Body, Inc.

by Alan Dean Foster

  “I’m planning on passing myself off as a researcher. I think I can do that, for a little while, anyway. And you can pass as my assistant.”

  He had to smile at that. “I’ll be sure to remember to keep my mouth shut. But what makes you think anyone will accept you as a fellow researcher at this site?”

  “Act like you know what you’re doing and people will believe that you do,” she told him assuredly. “Because most of the time they won’t. I learned that in medical school. The three research facilities of the size and importance that the sangoma singled out for us won’t be populated solely by scientists—suspicious or otherwise. There’ll also be janitors, lab staff, drivers, stockroom people, clerks, administrators—none of whom are likely to question on sight anyone they don’t deal with directly. They’ll assume we belong among them because we’ll act like we belong among them.”

  He debated. Never having been brave enough to brazen his way to any kind of success in life he found himself intrigued by the opportunity to do so now. Especially with someone like Ingrid Seastrom to show him the way.

  “Assuming we can get inside, how long do you think we can get away with it?”

  She was gazing out the window at the passing cityscape. “I guess it depends on how intense their internal security is. I’ve spent time in hospitals and medical facilities where the external security would prevent so much as an unauthorized mouse from getting inside. But once in, he’d have the run of the place for a while. That’s because industrial security, or at least the kinds I’ve been exposed to, is designed to keep intruders out; not look for them once they’re inside.” She returned her attention to her companion. “The standard assumption that unauthorized visitors won’t be able to get inside is the one thing working in our favor, Whispr.”

  “It’d be nice to be able to believe something is,” he grumbled.

  “If SICK’s installations are anything like secure medical facilities, then the tighter perimeter security is, the greater the freedom of movement we’re likely to have once we’re inside. The more the SAEC thinks their research centers are impenetrable, the less likely they are to run daily security checks on personnel already inside.”

  “They probably have reason not to worry.” As the public transport slowed he nodded toward the front exit. “If memory serves, this is where we should get off.”

  She let him lead the way through the tightly packed clutch of commuters. Once more out in the ocean-cooled air they walked past one row of modern building fronts, turned a corner, started to cut across a small park that was a green blister on the surrounding world of concrete and hardened construction foam—and found themselves in the middle of a war. Or so it seemed to a worried Ingrid. Having been witness to or a participant in a fair number of street confrontations, Whispr was considerably less taken aback by the local confrontation.

  Several hundred potential combatants armed with everything from advanced pockshocks to antediluvian wooden clubs faced off against one another in the center of the park. A dozen or so cops stood off to one side looking bored. At the moment the two Namericans stumbled into it, the altercation consisted of little more than taunts, shouts, and the trading of insults. This was accompanied by much threatening waving of unused weapons. Whispr hastened to reassure his anxious companion.

  “Calm down, doc. We’ll just go around.”

  “Go around?” Her recently re-maniped face gazed up at him.

  “Shouldn’t we get out of the area as fast as we can? Go back the way we came?” She nodded in the direction of the loud but largely immobile mob. “Before things get ugly?”

  “What makes you think they’re going to get ugly?”

  Her expression twisted. “What makes you think they’re not?”

  “My guess is that mobs are pretty much the same most places, whether made up of Melds or Naturals.” He leaned toward her and pointed toward the lollygagging police. “See the cops? Don’t look real anxious, do they? That’s a sure sign they’ve got a handle on this. Otherwise there would be more of them, they’d be spread out with weapons drawn, and looking around for reinforcements. I don’t know this part of the world—but I do know cops. When they’re this relaxed you can bet they’ve got everything under control.”

  They waited for the confrontation to disintegrate or move on. Instead, the yelling from the two opposing groups continued to increase in intensity and viciousness. The atmosphere was not improved by several participants on both sides who had undergone serious throat melds. Their necks bulging like bullfrogs, they hurled amplified insults and challenges that rose above the general cacophony.

  Confronted with the prospect of more violence Ingrid vacillated between running for cover and trusting in her companion. Where street smarts were concerned she had to admit that his advice had been accurate so far. But still, this wasn’t Savannah.

  As they looked on, one group launched into a rhythmic stamping and chanting that was as mesmerizing as it was intimidating. The opposition responded immediately with an entirely different series of steps and vocalizations. The effect, uniting outsized and often outré Melds with equally enthusiastic and unabashedly profane Naturals, was as if two armies were battling it out with dance and song instead of the weapons they carried. Which, in point of fact, was exactly what was taking place.

  “It’s called ‘toyi-toying.’ ”

  Ingrid hadn’t heard the young man come up behind them. That was not unusual in normal surroundings, far less so when the ambient sound was being overwhelmed by a raucous demonstration like the one taking place right in front of them. What was exceptional was that Whispr had also failed to detect the new arrival. Staring at him (doctor or not, she couldn’t help but stare) she guessed him to be around eighteen, though it was impossible to tell for certain. He might have been fifteen, or sixteen, or thirty. The thick brown fur that covered his distorted, maniped skull was as off-putting as it was distracting.

  And then there was the not-so-small matter of his anything but small eyes.

  Though she could not see them clearly through the enormous sunglasses that covered a good portion of his face, enough light was admitted by the lenses for her to determine that they had been enlarged by an ophthalmological biosurge who knew his business. Doubling the size of the eyeballs had required suitably enlarging their sockets as well. Despite this the skull was narrower than normal. Not as slenderized as Whispr’s, but when measured against the size of those enormous glistening oculars the brain-case looked more than just unnaturally thin.

  After first having been removed from their usual positions and grafted onto the top of the skull, the ears had been triangulated and aimed forward. The brown fur covered every visible square centimeter with the exception of a wide bald streak that dominated the face. Some of the teeth were pointed, and the left incisor (only the left) protruded outside and over the shrunken lip. Letting her gaze drop she saw that the young man’s fingers had been elongated and thinned. The knuckle joints were far more pronounced than in normal human fingers.

  While unsettled at having had someone come up on him from behind, Whispr was not in the least disturbed by the appearance of this fellow Meld. He was acquainted with far more radical manips back home in Savannah.

  “Is that a veldt Meld?” he inquired. “I’ve read about them.”

  The adolescent shook his head while keeping his enormous eyes trained on the demonstration that was taking place a stone’s throw distant. “It’s based on a creature that lives on an onshore island. A lemur Meld. Ever since I was little I loved lemurs. Saved my subsist for years so that when I was old enough I could afford a good one. Got it all. See?” Proudly he pirouetted in front of them. Something like a brown rope just missed Ingrid’s face. Melded muscles allowed the grafted tank-grown tail to be fully functional.

  Its existence was no surprise to Ingrid. Ever since the advent of melding, tails had been among the most popular and easy to perform manips. On those rare occasions when she had contemplated surrendering
her Naturalness it was among the first bioaccessories she had considered adding. A well-turned tail was an easy way of turning heads among members of the opposite sex. Psychologists said that it had something to do with atavistic longing and the natural rhythms of the moving body. Without a doubt this lemur Meld was proud of his altered appearance.

  “Toyi-toying?” she asked him.

  “Dance and chanting designed to register protest or disarm an adversary. Very old local tradition, though some say we stole it from the Zimbabweans. No one bothers about such things much anymore ever since all the local tribes joined together to form the SAEC.” The enormous sunshades turned toward Ingrid’s companion. “This kind of demonstration is harmless to nonparticipants, like you said.”

  Whispr wasn’t about to be disarmed by casual small talk. “How long have you been hiding and watching us, bug eyes?”

  In protest the lemur Meld raised furry long-fingered hands. “Hey, I was just going on my way and overheard you in passing. I got curious because you didn’t sound like local. You don’t look like local, either. Where you from?”

  “Somewhere else,” Whispr replied tautly.

  The teenager nodded understandingly. “Not mean to pry, I don’t.” He turned back to Ingrid. “I don’t know your stick-friend, but you looked and were sounding afraid. So I tell myself; Phosa, just go and be civic and reassuring to the pretty lady. Even if fighting breaks out no one will come after you. Because you two are not affiliated with either group.”

  “What are the groups?” Ingrid continued to divide her attention between the furry commentator and the furious confrontation. “Is it some kind of political rally?”

  Pointed ears twitched as he shook his head. Behind the shades the huge maniped eyes looked sad.

  “You would think in this day and age would no more be tribal disputes. Like I say earlier because SICK running most things from Cape to Congo, you would think would be only fights between companies. Excuse me for cliché-making, but old ways die hard.” He nodded toward the confrontation. “Here we have running free no charge before you interested visitors, anthropological movie called ‘tribal dispute.’ ” His ears strained forward. “From what I can filter out I think has to do with allocation of government money for over-air communications services in certain section of Wets.” Looking away from the increasingly tense standoff he stared sorrowfully at the ground. “Is very sad.”

  “I’ll tell you something else that’s sad.” Whispr had moved closer to both of them. “Engaging us in polite conversation while trying to zift your grubby maniped self into my friend’s purse.” At which point he made a grab with both hands for the teen’s melded tail.

  Slender, lithe, and suitably prehensile, it had been trying to forge a way into her purse while its owner used his body to shield the effort from view. As a startled Ingrid clutched at the container with both hands, the teen threw a punch at Whispr so feeble it would have been laughable if not for the youth’s desperation to free himself. Having fought off significantly larger and far more dangerous opponents Whispr had little hesitation in taking on the fur-covered teen.

  “Let me go, let go me!” The youth struggled violently in Whispr’s spiderish grasp. “I am sorry but hungry … will leave you in peace, I promise!” Behind the dark glasses, saucer-sized eyes pleaded.

  As she followed the struggle Ingrid was moved to compassion. The young would-be pickpocket was hardly in the same criminal league as the pair of muscle-bound thugs who had tried to mug her and Whispr outside their Simon’s Town hotel. He was just some poor street kid struggling to survive, with nothing to boast about or rely on except his expensive meld. She said as much to Whispr.

  “Yeah, right—what d’you want me to do, just let him go?”

  She eyed her companion steadily. “You could always call the police. They’ll take him into custody and then they’ll need some information from the offended. From us. They’ll ask—the usual questions.”

  That gave him pause. In a threatening situation Whispr was quick to react, but thinking ahead had never been one of his strongest virtues. Reluctantly he released the teen and stepped back, panting softly.

  “You’re damn lucky my friend has more compassion than common sense! Come anywhere near us again, meld-mistake, and I’ll strangle you with your own freluking manip.”

  The lemur Meld was backing away carefully. “May you go down Cape, straw-man, where the wind blow you to the southern ice!” Vast eyes gazed liquidly at Ingrid. “Blessings upon you, lady of all that is Goodness. I apologetically am for try borrow from you. I’m hungry and need food for help saving others, but must press on regardless.” He slapped at his own coiling, curling tail, knocking it sharply backward. “Stupid bad meld! Three times I pay to fix biosurge’s bungling and still it not work right!”

  Ingrid blinked at him. “Saving others? What others?”

  His retreat accelerated. Not back the way he had come, as one might have expected. Nor toward Whispr to challenge him again. Instead, the furry adolescent was withdrawing in the direction of the clashing mobs.

  “Must help to try and stop quarrel from advancing beyond angry words and defiant dance steps.”

  Whispr frowned. What the kid said didn’t feel right, didn’t match up with the theft he had just tried to pull off. “Why should you care? Are you a member of one of the tribes?”

  “Neither tribe is mine, but would not matter,” the Meld declared. “The old ways must go passing by. Tribal feuds must be stopped. Not only here but everywhere. Is for betterment of human species I go.”

  An alarmed Ingrid stepped toward him. “Are you crazy? You can’t put yourself in the middle of that! You’ll get yourself trampled—or worse.”

  “Must try. Not sure why.” The youth smiled for the first time, revealing polished white teeth and more of that oddly elongated left canine. “It a feeling that run deep within me. Anyway, not alone—you’ll see.” He waved, turned, and rushed toward the rapidly shrinking open area that now barely separated the two howling parties.

  “Wait, kid!” Whispr cupped his hands to his mouth. “I want to see animals! Where should we go that’s close to see animals? And if you tell me a zoo, I’m coming after you!”

  Halfway across the street the Meld turned to shout back at them. “Sanbona! Get yourself to Sanbona. Is a very special place, even for MMBA Africa!” Then he was across the street, and his voice as well as his body were swallowed up by the mob.

  “He’s going to get himself killed.” Ingrid could not contain her disbelief. “And for what? For a noble but futile gesture?”

  Whispr shrugged. “Seen kids get killed for less. But it doesn’t compute, doc. First he tries to scam you, then he goes all rubber-legged righteous in the service of humankind?” He shook his head. “And he was lying to the last; he’s all alone.”

  Ingrid’s attention had been drawn to a rising commotion on the far side of the small park. “More people are coming.”

  Only marginally interested, Whispr made no real effort to see. “More cops? About time. Even back home they prefer to ignore political demonstrations, unless they’ve got no choice. ’Cause no matter what they do, one side is gonna end up hating them.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s more police.” She strained to make out the advancing figures. “They’re not uniformed and they’re not carrying weapons. Leastwise, none that I can see. They look like they’re toyi-toying, too.”

  Whispr truly couldn’t have cared less. Delays were dangerous: they meant that anyone on your tail drew that much closer. They needed to rent transportation and he wanted to see animals. But the doctor stood transfixed, staring across the street at the ongoing altercation and showing no sign of wanting to be on her way.

  What to do? He could grab her arm and pull, except that she would instinctively resist any such effort on his part. Not to mention that he had promised not to touch her except in an emergency. The only emergencies they faced here were boredom and impatience, to both of which she app
eared immune.

  The newly arrived third group was singing. Their high-spirited lilting voices soared in harmony above the ongoing salvos of multi-tribal imprecation. None of the newcomers appeared to be older than nineteen or so. Their dance steps were energetic as they advanced in pairs, swaying and shifting first to the left, then to the right, and back again. The sight put Ingrid in mind of the sinuous windings of a Chinatown paper dragon, only without the costume. The newcomers appeared oblivious to threats and attempts at intimidation from both sides.

  Youthful hands were extended to the infuriated, the enraged, the incensed. Under assault by empathetic words, soothing touches, and imploring looks, even the most belligerent individuals found their fury beginning to subside. Like an angry wind that had blown itself out, the din gradually subsided. Weapons both modern and traditional were lowered. Expressions of uncertainty and even discomfiture began to replace those of rage and resentment as the group of newly arrived teens cajoled and persuaded the quieting adversaries.

  “I’ll be damned.” Intrigued in spite of himself, Whispr joined Ingrid in looking on as the young newcomers quietly put an end to the incipient altercation—and without raising anything except their voices in song. “What was it he said? ‘For betterment of human species’? I swear he wasn’t the type. Right, doc? Doc?”

  Ingrid continued to stare across the street. Her expression had changed to one of fascination.

  “There was something else he said. Something else. About bungled biosurge work. Work that he’d had to have redone three times, and it still wasn’t right.”

  “So?” Frowning, Whispr gazed over at her. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Maybe nothing. Probably nothing. It’s just that as you know I have an interest in individuals in his age group who’ve had to have bad cosmetic melds repaired.” She nodded toward the park, where the near riot had been muzzled by the group of young interlopers as smoothly and efficiently as a simmering pot could be reduced to silence by the touch of a button or a single verbal command.