still perfectly good, she slipped it into her pocket. Skywalkers might have no compunction about using something once and throwing it in the recyc, but Kelty couldn’t bring herself to be so decadent.

            She was feeling much better when she exited the bathroom. The receptionist hovered over her covetously, asking if she was feeling better now, and would she like something to help settle her stomach?

            Kelty thanked her. ‘It’s just nerves.’

            ‘Would you like a glass of wine? That will settle your stomach as well as your nerves.’

            Maybe so, but it was the last thing Kelty wanted. ‘No thanks,’ she said, trying not to sound too ungracious. ‘I had some champagne coming over.’

            ‘A nice cup of tea, perhaps?’

            ‘Thanks. That’d be nice.’

            ‘Please have a seat. The doctor shouldn’t be very long. I’ll bring you your tea.’

            The receptionist pointed Kelty to a comfortable seat and left her to marvel at the blue sky through the window beyond. It wasn’t a deep blue, but definitely blue. Kelty moved to the window in hushed reverence. No wonder I lost my stomach, she thought. She’d had no idea the elevator was taking her this high. The window covered the entire wall from floor to ceiling. The glaz was so clean it looked like there was nothing at all between her and infinity. She had to reach out and touch the window to assure herself it was actually there.

            For the first time in her life she found herself looking down on the clouds. She could see the entire horizon from right to left. Only a few other towers in the distance poked through the murky-grey clouds below, her view was uninterrupted. And there was the sun in all its glory. She was careful not to stare at the sun, even with the solar shielding in the glaz. She’d heard you could burn out your retina from staring at the sun.

            ‘Quite a view, isn’t it?’

            Kelty jumped at the voice, she’d been so engrossed. She turned to the receptionist, who was holding a tray with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. Kelty was far too nervous to think of eating, but the biscuits looked delicious. Her stomach growled audibly in spite of herself and she felt her face turning red. ‘It’s glorious,’ she agreed.

            The receptionist smiled and placed the tray on the coffee table. ‘I’ll leave these here. Help yourself. The doctor will see you in a short while. His assistant will come for you when he’s ready.’

            ‘Thanks.’ Kelty sat down where she could see out the window.

            The endless, almost featureless view had a calming effect on her nerves, but as she waited there for what seemed like hours, even that couldn’t stop the tension building up in her. Kelty’s hands were shaking as she lifted the teacup to her mouth. She barely tasted the sweet beverage. She tried eating a biscuit but it might as well have been ground wood shavings for all the pleasure it gave her. She’d been able to keep her mind distracted by the novelty of the events of the morning, but now her thoughts returned to the reason she was here.

            Mary’s been in a terrible accident. There was an explosion at the recycling plant… Monica Tan’s words kept running through Kelty’s mind and each time her heart thumped like she was hearing it for the first time. It was so wrong… it couldn’t be real… but somehow it was.

            Mary, who had so much to live for was lying mutilated in a hospital bed.

            Mary, with so much promise for the future was dying in a charity ward.

            Mary, who was almost a B-grader but had been working in the recyc plant to earn money before she started at university in the New Year, had been the one standing closest to the furnace when it exploded.

            If it had exploded five hours later it could have been me standing there. It could have been me lying in bed 9, ward 12B of the Little Sisters of Mercy Public Hospital.

            It should have been me!

            Thank God, it wasn’t me!

            Where are they? There was no sign of Napoleone’s assistant coming to get her. What’s taking them so long? How could they leave her sitting here when Mary’s life was flowing out of her? She’s dying! Kelty screamed inside her mind.

            When Napoleone’s assistant finally came for her she had to stop herself from demanding what had taken so long. She jumped to her feet, nearly overturning the tea tray in her haste. But as she followed the young man dressed in white down the short, wide passageway to Napoleone’s office she suddenly felt like she was walking into some terrible trap. What was she doing?

            As they came to the door and the assistant opened it for her, a frightened voice inside Kelty screamed at her not to go in there. Get out now, before it’s too late! She hesitated.

            With a gentle nudge Napoleone’s assistant helped her across the threshold and it was done.

Chapter 3             

Peter Napoleone rose from his chair and held out his hand to her in greeting. ‘We meet again! It was good of you to come on such short notice. I’m sure you understand if we’re to save your friend, we must avoid any unnecessary delay.’

            Kelty took hold of his hand, answering nervously, ‘That’s what I thought.’

            Napoleone kept hold of her hand a moment longer than Kelty was accustomed to before releasing it. ‘Please, take a seat,’ he directed.

            Kelty’s knees were threatening to jellify as she sank down into the chair across the desk from him. Her knees had been troubling her quite a bit this morning, but she wasn’t thinking of that as she endured the scrutiny of Napoleone. Without a word, he studied her with his intense blue eyes. Kelty held her breath in anticipation of his judgement. Finally he said, ‘You’re a very attractive girl.’

            A fine specimen, she thought he’d really meant to say.

            ‘Thank you.’ Her voice came out as a nervous squeak and she coughed to cover her embarrassment. To avoid his eye she turned her attention to his large, wooden desk. It would have been worth a fortune, as was everything in this office. The top of it was uncluttered with only a portable terminal, a writing set with a real paper notepad and gold antique fountain pen, and a few strange-looking instruments that Kelty assumed were diagnostic tools. Of course, there were the obligatory perpetual-motion stress toys: the frame with the chrome balls, the glass cylinder with colourful liquid, the galaxy globe…

            Kelty’s attention was drawn back to Napoleone when he took hold of his gold pen and held it up in front of his face. ‘I’m assuming you understand the nature of my proposal?’

            Kelty nodded her head, unable to say the words straight out. ‘I’ve been considering joining the Space Corps for a while now.’

            Napoleone nodded, rolling the pen between the fingers of both hands. ‘But you haven’t approached them yet?’

            Kelty shook her head. ‘I haven’t got that far yet.’

            ‘Then you’re not under any contractual obligations to them, or any other party?’

            ‘None.’

            ‘Good, because I want you to understand that were we to proceed, I’d need exclusive rights to your person, I don’t contract out to the Corps or any other organisation I work directly for my own clients. It would be a wholly private and confidential disposition.’

            Napoleone placed the pen down onto the desk and rolled it back and forth across the ink blotter. Kelty’s gaze was drawn to the movement as she took in what he was saying. She nodded, thinking: You don’t have to go through the Space Corps?

            ‘Of course, you would still be free to join the Space Corps afterwards if you wished.’ He lifted his pen again and Kelty found herself staring into his eyes.

            ‘But I wouldn’t have to?’

            ‘I cater to a very exclusive clientele, Miz Holmes. They can afford the very best. For my donors, that means the very best price they can get. Unfortunately, I’m prevented from advertising that fact, and most potential donors, in their ignorance, go directly through Space Corps, which means any potential profit is lost.’

            ‘So, you’re saying I’m lucky I found you?’

            ‘Very lucky. Unless I’m sadly mistaken, we should be able to arrange a very good deal for you, Miz Holmes. More than enough to pay for a state-of-the-art replacement body.’

            Napoleone dropped his hands back down to the desk, but Kelty managed to look him in the face as she asked, ‘And Mary?’

            ‘You could make it a part of the deal that the client donate her used body to Mary, and I’m offering to perform her transplant at a generous discount, which should mean you’ll have enough to cover the cost of both transplants.’

            ‘There wouldn’t be enough for me to pay for two cyborg bodies?’

            ‘I highly doubt it. You could go cheap, I suppose, but I wouldn’t recommend it. You wouldn’t have much quality of life afterwards… I don’t think your friend would want you to make such a sacrifice for her. Anyway, many of my clients are still very healthy, and relatively young when they opt for transplant… some of them as soon as the first wrinkle appears. If we proceed, I’ll find your friend the very best transplant body I can. How does that sound?’

            She had to agree it sounded pretty good.

            ‘Then we can proceed?’

            Kelty’s stomach jumped into her throat. Proceed? Already? ‘Do I have to sign anything?’

            Napoleone smiled. ‘First we establish your suitability as a donor. Which means, I’m afraid, a barrage of tests. We scan your complete anatomy, looking for any diseases, deformities or congenital weaknesses. Then we research your environmental and medical history, as well as that of your family.’

            A terrible fear gripped Kelty. A deflating, disappointing kick in the guts. Her father’s illness. That had to go against her. For a second she wondered if there was any way she could keep it secret, but she knew there wasn’t. Her whole medical history was recorded on the state databanks along with everyone else’s, and she knew without having to ask if she refused to give Napoleone access to those records, he wouldn’t proceed. She might as well get it out in the open right now.

            ‘My father died of cancer!’ she blurted out.

            Napoleone looked as deflated as her for a brief moment. He picked up his pen and tapped it on the blotter as he collected his thoughts.

            ‘That’s bad, isn’t it?’

            Napoleone shook his head and decisively placed the pen out of his grasp. ‘It’s not good. But it doesn’t disqualify you immediately. First we find out all the details. Perhaps the cancer was caused by some environmental factor? There may be no inherent risk to you. Do you know what kind it was?’

            Kelty wasn’t completely sure, she’d only been fourteen, and they hadn’t told her much. ‘Something with his glands, I think.’

            ‘Never mind. When I access your records it’ll be in your family history. If you’ll just give your permission.’ Napoleone pushed his terminal across to her so she could lay her hand on its touch plate as she read out the statement on the screen. ‘I, Kelty Holmes, give my permission for my complete medical records to be accessed.’ After a moment her medical files came on-screen.

            Kelty watched in tense silence as Napoleone concentrated on her files, his eyebrows knitting, first with concern, and then in confusion as he flicked from screen to screen of information. From her position across the table, Kelty couldn’t see what he was looking at… she only had the expression on his face to go by. She held her breath as he keyed in a new access code, looked across at her briefly, and turned the screen out of her view. Finally his puzzlement eased off to mild surprise, then reassurance. Kelty experienced each new emotion with him, and finally watched him in agonising expectation as he turned his head from the screen, to her.

            ‘Your father’s cancer isn’t a problem,’ he announced. ‘In fact, your family’s health history is one of the cleanest I’ve come across.’

            ‘How can that be?’

            ‘You really don’t know?’

            ‘What?’

            Napoleone eyed her intensely, like he didn’t know what to say to her. Kelty stared back at him until he said, ‘According to this your biological father is still alive, and very healthy.’

            ‘That can’t be,’ Kelty denied. ‘I sat by his bed every day for four months. I watched him die! There’s no way he’s alive and well.’ Suddenly the truth penetrated. ‘Biological, did you say?’ Kelty felt light-headed. In all these years her mother had never given the slightest hint…’ Are you saying he wasn’t my real father?’

            ‘I’m sorry you had to find out like this.’ Napoleone was sincerely apologetic. Kelty felt all the blood drain out of the top half of her body… at least, that’s how it seemed. ‘Perhaps, a brandy?’ he offered.

            Before she could decide, he’d gone to the side wall of his office and opened a panel revealing a well-stocked bar. He poured her a glass of brandy and slipped it into her hand. Then slumped back in his seat, watching her as she raised it shakily to her mouth and took a sip. It burned a warm path down her throat and into her stomach.

            She’d polished off half the glass before it finally occurred to her to ask, ‘Then who is my real father? Does it say?’

            ‘That information isn’t available, I’m afraid. Medical history only.’

            ‘But it’s definitely not the man I knew as my father?’

            ‘Joshua Holmes?’

            Kelty nodded.

            ‘He’s listed on your records as legal guardian, deceased. Under biological father there’s only a medical reference number.’

            ‘Can you cross-reference that to get his name?’

            Napoleone looked as though he knew he could if he really wanted to, but he shook his head in denial. ‘I don’t have that access. Perhaps you should ask your mother?’

            ‘Oh, don’t worry, I will!’

            Even as she said it, Kelty wondered if she would. After all, if she did, she’d have to explain how she found out. Of course, if she ended up going through with the donation, her mother would have to find out eventually.

            ‘We can proceed with the physical assessment now, if you feel up to it.’ Napoleone called his assistant back in and handed Kelty over to him with instructions to escort her down to scanning.

            Kelty followed in silence.

            One step at a time, she told herself. First see if you qualify as a donor, then worry about the rest.

            The scanning theatre was located on a lower level. It wasn’t actually a part of the Napoleone Lafayette Clinic but serviced the entire Hollows Complex. Napoleone’s assistant handed Kelty over to the technician in charge of anatomical scanning, a huge, dark-haired woman with black eyes and skin who chased him from her domain without effort. Kelty found herself suddenly nervous being left alone with the brusque woman, and wished he’d stayed to hold her hand, especially when the first words out of the woman’s mouth were ‘So what are you doing getting hooked up with Napoleone Body Parts?’

            Kelty was taken aback. ‘What?’

            ‘Napoleone’s Transplant Clinic… Down here we call it Napoleone Body Parts. Get it?’

            Kelty gave a slightly hysterical giggle. ‘Napoleone Body Parts! That’s funny.’

            The technician held her hand out to Kelty. ‘I’m Marjory, and I only bite when there’s a full moon.’

            Kelty shook her hand, starting to relax. ‘I’m K’kelty.’

            ‘Well, K’kelty,’ Marjory grinned, ‘Pop over here and we’ll summon up your medical records.’ As she prepared the database to receive the new information from Kelty’s up-coming scan, Marjory asked, ‘So, where did he find you?’

            Kelty thought she was pretty nosy for a technician, but supposed she was just trying to put her at her ease not that she was succeeding. Whichever, Kelty was too polite not to answer.

            ‘I was visiting a friend at hospital.’

            ‘One of his charity venues?’

            ‘The Little Sisters of Mercy Public Hospital.’

            ‘She must be pretty bad if they called Napoleone in.’

            ‘She is.’

            Marjory shook her head in sympathy. ‘What was it, an accident?’

            ‘An explosion.’

            ‘A terrorist bomb?’

            Kelty shook her head. ‘A furnace at the recyc plant blew up.’

            ‘The same plant where you work?’

            Obviously it was listed on her file. ‘Yes.’

            ‘So, I guess you’re feeling lucky it wasn’t you.’

            The thought had occurred to Kelty, but she said, ‘I work in a different section to Mary.’

            ‘But the whole plant’s unsafe, really. It could just as easily have been you.’

            ‘I guess.’

            ‘I don’t envy you, having to live with that kind of pressure.’

            ‘No.’ Kelty really didn’t think much of Marjory’s bedside manner.

            ‘Is she a close friend? The one in the accident.’

            ‘She’s my best friend. I’ve known her all my life.’

            ‘I guess a part of you feels a little guilty it was her and not you.’

            ‘No. Why should I feel guilty? It wasn’t my fault.’

            ‘No, of course not, but a lot of people feel like that, though, when something terrible happens to a friend or family member.’

            ‘Maybe, but I don’t. It’s just bad luck.’

            ‘Yes.’ Marjory finished up what she was doing on the computer and led Kelty over to a privacy cubicle where she could disrobe. When Kelty emerged, wearing only a hospital gown, Marjory had prepared the scanning machine. She pressed a button and a coffin-shaped capsule slid out from its centre. The lid opened and Marjory directed Kelty to remove the gown and lie down on the narrow pallet. ‘I hope you’re not claustrophobic,’ she said cheerfully before dosing the lid on her.

            It wasn’t black inside the capsule, as Kelty had supposed. She was surrounded by a soft red glow. As she felt the capsule slide into the main body of the scanning machine, Marjory’s voice came over the intercom. ‘Just lie still and relax. It won’t hurt a bit.’

            Kelty closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind completely. It was impossible, of course, her mind was spinning like a top, but as she lay there wondering how long the scan would take, she began to relax in spite of herself. After a moment, when she began to feel drowsy, she guessed she was breathing in some mild form of sedative gas. Whatever it was, she liked it; it was the most calm she’d felt all day. She even started to wonder if things were really as bad as she’d been thinking. By the time Marjory opened the lid to let her out, she was feeling almost euphoric, but that soon dissipated as she breathed in the normal air.

            ‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’ Marjory asked.

            ‘Not bad at all,’ Kelty agreed, pulling on the hospital gown. ‘I think I fell asleep. How long was I in there?’

            ‘Only twenty minutes, it was just a diagnostic scan. When you’re fitted up for your cyborg body, the scan will take much longer.’

            ‘Does that mean I pass?’

            ‘Physically. With flying colours… whatever that means. Of course, you still have to convince an independent panel you’re making the choice of your own free will; the laws are very strict about people being coerced into transplant donation. And then there’s the cooling-off period, in case you change your mind.’

            ‘How long does all that take?’

            ‘Usually as long as it takes to prepare the donor’s replacement body… a couple of days.’

            ‘I wonder if Mary’s got that long?’

            ‘You’re not just doing all this for Mary, are you?’ Marjory asked. ‘It’s a noble gesture and all, but it isn’t a good reason for this big a step.’

            ‘No,’ Kelty said. ‘I’ve been thinking about it a long time… ever since my father… stepfather, died of cancer. And now with Mary’s accident, it’s just convinced me all the more. Human bodies are too fragile. I don’t want to end up crippled or dying in agony.’

            ‘But you’re upset about your friend. Should you really be making such an important life-decision when you’re not in a fit mental state?’

            ‘I made my mind up a long time ago. I just haven’t had the right incentive until now. If my choice can also help save Mary, then when could it be a better time?’

            ‘And it’ll get you away from the recyc plant.’

            ‘That’ll be a bonus.’

            ‘A cyborg body will open up a lot of new opportunities for you. What do you think you’ll do?’

            ‘Space Corps, I suppose. I’d like to travel. I want to see the places on the posters. I want an exciting career.’

            ‘But it’s bound not to be half as glamorous and exciting as the posters make it look.’

            ‘It has to be better than the recyc plant.’

            ‘I can’t argue with you there. Still, it’s not me you have to convince. I’m sending you down to Cybernetics to do your homework. Once you’ve found out all you can about cyborg bodies, you can make an informed choice. It’s not too late to change your mind. It’s your body, and your choice. And don’t let your friend’s predicament sway your decision. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to make such a sacrifice on her behalf. Would you expect her to do the same for you if you were the one lying in hospital?’

            ‘Of course not!’

            ‘Then, remember that.’

            Kelty nodded, and quietly agreed, ‘I will.’

Chapter 4             

Marjory reprogrammed Kelty’s Napoleone Lafayette card to give her access to Cybernetics, and sent her down in the elevator. As she fought the stomach-churning descent, Kelty was beginning to feel something other than despair. She was also terrified, but at least she was taking positive action. For the past year it seemed she’d done nothing but wait, powerless as her hopes for the future slipped away. Now she wasn’t going to wait while Mary’s future slipped away. She was going to seize this opportunity for the both of them. Powerless no more!

            Things were going to work out this time. She was doing the right thing. For the first time since graduation she felt as though she was on the right course. As the possibility of transplant grew more likely, she knew she’d go through with it. She couldn’t go back to her old life now she knew there was an alternative available.

            When she stepped out of the elevator at Cybernetics Kelty thought for a moment she was in the wrong place. She’d expected some sort of laboratory with technicians in white coats and the odd half-assembled cyborg or bionic limb lying about. What she got was subdued lighting in a three-level-deep atrium with balconies running around the upper levels and a museum-type display of robotics and cybernetics circling the foyer. Several other visitors were wandering around the display. Kelty stood, looking around in awe, not knowing quite what to do until a receptionist came and told her the next information session would begin in twenty minutes and she should feel free to wander around the exhibit.

            Kelty thanked her and made her way over to the first display case which contained models of partially dissected human beings with various artificial implants, early mechanical organs, and artificial limbs. It illustrated the history of medical prosthetics. Kelty’s lip curled up at the grossness of the display, but it also held a grim fascination. As she moved along the cases, the implants and limbs grew increasingly more sophisticated, and less mechanical as new plastics were developed. The various prosthetics and devices covered ever-increasing areas of the body until the first true cyborgs were created; hideous monsters with a human head and internal organs grafted onto an artificial torso casing with limbs. For quite a time it seemed they thought it was best to replace only what was broken, but, finally, came the first fully bionic bodies with only the brain being transplanted. They were ungainly things that barely looked human. Kelty didn’t envy those first humans who were forced to dwell in a body that was little better than a robot, but she supposed the alternative was worse.

            She was moving down the row of increasingly sophisticated cyborg bodies when the announcement came for the next session to go into the theatrette. Kelty followed the others inside and slipped into a seat at the rear where she hoped to be unobtrusive. She couldn’t help feeling the others all knew why she was there, and it embarrassed her. It was quite possible that some of the others were there for exactly the same reason, but they all looked like Skywalkers.

            A beautiful young woman waited at the front of the theatrette for the audience to seat themselves and settle down. They weren’t all as disciplined as Kelty. A group of young people near the front were giggling and whispering to each other until they noticed the presenter watching them.

            ‘Welcome today to “Cybernetics: past, present, and future.” A presentation of the Cybernetics Department of the Hollows Medical Research Institute, in association with HUMAN Cybertech Advanced Cybernetics Unit. First we’ll see the film, then if you have any questions, I’ll do my best to answer them.’

            The lights went down and the front section of the theatrette burst into life as a massive three-dimensional image of a prototype robotic arm reached out over the audience. Kelty, along with most of the others, jumped as it came at her. The gigglers near the front started up again as one of them gasped, ‘It nearly got me!’ The arm receded into the screen, morphing gradually into a perfect human hand. A cultured male voice told them, ‘As human life evolved from a single-celled organism, so cyber-life evolved from a simple tool. When the first caveman picked up a stick to extend his natural abilities, to dig a hole or help him walk on a sprained ankle, so began the evolution of the machine. Each dependant on the other for survival, human and machine have evolved together until now, at the pinnacle of their symbiotic relationship, the two have merged into a perfect unity.’

            The commentary moved along in this manner, accompanied by images of humans and machines developing into ever-increasing sophistication. Kelty watched in rapt attention as the film showed in living motion how the first simple medical implants worked and developed into fully functioning cybernetic replacement bodies. ‘When the breakthrough came that allowed a human brain to be transplanted independent of the head into a cyborg body, the species “Cyber-Sapiens” was born.’

            A shiver ran through Kelty. To think, little old Kelty Holmes, C-grade citizen of the Greater Melbourne Metropolis, was about to become a member of a whole different species! ‘Cyber-Sapiens’… ‘machine with a soul’.

            ‘Today’s cyborg, though made from synthetic materials, is more of a biological organism than a machine,’ the narration continued. ‘Gone are the motors and wires of the early models. Limb movement is controlled by artificial muscles that move on electrical impulses generated by the organic brain and amplified by a series of chemical and fibre-optic transmitters.’

            Kelty’s concentration wandered away from the technical descriptions, but she was intrigued by the footage of the early prototypes of cyborg dogs. Fidoborgs, they’d been dubbed. Many of them were still alive and healthy, having survived many doggy lifetimes.

            ‘The main difference in the physical structure of the cyborg anatomy is the position of the brain, which most are surprised to find is located in an indestructible capsule in the chest cavity. The loss of a head is no more devastating to the cyborg than the loss of a limb. Back-up aural sensors are located under the surface of the skin in the hands and feet as well as the torso, and the cyborg can navigate without cranial optics by using its built-in radar. In addition to the five normal human senses the cyborg has radar and sonar. Its vision ranges into the infrared and ultra-violet ends of the spectrum and its senses of smell and hearing are twenty times more sensitive than the human average. New breakthroughs have also provided the latest models with senses of touch and taste that are almost equivalent to the human norm. Along with their relatively new ability to taste food, the modern cyborg can fuel itself on regular food as well as the traditional nutrient drink.’

            It was all sounding too good to be true! Kelty hadn’t been aware of the developments they’d made in touch and taste. Never tasting food again had always been the major drawback of becoming a cyborg, and now it wasn’t even a problem!

            ‘The only thing a reborn cannot do is reproduce itself… not in the traditional sense, anyway. But this downfall is more than compensated for by the many other abilities they have that humans don’t.’

            Kelty’s head was spinning. She wondered why all those rich people preferred human bodies when they could afford cyborg ones? It must be the reproduction thing, she thought. That, or just plain reactionism… When the film finished and the presenter came out the front to answer questions, Kelty couldn’t wait to get out of there and get on with donating her body. A sentiment reflected by the vocal male in the front, who asked immediately, ‘Where do I sign up?’

            The presenter smirked. ‘That’s usually the first question asked. The next question being: If it’s so darn great to be a cyborg, why isn’t everyone doing it? I prefer to answer this one first, since it generally saves me the trouble of answering the first.’

            Eyebrows were raised around the audience, and Kelty thought with a sinking heart: Here we go. Another possibility bites the dust?

            ‘Becoming a Cyber-Sapiens isn’t something to enter into on a whim. It’s not like changing your shoes. Some people have a great deal of difficulty adjusting to the transplant. When one’s brain is transplanted into another human body, there are certain minor adjustments: learning how to control a new body; familiarisation with the new body’s idiosyncrasies: its allergies, a disparity of height or weight, perhaps. It has been described as being like moving into a new apartment in a new tower. When one’s brain is transplanted into a cyborg body, however, it’s more like being reborn. Everything must be relearned. Not only must one learn to control movement of the new body, one must learn how to use all eight of its senses. This process of adjustment can take anything up to a year. An unfortunate few never adjust completely. For this reason potential donors are put through a barrage of tests to determine suitability.

            ‘The next hurdle for the cyborg is the lifestyle adjustment. With the introduction of the controversial cyborg control laws, a cyborg cannot remain a permanent resident of Earth. They need a visa even to visit. There must be a legitimate reason for the visit and any visit must not exceed four weeks in the year.’

            ‘Why is that all necessary?’ One of the vocal group at the front asked.

            Kelty, who knew exactly why, had to wonder at the naivety of the Skywalker. The presenter, whom Kelty strongly suspected was herself a cyborg, smiled tolerantly at the questioner, picked a metal rod off the floor by the holo-screen and without the slightest hint of effort, bent it neatly into a basic knot.

            There was a collective gasp of surprise, delight, and fear from the audience.

            ‘For some reason, many natural humans find the presence of a cyborg intimidating.’

            And they can do a lot more than that! Kelty thought with envy. So far the presenter hadn’t said anything to put Kelty off. Naturally she expected it to be an adjustment, but hell; it had to be worth it!

            ‘Finally, and most importantly, is the cost.’ the presenter concluded, ‘State-of-the-art cyborg bodies don’t come cheap, and in addition to the cost of the body, one must pay for one’s stay in the Adjustment Clinic. Many offset these costs by contracting out to a private corporation or government alliance such as the Space Corps. There is much demand for cyborgs, particularly those with special talent. And of course, as you know, space travel is virtually out of the question for humans.’

            ‘Why is that?’ the vocal male asked.

            The presenter looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was asking a genuine question, or if he was just being facetious. Kelty was convinced it was the latter, but realised she must be underestimating the naively of some Skywalkers, when the presenter chose to answer him seriously.

            ‘The cost of providing an artificial environment in space that is suited to the needs of humans is prohibitive. Cyborgs, on the other hand can survive with far less protection. They do not require an oxygen-rich environment since the small amount of oxygen needed for the brain is generated internally by the cyborg’s oxygen-recyc unit. The brain is encased in a thermostatically controlled, radiation-proof capsule. A cyborg body can function in a wide temperature range, as well as in total vacuum, with only nominal protection from the extreme temperature variations of space. Any more questions?’

            Kelty had one, but she was too shy and embarrassed to ask. Somehow the presenter knew, though, and asked her, ‘Would you like to ask me something?’

            Kelty blushed as all the eyes of the audience turned to her. She considered a denial, but then she just blurted out, ‘How does it feel?’

            The presenter looked at her thoughtfully, then answered, ‘At first, not good, but then you wonder how you ever managed to survive in a human body.’ She turned to the audience in general and said, ‘It’s not for everybody, but it can be well worth the sacrifice. Thank you for your participation, please leave by the exit at the front of the theatre.’

            With that, she left the room. Kelty had wanted to talk to her in private, but it seemed that wouldn’t be possible. She followed the others out through the exit and paused, unsure of what she should do next. Fortunately a woman in a white lab-coat approached her and asked, ‘Kelty Holmes?’

            ‘Yes,’ Kelty confirmed.

            ‘If you’d like to come with me, we can have a chat and something to eat. Does that sound okay?’ Kelty’s stomach was growling audibly. ‘Fine,’ she agreed.

            ‘I’m Pamela,’ she added, holding her hand out to Kelty, who took hold of it, wondering if Pamela, too, was a cyborg. Her skin was very soft and smooth, but then she was a Skywalker, so that wasn’t necessarily any indication. She wondered what cyborg skin felt like.

            Pamela led Kelty through a hidden door and down a long white corridor to the bright light of a cafeteria. Windows covered the wall on two sides. Kelty was once again mesmerised by the view. This floor was much lower than the Napoleone Lafayette Clinic, but the weather had cleared so more was visible of the surrounding area. Over to the north Kelty recognised the almost featureless block of the Forensic Science Laboratories and the enclosed domes of La Trobe University. Inside the domes the campus’s parklands were protected from the inclement weather. Students could study and relax on the lush lawns, basking in the warmth of the university’s own artificial sun. Kelty tried not to think how close she had come to being one of them.

            ‘Where would you like to sit?’ Pamela asked. ‘By the window?’

            ‘Yes, please!’ Kelty looked around for the best position. The cafeteria was almost empty, so there were plenty of booths to choose from.

            ‘This is a good one over here,’ Pamela said, taking Kelty’s hand to lead her over to a corner booth. Kelty sat where she could see out without straining her neck. There was a helipad on the roof of a lower building nearby in the Hollows complex. As they sat there several sleek executive helicopters arrived and departed, as well as two sky ambulances.

            ‘Busy place,’ Kelty commented.

            ‘Certainly is,’ Pamela confirmed. ‘So, what would you like to eat?’

            Kelty looked nervously at the menu, wondering if she had enough money with her to cover any order, but before she could say she wasn’t hungry, Pamela added, ‘Order anything you like, the bill’s on Napoleone.’

            ‘Really?’ Kelty looked more seriously at the menu, her mouth watering at the possibilities. Unlike the canned, dried and reconstituted foods that were a Subby’s usual fare, much on this menu was fresh. There were unprocessed meats, fruit and vegetables, even salad. Kelty had never tasted salad. She wanted desperately to choose the salad, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask, it was just too much.

            Pamela either read her mind, or was very astute because she suggested, ‘How about the steak and salad, that’s one of my favourites.’

            Kelty all but swooned. ‘Could I?’ she asked longingly.

            ‘Let’s both have that.’

            Kelty thought it couldn’t get any better, but then Pamela asked, ‘How about some freshly squeezed orange juice?’ All Kelty could manage was an enthusiastic nod.

            Kelty looked for the waiter, or a microphone, but there wasn’t one around. She wondered if they were supposed to go up to a window and order, like in most of the Subby diners, but there wasn’t one of those either. Pamela didn’t make any move to give the order, and Kelty was too polite to suggest she should. She sat there in confusion while Pamela seemed perfectly content. Then after a few minutes, a section in the centre of their table rose up and their orders slid out in front of them. The dumb-waiter disappeared back into the table and Kelty was left, once again, struck by the modern marvels of Skywalker life. She managed to cover her surprise, though, and was extremely grateful she hadn’t said anything.

            ‘So, what do you think?’ Pamela asked.

            Kelty blushed, realising Pamela had known what she was thinking all along. ‘It’s amazing! We don’t have anything like this at street level.’

            Pamela grinned. ‘No, I mean about the cyborg thing.’

            Now Kelty really blushed, which embarrassed her even more. ‘It sounds great! Absolutely fantastic!’ she said and quickly turned her attention to her salad, marvelling at the colours and textures and alluring smells. It looked so pretty; she almost hated to disturb it. She couldn’t wait to raise the attractive morsels to her lips, to bite into their exotic textures, and taste the unadulterated juices running across her tongue. Then a little voice inside her head reminded her of the phrase: The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast. It almost put her off, but then she thought, I’ll worry about that when I’ve eaten, and plunged her fork into a piece of the lettuce.

            It crunched as her fork spiked it, and squealed and crunched even more as she chewed it. The tiny round tomato was more silent but the juice shot out with such force when she stabbed into it that it squirted her in the eye. She picked the next one up in her fingers and clamped her lips tight to imprison the sweet, tangy liquid that filled her mouth.

            Each new morsel had its own unique flavour, bearing almost no resemblance to the ersatz versions she was accustomed to, and the most surprising of all was the steak. She’d never even eaten anything that resembled it let alone tasted like it. The fillet had been charcoal-grilled and then sliced so that it was brown and hard on the outside and red and juicy on the inside. She tried not to picture the living animal she knew this meat had come from as she impaled the first piece on her fork and the blood ran out. If it hadn’t been for the mouth-watering smell she might have been scared of it, but when she placed it in her mouth the taste was so intense and satisfying, she suddenly knew what being a carnivore was all about.

            When she’d swallowed the last morsel she stared at the empty plate with longing and regret. Her taste buds would remember this meal a long time to come, and there wasn’t much hope of her ever repeating the experience.

            Oh well, she told herself, meal’s done, now for the firing squad. She looked across at Pamela and said, ‘But there must be some drawbacks. It can’t possibly be as good as it sounds.’

            Pamela looked a little concerned. ‘Didn’t Diva talk about the drawbacks? She’s required by law to do so.’

            ‘If you’re talking about the breeding thing, and the adjustment thing, and the financial thing, yes.’

            ‘And did she mention that cyborgs are denied resident status on Earth?’

            Kelty nodded.

            ‘So how do you feel about all that?’

            ‘I admit I’m a little concerned about the financing thing and I’ve half a million questions about everything else, but since I lost my chance at university, space seems a far better alternative to being a Subby for the rest of my life. And what would I have to offer any offspring? Frankly, I never planned to breed unless I was upgraded. This way, any offspring this body produces will have the advantages I could never hope to provide. At least I can do that for my children…’ Kelty turned her attention back to her empty plate to avoid Pamela’s eye.

            ‘Of course, you know you wouldn’t have any claim to your biological offspring.’

            ‘Of course!’

            ‘And your family. They would be clear on that?’

            Kelty clammed up with the mention of her family. It wasn’t like she’d even discussed it with her mother. Jenet would be devastated.

            ‘How does your mother feel about it?’ Pamela asked. ‘How would she feel about her grandchildren being raised by strangers?’

            Kelty could just imagine but she couldn’t turn back now. She wanted this. ‘It’s my body, isn’t it?’ she asked defensively, looking at Pamela. ‘My choice? I can’t live my life just to please her. Anyway, I’m sure she never expected me to be a breeder. She’s a fool if she did…’ Kelty looked back down at her plate.

            ‘So you haven’t discussed it with her yet?’ Pamela guessed.

            ‘I don’t need her consent, do I?’

            ‘No, but she is your mother. You owe it to her to discuss it with her at least, don’t you think?’

            Tears welled up in Kelty’s eyes, and she looked up at Pamela in desperation, wanting some assurance that she was doing the right thing. Pamela only looked at her with sympathy. But even without an ally, Kelty was determined. ‘I have to do this thing,’ she said, sniffing at the tears that ran down her face. ‘She’s going to hate it, and she’ll never forgive me, but sooner or later you have to make your own decisions. You have to take control of your own destiny. I can’t live my life for her. I have to live it for myself.’

            Kelty pulled a disposable napkin from the dispenser and blew her nose into it. She dabbed at her eyes. Things had been going okay for a while there… now she was back to crying.

Chapter 5             

‘Why don’t we make a start on those half a million questions you have to ask,’ Pamela suggested. ‘There’s no sense in worrying about your mother until you know for sure what decision you’re going to make.’

            She had a point. Kelty gathered her thoughts, staring at the empty plate. Her first question was obvious. ‘Do cyborgs really enjoy food, or do they just say that?’

            Pamela, who definitely seemed to be enjoying her food, finished chewing and swallowed before answering. ‘The simple answer to that one, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know, is yes! Cyborgs still have a human brain, after all, and food gratification is one of the most basic urges. In fact, with the brain-sensor-receptor interface being twice as efficient as in the biological body, most cyborgs find they enjoy things such as food, and,’ Pamela winked at her conspiratorially as she added, ‘other sensual pleasures, even more.’

            ‘So, cyborgs can have…’ She was almost too embarrassed to ask, but since Pamela had brought it up… ‘They can do all that stuff?’

            ‘Of course!’ Pamela was astonished she had to ask. ‘Who’d want to become one if they didn’t? Plus they have the added bonus of being impervious to diseases and viruses so they can participate in such activities without the worry of infection. It’s even better than virtual reality. Cybersex takes on a whole new meaning.’

            Kelty hadn’t had any experience with either. She blushed. ‘I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.’

            ‘Kelty!’ Pamela realised. ‘Haven’t you ever…?’

            Kelty almost hated to admit it. After all, most other people her age had. ‘Well, I was always so busy with school work, and besides I never really met anyone I liked well enough… Do you think I should? You know, once before I… you know.’

            ‘NO!’ Pamela gasped. ‘Do you have any idea how much more valuable that makes your body? I guess not. Oh, Kelty! I wouldn’t be worried about the financial thing, if I were you. You can name your price. You’re attractive, in perfect health and untouched! You’ll have buyers lined up and down the stairs!’ Remembering she was supposed to be indifferent, Pamela winced. ‘Oh dear! Please forget I said all that. I’m not allowed to influence your decision in any way. If the Regulators found out, I’d be fined. You won’t tell anyone I said that, will you?’

            ‘No,’ Kelty reassured her. ‘Consider it forgotten. Anyway, it hasn’t influenced my decision.’ It’s just made it a lot easier.

            ‘Anyway, you wouldn’t be missing anything, the first time in a human body’s always crap!’ Pamela added.

            ‘Pamela?’ Kelty decided to ask even though it was awkward. ‘Are you a cyborg?’

            Pamela smiled and shook her head. ‘No.’

            ‘Well then, how do you know all this? For sure, I mean.’

            ‘It’s a fair question,’ Pamela admitted. ‘All I can say is, I’ve had it on very good authority. And if you’re truly cynical, I can easily arrange for you to speak with people who are cyborgs.’

            Kelty considered the offer, and asked instead, ‘Would you consider becoming one yourself? I mean, most Skywalkers opt for human transplant.’

            ‘Not always, but remember they’re not under the same pressure as someone like you. They can afford to wait until they wear out their own body, and then make the move. Hell, they can go several human transplants and then move into a cyborg body, and now the cyborg bodies are so good, a lot more of them are doing just that… the ones who can afford it, anyway.’

            ‘But what about you?’

            ‘Well…’ Pamela looked at her conspiratorially again. ‘I’m not allowed to influence you, remember, but if it puts your mind at ease, when I’m older and I’ve saved enough money… I’m not rich, you know, even though I do work here… I’m buying a cyborg body. I’ll have had enough of this place by then. I’ll be ready for a change.’

            And you’ll have done your duty to the family and bred, Kelty thought bitterly. She envied Pamela and those like her, who had the luxury of living out their god-given human life and then, instead of growing old and dying, could move onto another great adventure. But them’s the breaks! Skipping the breeding and ageing bit wasn’t really all that bad. At least she had the option, unlike her father and poor Mary. That was, barring any terrible accident happening to her before she managed the transfer. Speaking of which…

            ‘Is it possible for me to see a cyborg body?’

            ‘Of course! That’s where I planned to take you next.’

            ‘Can I see how they’re made?’

            Pamela winced. ‘I’m afraid that’s a negative. You may or may not know that we at Hollows Cybernetics have developed a unique process for the creation of our cyboforms that make them arguably the highest quality product on the market. Consumer magazine has voted us number one for ten years running now, and we’re confident of maintaining that standard for many years to come. Obviously foreign concerns would pay dearly to get their hands on our process, which is kept under the tightest security. So I’m afraid that means nobody gets in. Only the handful of scientists who actually developed the process knows how it works. Even the technicians who work in that area don’t know, and the rest of us aren’t allowed near there, not even the directors of the Institute.’

            ‘I’m sorry I asked,’ Kelty said, her face burning.

            ‘Oh, don’t be,’ Pamela assured her. ‘Everyone asks that. It’s only natural to be curious about the process of creation. What I usually recommend is to imagine the bodies are grown in a big metal womb…’

            Kelty pictured a fully formed adult body slowly growing in thick, rainbow-coloured cybernetic-soup, inside a big, round, shining-metal womb. It was almost poetic, certainly better than imagining some factory assembly line, with eyeballs and hands coming down a conveyor-belt to be glued together by some bored piece worker.

            ‘What I can show you, however,’ Pamela continued, ‘are the customisation labs so you can see a cyborg body, up close and personal, as they say.’

            Pamela took Kelty by the hand and led her back down the long white corridor. ‘Of course, if you decide to proceed you’ll come back to order your new body, but it doesn’t hurt to take a look around beforehand.’

            The area they entered was more of a design workshop than a lab. There was a casual air of clutter about it, with bizarre samples of body parts lying about on the shelves and desks. There were also uninhabited sample cyborg bodies, covered modestly in dust sheets

            A friendly-looking technician whom Kelty judged to be in his thirties, which made him one of the oldest people she’d spoken to that day, came to meet them. Pamela introduced him as Roland.

            ‘Roland, this is Kelty,’ she said. ‘She’s considering the purchase of one of our fine cyborg bodies and she’d like to find out more about them.’

            ‘It’d be a pleasure,’ he agreed good-naturedly. Kelty supposed it was all part of his job, but they made her feel like they were doing her a special favour.

            With her charge safely handed over, Pamela took her leave with a cheery, ‘See you ‘round, Kelty. Good luck in the future.’

            ‘So you want to see a body?’ Roland said, smiling at her.

            ‘Yes, please!’

            ‘Well, as it happens, we have two very nice bodies over here. Will madam be wanting pink or blue upholstery?’

            Kelty giggled, ‘Um, pink I think today, thank you.’

            Roland pulled the dust cloth off the female cyborg and Kelty gasped. She’d swear it was a living breathing naked woman standing before her. She felt her face flushing. ‘My God! It’s so real!’

            ‘I should think so, with all the effort we put in,’ Roland said. ‘Go ahead and touch her, Juliette’s not shy.’

            ‘She won’t bite, I hope,’ Kelty joked as she stepped forward and reached her hand out to touch Juliette on the arm. She was surprised to find the skin as soft and warm as the skin on her own arm. It even felt just the slightest bit oily, like real skin. The only difference between the cyborg’s skin and real skin, that Kelty could see, apart from its absolute unblemished perfection, was that it had no fine hairs in the pores. Kelty leaned in close to examine the skin. The pattern of pores was there, but no hair had been added.

            ‘Since most people spend their lives trying to get rid of extraneous body hair, we don’t bother with it unless someone specifically requests it,’ Roland explained. ‘Most are happy just to have it on the head and in the pubic region. Some like to have a little over the chest area or face, and some prefer not to have it anywhere but the head. It’s totally up to the buyer how they want their body customised, though we do advise against some of the more bizarre requests.’

            Juliette had a long and lustrous head of hair, and a neat tuft of pubic hair. She was average in height, with a slim, elegantly shaped figure and small, well-rounded breasts. Kelty couldn’t help wondering what some of the more bizarre requests had been, but she asked, ‘So what are the things that you customise?’

            ‘Oh, almost everything. Skin and eye colour. Hair colour and length. The shape and size of the various body parts: eyes, nose, mouth, breasts, and penis. These are all the customisations we do here. Height and weight are determined in the creation process, so, unless you reserve a particular height and weight well in advance, you have to make do with what’s available. Our standard heights range between sixteen and eighteen hundred millimetres for a female body, and seventeen and nineteen hundred millimetres for a male body, with the optimum weight ratio to that height.’

            ‘So, what do these uncustomised bodies look like?’

            ‘Ah! Come with me.’

            Roland led Kelty through to the back of the lab and into the storage room where they kept the uncustomised bodies. They were strange, bald, blobby creatures with undefined features and no detail… something like monstrously sized undeveloped foetuses. They gave Kelty the creeps, and she almost wished she hadn’t asked to see them.

            ‘These are the basic shells that we work with. As a buyer, you would choose whichever size, shape and sex you prefer, and then we would customise it for you, defining all its features, from the size and shape of its face and hands to the colour of its skin and hair. Everything.’

            Kelty screwed up her nose at the sight of them. They looked like something out of a horror film, about to come alive and feed on her brain. Which, when she thought about it, was exactly what they wanted. ‘Can we go back to Juliette now?’ she asked.

            ‘They are a bit creepy, aren’t they?’ Roland sympathised.

            Back with Juliette, Kelty took the cyborg’s hand in hers and lifted it, feeling the weight of it and the way it moved. Its joint action was even smoother than an average human’s, and very pliable. When she pressed her fingers into the cyborg’s flesh, it was soft and resilient like youthful human flesh. The breasts were firm and round with tight nipples. Kelty was embarrassed to touch them with Roland there, but she was too curious not to. After all, she’d have to live with similar ones in the future; it was only natural to want to know what she was getting.

            ‘Is it okay if I…?’ she asked, reaching her hand toward one of Juliette’s breasts.

            ‘Go for it!’ Roland encouraged. ‘Like I said, Juliette doesn’t get embarrassed.’

            ‘Well, that’ll be a bonus,’ Kelty said to herself as she placed her hand over the cyborg’s breast. It felt nice. Firm and spongy. It didn’t have quite the weight of a human breast, which was a good thing for practical purposes. Nor did it have the lumpiness of glands beneath the surface. Which would definitely be a bonus around period time, when Kelty’s own breasts often became painfully tender. It occurred to Kelty she’d never have another period again. It lifted her spirits to realise the painful stomach cramps, hormonal mood swings and all the other indignities that went along with the biological imperative would soon be a thing of the past! She was so excited by the thought, she nearly shared it with Roland, but then she figured as a guy he wouldn’t fully understand, so instead she said, ‘They feel nice to touch.’

            ‘And even nicer to have touched,’ he assured her. ‘Special sensory receptors are wired to a chemical stimulus in the brain to create sexual arousal far more efficiently even than in a human body.’

            Kelty blushed at Roland’s frank explanation, and she said with a giggle, ‘Not every time you accidentally brush past something, I hope.’

            ‘Unlike humans, cyborgs have complete control over the intensity of all their sensory functions.’

            ‘Kind of like adjusting the volume control on a holovid?’

            ‘Just like that, only with a mental switch.’

            ‘Is there nothing these bodies can’t do?’ Kelty asked, shaking her head in wonder.

            ‘They can’t fly… well, not without a transport but who knows, maybe one day.’

            ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’ Kelty looked at Juliette, and it all seemed way too good to be real. ‘It beats me why everyone doesn’t want to be a cyborg… those who can afford it, anyway.’

            Roland nodded in agreement. ‘Mostly they just don’t realise how far artificial bodies have advanced. If they did, we wouldn’t have the bodies to keep up with demand.’

            ‘And people like me wouldn’t have a hope of getting one,’ she realised. If Skywalkers weren’t prepared to pay big bucks for donor bodies, she’d never be able to raise the money to pay for a cyborg body.

            ‘Lucky for the drawbacks,’ Roland said. They nodded to each other for a moment, then Roland asked, ‘Is there anything else you’d like to see before I send you along?’

            Kelty looked across at the second concealing dust cover and said, ‘Well, there is one other thing I wouldn’t mind seeing.’

            She didn’t have to spell it out. Roland pulled the dust cover from the male cyborg body and Kelty blushed all over. ‘Wow!’ she said appreciatively.

            ‘You know, if you’re that way inclined, there’s nothing to stop you being transplanted into a body of the opposite sex,’ Roland told her. ‘Unlike human cross-sex transplants, there isn’t any medical risk. Many transsexuals find their true self in a cyborg body.’

            ‘I never thought of that,’ Kelty said, then added quickly, ‘I’m happy as a female, though, thanks all the same.’

            ‘I figured as much, but it never hurts to mention it. It’s surprising how many people just naturally go for a body exactly the same as their own… and don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with that. In many ways it makes the adjustment to the transplant far easier to cope with, but I do like to point out to prospective transplant recipients, that you can choose the body you want. And as well as your sex, that means the colour of your skin and hair and eyes. Whatever you find most attractive or practical, you just have to ask.’

            ‘But how are you supposed to decide?’

            ‘We have an amazing database of every conceivable size, colour and shape of the human form, and a life-size hospital-quality holographic projector so you can see, with perfect realism, what you’re ordering. If you’re going to do it, I’d start thinking about how you want to look in the mirror for the next few centuries. Having said that, I should also add, whatever you choose doesn’t have to be permanent. You can have changes made to your body when you’re in it, if you don’t mind the trouble and expense.’

            ‘My head’s spinning,’ Kelty admitted.

            ‘Then I’ve done my job,’ Roland laughed.

Chapter 6             

Kelty was taken back to Napoleone, who took her by the hand and led her to the comfortable couches at the back of his office. ‘So, Miz Holmes,’ he said warmly. ‘How did you enjoy your visit to Cybernetics?’

            ‘Very informative,’ Kelty said coolly. She really wanted to say, Bloody fantastic, but thought some decorum was called for.

            ‘And do you think you’re still interested?’

            ‘Oh, definitely.’

            ‘Good! Very good!’

            ‘So, what happens now?’

            ‘Well, as soon as you sign the contract, Kelty, we’ll circulate your physical profile to prospective buyers. You can order your cyborg body, and I’ll have your friend Mary transferred to our intensive-care facility here. We’ll need to discuss the transplant details with her if possible and get her consent.’

            ‘Would it be possible to keep me out of that?’ Kelty asked. ‘I’d rather Mary didn’t know about my part in it. Could you just say there’s a possibility of a transplant for her… that it’s a charity thing you do sometimes, for special cases?’

            ‘If that’s what you really want.’

            ‘For Mary’s peace of mind, I think it would be better.

            ‘Well, it shouldn’t be a problem.’

            ‘So, how long do you think it will all take?’

            ‘Normally, at least two weeks, though, obviously for the sake of your friend, we’ll speed it along as much as possible. We might be able to achieve it within four or five days if everything goes smoothly.’

            ‘Do you think Mary has that long?’

            ‘We’ll do everything we can to keep her brain alive and healthy, but I can’t guarantee it. Which brings me to an important question. You’re not just doing all this for her, are you? If she does die before we can transplant her brain, you won’t back out?’

            ‘Of course not,’ Kelty assured him. ‘But I really want every effort made to ensure Mary’s survival.’

            ‘It will be, you have my word on that.’ For a Skywalker Napoleone seemed genuine.

            ‘Then, that’s good enough for me,’ Kelty said. ‘So, where’s this contract?’

            ‘Tomorrow.’

            ‘Tomorrow?’

            ‘Unfortunately there are strict guidelines, and one of them is that any prospective donor must be given a cooling off period of at least twenty-four hours before any binding contract can be signed.’

            ‘But, what about Mary? Will she last another day in the Little Sisters of Mercy Public Hospital?’

            Napoleone looked doubtful and after a moment said, ‘I wouldn’t normally do this, but if you can assure me that you won’t change your mind, I’ll have your friend transferred immediately.’

            Kelty agreed without hesitation.

            They shook hands on it. ‘Well, Miz Holmes, I’d like you back first thing in the morning. I’ll send the limo for you. You’ll go home in it tonight, too, for that matter, we must protect our investment. I’ll arrange your hearing for tomorrow, and then at twelve noon we’ll sign the contract and move along with everything. It might be an idea to pack a few things… we may have to keep you here for the preparations.’

            That was fine by Kelty, she felt much safer in Hollows Towers, and now she’d decided to go through with the transplant, she was terrified something would happen to prevent it. She would have stayed now if he’d suggested it, but she owed it to her mother to tell her what she was about to do… She could feel a headache coming on just at the thought of it. 

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