by Jae Loren
the word, she hit a solid wall. Frustrated, she shook her head.
Vjola shrugged, “Well I suppose I cannot be upset with a perfect two out of three. Although this means you leave the task to me to give you a name in the interim. Nothing fancy mind you. I will keep it uncomplicated: Alys. You like that don’t you: Alys?”
Alys. It wasn’t her name, but it would have to do. “You called me that before, didn’t you? Something like ‘Alys Blue’.”
“Oh that. Well, if you must know-”
The door to the basement opened once again, letting in the brief commotion of outside before shutting it silent once more. The Madam pattered down the steps in her day gown, her hands holding the top and bottom of a small pile.
She could see the features of the Madam more clearly the further the woman stepped into the harsh clinical light. Amaranthine eyes that glittered like icy stones, the gleaming darkness of her hair piled extravagantly on her head, the deep dark-velvet colored dress that clothed her thin figure was understated in its elaborately simple design. Even if no one knew who she was, it was obvious that the Madam didn’t just command a presence, she was one all in her own.
“Madam?” Vjola questioned, “Something wrong?”
A robe was tossed over Alys’ body, white and soft and hot, as though the fabric had been freshly steamed-pressed.
“I have had a situation come up with one of the guests that needs to be settled quickly. You no longer need me, correct? I have matters of greater importance to attend to.” The heavily made-up woman turned to Alys and inclined her head, gesturing to the clothes in her hands that she handed over. Although she spoke politely, her distain was palpable enough. “One of my handmaidens supplied these. You may find it more... comfortable than your current attire.” She gave a brief look to the doctor, “If that is all, I must return to more important matters.” At the doctor’s polite murmur of dismissal the Madam left the room once more.
“You’ll have to forgive the abruptness.” Vjola explained, “The Madam takes after her father I hear: standoffish, but good at heart.”
Alys would take anything besides the doctor’s prolonged, unabashed stare at her body. Too long a time was spent within the HARTS metal armor. Having her real skin exposed felt… wrong. She took the robe and shrugged into it, tightening the sash around her waist, her body melted into the warm fabric. “Is there a reason it’s freezing down here?”
Vjola adjusted his glasses. “At first it was necessary to protect your body from accelerating cell damage while we removed you from the suit, but as soon as we began to remove the armor your true body couldn’t take the atmospheric changes. I felt it best to take every precaution and keep you here in the laboratory. The temperature here is closely regulated.” He paused to consider something. “How long were you in that suit, anyway?”
If there was a time she wasn’t in the suit, she couldn’t remember it, “Since I was young.”
The physician looked at her a second longer and then shrugged, “It’s not like the HARTS ever leave the Queen’s guard anyway, so no one could corroborate your story. But however long you were in that suit, your skin cells couldn’t adapt to the toxin in the air. I couldn’t save your body but I could give you a new one.” He placed his fingers to his chest, lifting his chin “I just so happen to be the best transplantologist in the country. You were fortunate to be in such good hands, and I was curious enough to see what my work would do in active study, so I transplanted your brain into one of my special ‘Alys’ series models.”
She looked down at herself, “Models?”
“Artificially designed bodies. They do everything just as a regular human would: grow hair, shed skin, create cells of various kinds. All they need is a motor, a brain, to facilitate their instincts. You’d be surprised how many people choose to just get a new body instead of improving their own. It’s quite common out here. You should feel honored I deigned to use one of my favorite designs to save your life. Alys Blue is the fifth in this particular series that I’ve created.”
That still didn’t answer her original question. She lifted the strands of hair up to the white light to see through the curling blonde pieces, “And for what purpose did the cold serve?”
“I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Besides you would need to slowly acclimate after being in that suit. The sensory overload itself would have been too much. Your new body woke you up when it knew you were ready.”
“Is that why I can feel so much?” She squeezed her fists, the stinging pressure leaving white indents in her palm, turning the flesh red beneath the clear pink nails on her fingers. There was no mechanical clank to the movement, no sound of metal squeaking as it formed a menial gesture.
“You needn’t act like it’s so new. You’ve simply just forgotten what the rest of us tend to think is uniformly common. For humans anyway. If I put you into one of the hybrid models, like the Perrdita catwoman, then this would be different conversation. It was mutual decision to put you into this body, but again anything would have been better than that metal prison. How did you stand that suit?”
Yes, her suit. “Where is my suit? I’ll need it before I return to the palace.” It would have to be disassembled and re-attached to her piece by piece. A shiver ran down her spine at the prospect. She could at least remember that she didn’t much care for the process when she was forced to go through it the first time.
He waved his hands dismissively. “You’re no longer a member of the royal guard. All the ranks of the Queen’s HARTS were reshuffled and retrained, the doors shut behind them. No one has been allowed into the palace, and no one will be until Hatta & Harestein decide differently.”
Bombs and fire exploded in her eyes, her limbs suddenly weighed down with the memory of twisted metal and the smoke that hazed in her red vision. What had happened at the palace? She would have to make her way to the Queen at all due haste. Duty demanded the determination that coursed through her as she began to unfold the clothes that had been left in her hands. She halted her motions when the doctor stayed unusually silent.
But he wasn’t looking at her. Vjola blinked, puckering his lips as his brows bent into a frown, “No, that will not do at all.”
Alys looked down at the long silver-threaded gown the Madam had provided. She didn’t particularly care for it either, but for some reason agreeing with Vjola made her stomach churn in protest. “Is there a problem?”
“ ‘Is there a proble-’ of course there is a problem! The Madam may be the most respected woman in these parts, but her reputation for understanding any part of my vision is severely lacking in comparison.” Vjola muttered as he pulled out a package from his bag, “I have every say in the look of my creation, especially the aesthetic presentation. Put that gown away. If you have any plans of blending in properly, you’ll wear this.”
Tearing apart the twine and paper parcel, she exhumed the contents swiftly, laying out the pieces on the pallet. In comparison to the Madam’s choice, the doctor’s selection bordered on indecent.
She eyed the outfit with a sneer, “This is blending in?”
“I hear it is a popular fashion among young girls. All my Alys models wear it. The Alys are based on a color spectrum, and Alys Blue, of course, needs clothes to match her name. She’s a lot more edgy than the other models. I designed her for action. The body is lean and powerful, can be easily trained for hard work and military readiness. Fine design for someone like you. Oh, don’t give it that look. I would think anything would be preferable to that confining hunk of metal. Do you even remember what you looked like before? I thought I was performing a courtesy throwing a soldier into such an appropriate model. Maybe now you could live a normal life, marry a nice almost sane man and have offspring that will add more terror into the world.” The words were eager, rushed out, as though he had more to say on the topic.
She ran her fingers over the fabric, picking up a pair of bright horizontally striped stockings. “Is that what’s normal for this country?”
>
His head bobbed excitedly, “Ever since the Toxin was introduced. We’ve all gotten used to it, after all. There is no point in whining over our misfortune if embracing it makes so much more sense.”
“Hmn.” Shrugging out of the robe, skin shrieking at the loss of warmth, draped it over the empty pallet. Taking the items Vjola gave her, she rolled the striped stockings on over her legs, pulling the elastic bands tight and securing them to the straps on the white garter belt. The short petticoat and the overskirt came next, sliding over her hips as she ignored the old man’s unwavering gaze. The white dress shirt was more of an oddity, some man’s old throwaway, maybe, but she tied the long hem into a knot just below her navel, pulling up the suspenders that were anchored to the blue skirt over her shoulders.
Vjola gave a satisfied nod. “Perfect. Exactly as I had planned. This is how I want my creation to look.”
Creation. The term left a sour taste in the back of her throat, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t drained the canteen. Her feet slid into hard leather boots that were tight and thick-soled. Moving her feet and flexing her toes, she attempted to find some comfortable position.
“Don’t you want to see how you look? Go ahead, the mirror is right over there.”
A long narrow pane of glass was
