by Carol Riggs
Granddad always talks about life before nationalized health care. I’ll use him as a reference. He’s a little hazy on chronological details, but I can cross-check his info online.
My TeenDom account pings, scattering thoughts of National Health Care far and wide. It’s Superguy! My heart goes into instant rat-a-tat-tat as I read his words.
@superguy: greetings, geekling. i’m feeling monstrously proud of myself right this sec. got 32 of my targeted pounds melted off me as of this morning’s weigh-in. i love being a Reducer.
Amusing how he said “me,” as if it’s his own body he’s losing weight for. He’s making major-league progress if he’s lost that much in eight weeks.
I dart a glance toward the teacher. She’s still absorbed with her e-reader, so I type out a response. It’s actually perfect that the TeenDom site doesn’t use a voice-to-text app, since I need to be in stealth mode.
@geektastic007: congratz! u r good at it for sure.
@superguy: aw, shucks. thanks.
@geektastic007: i’m doing essay research…snoooore. hey, how about we meet up when ur done with ur job? we can do stuff that’s way more FUN than clinic exercise. like there’s this skating complex near my apt with a cool holo-obstacle course.
@superguy: call me weird, but i always liked writing essays. not enough to make me want to be back in school. i’m glad I got my education cert & all that studying is behind me. Having my own apartment rocks, too.
I frown, my fingers poised over my phone. What? He totally blew off my question about getting together, the same as he did last week. Does he want to be stuck with chats on TeenDom for the rest of our lives? Getting together in person would be way more exciting. Unless he doesn’t like girls asking those kinds of questions—maybe he wants to call the shots, make the first moves. Maybe I should chill for a while.
@geektastic007: yes, u r weird. essays r not exactly joyful things.
@superguy: too bad i’m limited to this Institute phone. i found this hilarious joke image i want to attach. u would get a huge kick out of it.
@geektastic007: it’s a drag u r stuck with only text & email.
Regular voice calls and visual mode are always disabled for a Loaner’s privacy. No vids, no attachments, either. Too bad. I’d love to see his joke image, as well as hear his voice again once he gets back into his own body…if he even wants to call me. I don’t know what’s going on in his head. I can’t even get him to tell me his real name or where he lives when he’s not Reducing. His TeenDom profile lists his location as “galaxies beyond.”
So not helpful.
When I log off, I pretend to watch presidential speeches for a few minutes. Then I check my email and stare down at the screen.
There it is. A message from the Government Need Grant Program.
I suck in a quick breath, tap it open, and skim the words.
Dear Miss Dey:
We have now processed your application for educational funding from our program, and your request has been carefully considered. While your father’s income is certainly below the national average, we regret to inform you that his total wages remain above the ceiling amount for our funding criteria. We wish you the best in your—
I flick off the display. No way. My application was refused because Dad pulls in too many credits. Do I have to be on the stinking welfare rolls to get a grant?
Rot it all, and major sludge. I chew on my knuckle. There are only a few months left of school before I earn my graduation certificate. Without that need grant, I’ll be working years and years before I can save enough credits to afford tech school. Not to mention there’s still a massive pileup of Granddad’s debt left to pay.
My head sinks to the table, and my forehead hits with a thump. I don’t know why the world has to be set up like this, needing all these credits in order to live. The rest of my life stretches out like a murky and dreary road.
At 1500, Political Awareness finally ends. I commute home and drag myself down the sidewalk through the heat.
Bling! My phone announces a text.
I stop short in the middle of the sidewalk. Hmm. It’s a message forwarded from the Institute. I tap it open.
Hi, this is the client you were a Reducer for. I love what you did with my weight loss, and 8 weeks later, I’m keeping it off! Thanks SO much. My whole life is changing.
It’s obviously from Shelby. I gape at the words. An odd bubble of wonder forms under my ribs, and my mouth curves into a smile. Whoa! I, Morgan Dey, have changed someone’s life. The thought rushes over me like a sudden and refreshing wind. I hardly feel the wavering heat around me as I finish my trip home. The holo-ads on the superstore perimeter babble at me, a flurry of excited blurs that might as well be speaking an alien language.
When the front door opens, I stroll into the living room. As soon as Dad catches sight of me, he orders the TV off. Highly unusual. A talk-show host fades in a gritty smear of color and sound.
“Hi there, sweetie.” Granddad enfolds me in a surprisingly tight hug.
“What’s up, guys?”
“Nothing,’” Granddad says. “I told your dad you’re not going to do it.”
Dad presses his mouth into a taut line and throws Granddad an irritated look.
“Do what, get groceries?” I ask. “Make dinner? I don’t mind that stuff.”
“No,” Dad says. “I got a call from The Body Institute an hour ago. Mr. Behr said if we’re interested, he has another job for you. Starting the first of October. For a girl who’s a hundred pounds overweight.”
My jaw goes slack. “That’s a lot of weight to lose.”
“No kidding,” Granddad says, balling his hands into fists. “It’s preposterous. This body swapping stuff just isn’t right. Why can’t the government leave these people alone and let them decide how much they want to weigh? At least let them lose their own weight instead of shuffling them off into this program.”
“It’s promising new technology,” Dad says. “Losing weight is hard to do, and it’s an honor Morgan’s been chosen for something like this.”
Granddad grunts. “They could just use a diet pill. Save everyone a lot of trouble.”
“Diet pills aren’t a healthy way to lose weight,” I say. “And the program tones up a person’s body at the same time. Pills can’t do that.”
That line of reasoning reduces Granddad’s objections to a throaty grumble.
Dad turns to me. “Anyway, kiddo, I told Mr. Behr I’d talk it over with you and Mom.”
“That’s a massive number of pounds, but it sounds like a cool challenge—”
“And I have no say in this?” Granddad asks. “You didn’t tell her the rest, Gregg. She’ll have to be gone six months this time, instead of three.”
“Yes,” Dad says mildly, “and there’s also forty thousand credits for payment.”
“Wow!” My future explodes with renewed possibility. With forty thousand, we could wipe out Granddad’s debt entirely. I’d even have some left over to put toward tech school tuition.
“Money’s not everything, you know,” Granddad says.
“I realize that,” I say, knowing he means credits. “Dad, what do you think?”
“Six months is a long time, especially to interrupt your schooling. And a hundred pounds is a lot of weight to lose. On the other hand, you did well last time, and though I hate to say it, the extra credits would be nice for all of us.”
Granddad points a bony finger at his son-in-law. “You and Valena will only get two months’ share of that money, since Morgan turns legal age in December.”
I keep quiet. He doesn’t need to know I’m contributing to his bills, or that I already donated my last earnings to the family debt—all but what I spent on a pair of jeans and one round of paintball. He’s embarrassed enough as it is with his daughter and son-in-law helping him. He wouldn’t be happy to know I badgered Mom and Dad into letting me share in the payments.
“We have to do something, Bob,” Dad says
. “Not only are the collectors siphoning off your labor pension, yesterday they threatened to garnish my wages if we don’t slash the debt in half by the end of December. We won’t be able to afford to live here if they do that.”
I exchange a panicked look with Granddad. That’s a nasty development. If we lose this apartment, our only choice will be to live in the Yellow Zone’s low-income district—The Commons. Heavily patrolled and run-down, those old high-rises only have a tiny bathroom plus an open room where everyone eats, sleeps, and lives. I think the buildings used to be hotels or something.
“Then I really should take this job,” I say.
“Hold on a minute,” Granddad says. “No need to involve Morgan. I’ll be in the retirement home soon, and there’ll be fewer expenses. You can put that savings toward the bills.”
“I don’t think that’ll make enough of a difference.” Dad sighs. “Let’s wait to see what Valena says.” He steps into the kitchen and thrusts his head in the freezer, presumably to inspect the selection of frozen dinners.
Granddad faces me. “It’s a bad idea, and you should look for another job. What if that out-of-shape body has a heart attack while you’re exercising in it? You’d be dead.”
“I’d be fine.” I walk over and pat his shoulder. “They keep a copy of my brainmap for backup. If the overweight person’s body dies for some reason, they’d just bring my body out of suspended animation and put my backup file into my own body again.”
“I don’t get it.” He blinks. His pale blue eyes look confused in the midst of his wrinkles. Old. He’s so old and out of touch with a world that’s changing around him.
“First, they record my brain waves to make a brainmap,” I explain, trying to word it simply. “That’s the backup. Then they prep my body for suspended animation by making an opposite signal of each brain wave in the map, and insert those into my body. The opposite set blanks out everything except my basic brain functions, the ones in the medulla that keep my heart beating and stuff. They don’t map or cancel those.”
He shakes his head. “Spare me the techy jargon, sweetie. It sounds like they’re destroying your brain waves and turning you into a vegetable.”
“Sort of. Except it’s temporary and reversible. My body is put in suspended animation, and when I’m done with the assignment, the backup brainmap file gets returned to my body. The real me goes wherever my active brainmap goes, and I only exist in one body at a time. It’s not like my mind can be cloned or anything.”
“Sounds fishy to me. It’s playing Russian Roulette with your life. You shouldn’t go around separating parts of yourself like that.”
“It’s all scientifically tested and safe, Granddad. The Institute also sends copies of the backup files to their national headquarters branch in Denver.”
“What if they leave out a few brain waves and you forget your mom or dad? Or me?” he asks in a quiet voice. “You might not really be you anymore.”
“The Institute wouldn’t do that. I’m not going to forget you, don’t worry.” I pat his shoulder again. There’s no convincing him at this point, because he’ll just get more upset. “We can talk more later. I’m heading to my room to do some gaming.”
For a couple of hours, Masters of the Cyberverse claims my half-hearted attention while a cloud of bleak unease hangs over me. We can’t be teetering on the brink of going to The Commons. A girl in my calculus class lives there, and she says it’s like some sort of prison or internment camp. Mandatory quiet hours. Enforcers can search bags and backpacks. The units have security cameras posted in the halls, like hundreds of watching eyes. Sure, it’s safer that way, but that type of surveillance belongs in superstores, MTs, and other public areas. Not inside a residential building. We can’t live in a place like that.
I take a short break for a SpeedMeal dinner of chopped beef in a watery gravy, then return to my room for more gaming. I’ve just guided my silver elf into a deadly forest when I hear Mom come in the front door. While rabid lizards snap at my elf’s heels, agitated tones fill my ears. Mom’s questioning lilts at the end of her sentences. Granddad’s raised voice, Dad’s lower voice in response.
What are they saying out there? I let my silver elf rest at a mushroom shelter.
“Save. Exit,” I command. The screen goes dark.
I cross my legs and tap my foot against the side of my desk. In a way, I don’t care what Mom and Dad decide. This new job is a great chance to wipe out the bills and keep us from losing our apartment. It’s bettering people’s lives. It meshes with National Health Care’s vision of healthy people. If I can get a tech education someday and become an electronic engineer, I won’t be stuck forever on a financial hamster wheel like Mom and Dad.
Dad’s job at Rourke Robotics involves sitting in one place for eight hours a day, quality checking the machines that solder circuit board components. That’d be enough to make me run screaming from the building after one week, let alone the sixteen years Dad’s been working there. I’ve got to get a more interesting job than that someday—a higher-tech job, one that’s not drudgery assembly line. One that uses my brain.
There’s nothing in my life that can’t easily be put on hold for six months. If Mom and Dad say no, I’ll ask Leo if the assignment can start in December when I’ll be eighteen and able to sign my own contract. That’ll work unless the client doesn’t want to wait that long, and the Institute finds another Reducer to do the job. That would be annoying.
Granddad knocks and summons me to the living room. I walk out and find Mom in Granddad’s recliner, her smooth legs crossed, her burgundy nails draped over the chair arms.
“Hi, Cupcake,” she says. “How was school today?”
“Boring. I need a change, a challenge. Besides, Dad says they might garnish his wages after December. There’s no way I’m letting us live in The Commons.” I throw a careful look at Granddad. I need to stick to the truth but not admit my involvement. “You and Dad need all the chances at income we can get.”
Mom scrutinizes me, head to toe. “There are other jobs out there. Although it sounds like you really want to do this Reducer assignment.”
“Absolutely.” I wince as Granddad erupts with a loud, scornful noise. “For one thing, it earns a lot more than other jobs. If I were eighteen, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”
“You sound pretty certain,” Dad says.
“I haven’t been this certain since I bought my first electronic kit.”
“Honey,” Mom says, “you’re close to graduating. I think it’d be better if you finished your schooling first. You must only have about five months left.”
“Three and a half. But even with a six-month break, I’ll still get my certificate before my friends. In fact, maybe Blair and Krista will catch up while I’m gone and be in more of my classes.”
Granddad paces to the dining table and back. “Why can’t you finish school while you’re in this other girl’s body? It’d be your brain waves doing the learning.”
“Yes,” I say, “except when I get back into my own body, I won’t remember a thing.” I don’t even try to explain the amnesia bit that goes along with that scenario. “Besides, if I’m in this other girl’s body, I’ll have her handprint and ID chip. She’d get certification, not me. The Education Board doesn’t allow exceptions. I checked last time with Mr. Behr.”
“Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Granddad says, sputtering.
“You know, I think Morgan’s right,” Mom says. “She’s ahead in her schooling, and she could use the credits. We all could, especially with the penalties and interest they keep adding onto the bills. Plus this added threat of losing our apartment.” She plucks at her new dress, making a face like she wishes she’d never bought it, and sends a sharp glance to her father. “We wouldn’t even have those bills if someone hadn’t refused to sign up for National Health Care in the first place.”
Granddad starts to bristle, and I hurry to jump in before he skids off into a tangent about
the “evils” of government medical care and the inflated fees of Gramma’s final week in the hospital. “Right, Mom. I’ll be a Reducer again so you and Dad can whittle down the debt. It’ll be free and easy credits for you.”
Rubbing his hand across his forehead, Dad groans. “At your expense.”
I step over and give him a sideways hug. “I don’t mind. I’ll use my share of the credits to go to tech school.” Lower, to keep Granddad from hearing, I add, “Seriously, with this job I can help you totally pay off the bills. Please. You can’t let us get sent to The Commons.”
Dad closes his eyes. He’s wavering, I can tell. When he opens his eyes, he exchanges a look of resigned agreement with Mom, and nods. At the same time, Granddad cries, “No!”
A thrill of victory zings through me. The votes have been cast, three against one.
In five weeks I’ll be an Institute employee once again. I can’t wait. By the time I finish this job in April, my family will be completely out of debt.
Chapter 5
The night before I leave for the Institute, I hang with Blair and Krista one last time. As the holographic Swiss Alps on Blair’s TV fade at the end of our movie, the clear keening of a flute filters into the room. The ending credits fall like lazy snowflakes.
Krista sighs, a long, drawn-out sound. “I just love that he tracked her across the world to Switzerland. Gotta get me that kind of devotion in a guy.”
“Me, too,” Blair says. “We must be doing something obscenely wrong.”
Images of Superguy’s lean-muscled arms and teasing mouth spring into my mind’s eye. I shoo them away fast, kicking out my legs while I stretch. He’s still being charming yet weirdly uncommunicative these days. His name and zone location remain a big mystery. “I don’t think they make guys like that in real life. Only in chick flicks.”
