by Carol Riggs
“I’m damaged goods for this job now.” My words are distorted from my lip, which is swollen. “I hope my ERT won’t be canceled because of this. Are you still letting me be a Reducer?”
“I’m really unhappy about those people shoving and hitting you.” Mom’s voice is unsteady. “But you’re not hurt badly.” She leans closer to my ear. “This job is our only chance to keep the apartment. Let’s see what your father says.”
That’s not promising. I’m sure Dad will be more likely to cancel than Mom. The nurse lifts a container to a wall nozzle and dispenses a blob of clear jelly. He applies the jelly to the scrapes on my hands, and a smell similar to fingernail polish fills the room.
I wrinkle my nose as the odor settles in my sinuses. “What’s that?”
“Protective sealant. It keeps the stasis gel in the suspended animation tank from penetrating. We put it on scratches or broken skin.”
“Can I do the suspension and ERT, all bashed up like this?”
“Mr. Behr will be the judge of that. I’m applying it just in case.”
He dabs sealant on my lip. As he removes ice wraps from my kneecap, the autodoor whisks to one side. Leo charges in through the opening.
“I’ve read your injury report, Morgan,” he says, his face etched with tense lines, his brow furrowed. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. Can I do the Transfer, or do I have to wait until I heal?”
Leo gives an abrupt laugh. The lines on his face soften, although he shoots a careful glance at Mom. “I love your dedication. No, you won’t have to wait. However, realize that healing is nonexistent in suspended animation. You’ll wake up in six months with these same injuries.”
“I can handle that.” I ease into a standing position. “I’m just worried about what my dad will say. Mom’s okay with me continuing, but Dad might cancel everything.”
“You’re underage,” Leo says, looking unhappy about the fact. “I’m required to notify him, which I already have. I assured him you’re fine and showed him a video clip of you here in the nurse’s station to prove it. Although he hasn’t withdrawn his signature, he wants you to call him.”
Oh, Dad. Don’t change your mind. He can’t pull me from the program before I even start.
I take out my phone and select visual mode. Dad picks up before the first ringtone dies away, even though he’s at work. His face appears onscreen.
“Are you okay?” he asks, worry drenching his voice. “I knew I should’ve taken the morning off from work to go with you and your mother.”
I aim for a casual tone. “I’m fine, Dad. See my face? My lip is cut, but it looks worse than it is. You know how lips bleed. The protesters are the only dangerous things around here, and they’re gone. Enforcers were right there at the entrance and arrested them fast.”
“I don’t want you to push yourself to do this job because of the credits.”
“I’m fine, honest. I only ended up with a few scratches and a split lip.” I try not to wince as my mouth throbs.
“What does your mother say?”
Mom moves closer to be visible on the screen. “We’re shaken up. But I think Morgan can make the call, and she wants to do it.”
Dad frowns. “I wish we didn’t have those blasted bills to pay off. It’d be an easier decision. I don’t like weighing Morgan’s safety against a bunch of credits.”
“Dad, please. No other job pays this well.”
“We’ll manage.”
Words stick in my throat. No, we won’t. We’ll end up living in a place with faulty plumbing, drippy faucets, and peeling paint. Watched by a fleet of security cameras in the halls. Sleeping and eating in one cramped, prison-like room.
“We made our decision weeks ago, Gregg,” Mom says. “This doesn’t change anything.”
Leo steps closer. “If it helps, Mr. Dey, from now on Enforcers will be dispersing protesters from the area. The WHA or any other group won’t be allowed to loiter. They’ve forfeited their right to protest near our property.”
“Did you hear that, Dad?” I ask. “The danger’s gone.”
“I heard.” Dad rubs his face. “All right. I can’t believe I’m saying this, Morgan—and I’m not totally comfortable with it—but I know how you have your heart set on making the world a better place. Sometimes important things like that come with a few risks. Be careful, kiddo.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I smile, despite the ache of my lip, and tap off the connection. All systems go, before Dad changes his mind. I face Leo. “I’m ready to sign and be briefed whenever you are.”
His salesman smile returns. “I was hoping you’d say that. You’re quite a trooper.”
Mom clasps me in a careful yet heartfelt hug and kisses my cheek. “Bye, honey. I’m so proud and grateful you’re doing this for us.”
“It’s because you all are important to me,” I say. “I’ll text ya later.”
I follow Leo out the door and eye the back of his immaculate head, noting how every dark hair obeys his precise styling. In his office, I sink into a guest chair. The deskscreen springs into action, displaying a very overweight girl with long, curly brown hair. The girl is shown talking to Leo in his office, her face listless and pasty. She wears faded navy sweats and a resigned expression.
“Meet Jodine Kowalczyk, your Loaner for this assignment.”
“Jodine what?” I lean closer.
“Kowalczyk,” he repeats, making the last part sound like wall chick. “You’ll find the name in your briefing file when you get your phone. Have you ever seen or met this girl?”
“No.”
“Good. It’d be unlikely, since she lives in the Green Zone. How about her parents?” The vid of Jodine fades, replaced by one of a trim couple looking intellectual, well-dressed, and sophisticated.
“I haven’t seen them, either.”
Leo nods toward the image. “Mrs. Janeth Kowalczyk is a well-known techfree artist, and Dr. Charles Kowalczyk is an esteemed research physicist whose mother was the inventor of the PlasmaWave oven.”
“Caroline Mahoney?” I say in a near squeak.
He smiles. “I thought that would impress you, with your interest in science. The Kowalczyks are high-profile, busy people. Yet they’ve brought Jodine to the Institute in person and will escort you to their home when the Transfer is complete.”
“Cool.” Imagine that. The guy is related to Caroline Mahoney, and I, inconsequential quark-like Morgan Dey, will be staying with her son for the next six months.
“The Kowalczyks’ living arrangements should be conducive to your success,” Leo says. “Their rooms are on an upper floor, yours on a lower. You’ll respect their privacy and only interact with them when they initiate contact. Is that clear?”
“Yes. No spying, prying, stealing, or dealing.”
Leo flashes a rather intimidating smile. “Which includes no drugs, acts of violence, sex, cigarettes, illegal activities, or anything else prohibited in your contract. You’ll sleep in Jodine’s room. Her privacy will be assured by bio-blocks on her electronic accounts, games, email, and online shopping sites. If you violate something in your contract, your assignment will be immediately terminated. You’ll receive no pay.”
“Right.” The usual serious stuff.
“It works both ways, Morgan. If there’s anything in your living arrangements that puts you in danger or makes you uneasy, report it. We thoroughly screen offsite applicants, but if a problem arises, or if it’s too difficult to lose weight there, we can switch you to the dorms.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Be sure to use your Institute phone for all communications, and verify your activity with the exercise app. Using any other phone is prohibited. Any questions?”
“Nope.” Same rules he drilled into me before my last assignment. I dart a look at a security camera on the wall. It’s documenting proof that I’ve been advised and warned.
After I complete my bio-signature, Leo escorts me out the door and toward t
he services of a waiting hostbot. At the Transfer room, I dress in a thigh-length hospital gown, and Irene greets me. I settle on a white-sheeted bed and watch her ready an IV.
A familiar gaunt doctor joins us and adds sensors to my torso. “Your mind is being prepped for Transfer, Miss Dey, and your body for suspended animation. Let us know if you’re uncomfortable in any way.”
I nod. Dr. Gaunt-as-Death again, exactly like the first time I went under to become Shelby. For all I know, he and Irene might’ve also been around to handle my Restoration when I left Shelby’s body. What I do know is that right now, I’m ready to ditch my own body and get on with my assignment. I have a pounding headache. My knee throbs, my hands sting, my lower lip feels thick. I’ll deal with these battle wounds in six months. At the moment, I want to begin my assignment and start blasting a serious trail toward my family’s debt obliteration.
The miraculous drippings of my IV begin to take effect. My aches fade, and less intense drumbeats pound my skull. I lose the sensation of my mouth and head. No skin, no heart, no bloodstream. A melting away, a warm blurring and floating off into a great expansive nothingness while my thoughts grow farther apart…less coherent…distant…
Like a ghostly murmur inside my head, I breathe, Good-bye, Morgan Dey.
Heaviness. I try to budge under a thick, sloggy mass. It’s as though piles of sandbags cover the length of my body, a suffocating weight. Where are my lungs? I struggle to breathe as an acrid taste fills my mouth. Murmuring voices penetrate my ears, and the scent of rubbing alcohol shoots up my nose.
My eyes pop open, and I find Irene smiling down at me. She’s removing the IV from my arm. “Wha—what happened?” I ask. My voice sounds odd, rounder and more melodic than normal. “Did it work?”
“Everything went fine,” she says. “You now occupy the body of Miss Kowalczyk. Your adjustment will be faster than coming out of suspended animation, so you should be able to sit up in a minute.”
I’m not so sure about that. I shift with an effort, and the sandbag sensation lessens a fraction. A white ceiling with panel lights floats above me, shedding stark brightness into my eyes. I move a leaden arm and hold a hand in front of my face. Five pale, rounded fingers stretch out in my vision, the fingernails bitten down to ragged nublets.
I crack a half smile. Not cool, Jodine Kowalczyk. Fingernails are not good nutrition, or good for tooth enamel, either. I move a leg, a larger and heavier leg. It’s like I’m testing out some sort of high-tech exoskeleton robot. My inner self seems way too small to move my limbs.
Nevertheless, I need to try. This is what I have to work with.
With considerable exertion, I prop my new body into a sitting position. I squint, seeing flashy spots before my eyes. Careful. Too much altitude, too soon. I survey my wider hips and thighs, along with the thick legs in navy sweatpants that hang over the bed. Irene arrives at my elbow to help me scoot off and stand.
“There you go,” she says. “You’ll get used to moving around soon. Once you’re ready, Miss Kowalczyk’s parents and Mr. Behr are expecting you in Mr. Behr’s office.”
“Thanks. I’ll head over there.” I marvel again at the strange voice that comes out of my mouth. Beautiful, in a shy, ultra-feminine sort of way. I cross the room with awkward steps and make it out the door. Another ubiquitous hostbot greets me. I maneuver down the hall despite being winded in less than twenty seconds, and halt when I reach Leo’s office.
I inhale a huge lungful of air to steady myself. Here I go. Time to meet some high-society, famous people—my faux-parents for the next six months.
Chapter 7
Before I’m ready, the door slides open.
Leo and his smile appear in my line of vision, along with the stately figures of a man and a woman sitting in the office’s leather chairs.
“I’d like to present Morgan Dey,” Leo says with a flourish of his hand. “Morgan, this is Dr. and Mrs. Kowalczyk.”
I greet them, and the man stands and circles me like an alert Doberman in a charcoal-gray suit, his gaze probing mine.
“A pleasure to meet you.” He shakes my hand—Jodine’s hand. “It’s quite disconcerting to think you’re not my daughter, standing there in her body.”
Mrs. Kowalczyk gathers herself into a graceful stand and steps closer, the rose color of her high heels the exact shade of her stylish dress-suit. “How do we know it isn’t Jodine?” she says with a faint smile. “Perhaps Mr. Behr has merely programmed her to lose the weight on her own, and then let her toddle back in here.”
Toddle? I toss a wary glance at her. “Trust me, Mrs. Kowalczyk, I’m not Jodine. I have no idea where you live or what your apartment looks like. But I’m really psyched about spending six months with someone related to Caroline Mahoney. She was a brilliant scientist.”
Something exultant flickers in Dr. K.’s eyes. “There’s your proof, Janeth, on more than one level.”
“I see.” Mrs. K. shakes my hand at last, her fingers strong and slender.
There’s clearly something I don’t know about the proof of my identity.
“Guaranteed, it’s Morgan in there.” Leo hands me an Institute phone. “I’m always available by email or cell. Do any of you have questions before we part?”
Dr. K. and I shake our heads, but Mrs. K. nods, looking at me in Jodine’s body as though I resemble biowaste. “Does Morgan know her schedule for weigh-ins, and will she be able to get here reliably on her own?” she asks.
“I believe so.” Leo gives me a pointed look.
“Mondays at oh-nine-hundred and Thursdays at fourteen thirty, at the Clinic,” I recite. “I’ll take the MT Express here and back, and Leo has set up a special limited account that’ll be accessed when the scanners read Jodine’s ID.”
“Very well.” Mrs. K. retrieves a rose-tinted purse from her chair and moves to the door with her husband.
Feeling like a non-matching accessory, I follow the pair from the room. I’m puffing and panting by the time we arrive at a parked ebony vehicle outside. After Dr. K. seats his wife in the front, he holds the back door open for me. I squeeze in, conscious of my new bulkier figure.
“It’s awesome you have a car,” I say as he gets behind the wheel. “I’ve read a lot about them, but I’ve never ridden in one.”
“I find driving relaxing,” Dr. K. says. “It’s a fine machine, and I like interacting with it.” He voice-commands the vehicle to start. It moves forward, silent and powered by compressed air.
How mega-sly. When I was twelve, I loved it when these kinds of cars replaced gasoline and hybrid-electric ones. I wrote a science report on how the manufacturers made the tanks safer, designing them to crack instead of shatter in a collision. Not that many people in the city even have cars. Too expensive, too unnecessary. I wonder if Dr. and Mrs. K. ever take the MT.
I squirm under the autobelt that’s stretched across my waist and torso. It doesn’t seem to be made for overweight passengers. A boisterous rumble comes from my belly, and I glance at my new phone: 1100. Apparently it’s close to Jodine’s usual mealtime.
Mrs. K. lightly pats the sides of her upswept brown hair, and her shoulders relax as we leave the Institute grounds. “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to be finally doing something constructive about Jodine’s weight. She’s ruining her body. I thought I’d go out of my mind trying to deal with it. It was beginning to hamper my creative art flow.”
I can’t tell if she’s talking to me or to Dr. K.
“This ERT program should be successful.” Dr. K.’s tone is confident.
“It had better.” Mrs. K. half turns toward me. “For every additional twenty pounds Jodine gained, we were taxed at a higher rate. The rates have also gone up each year she’s kept the weight on, and this past year even the base rates have doubled. Can you imagine the stress?” She shakes her head, which wiggles the tiny pearls dangling from her earlobes.
“Yeah,” I say carefully. “The government doesn’t like obesity.”
“Well, it burdens the health care system,” Dr. K. says. “Too much time and funds are spent treating diabetes, heart disease, strokes, and high blood pressure. I hate to see Jodine putting herself in danger of those illnesses. Advances in genetic engineering don’t do us any good if people insist on making their bodies unhealthy.”
“Yeah,” I say again. Jodine chose to keep overeating, despite all the rules we’re taught in school about diet and exercise. Despite all the reward points for staying fit. Still, it doesn’t seem fair to listen to the Kowalczyks complain behind Jodine’s figurative back.
We drive along, with the Kowalczyks discussing national health and the quality of city streets. It’s a perfect time to message Superguy.
@geektastic007: i’ve morphed! can’t tell u details of course, or i’d have to kill u.
His response comes after six long, boring minutes.
@superguy: excellent, 007. u could make a career out of being a Reducer.
@geektastic007: i’m not as dedicated as u. i like my life & enjoy being myself.
@superguy: i like myself perfectly fine, thank u. i just like helping other people while i’m at it. pay’s darn good on top of that.
@geektastic007: aha. the REAL reason. lol
@superguy: i gotta admit, it helps. hey don’t work too hard. i’m off to get groceries cuz it’s like Mother Hubbard’s cupboards around here at my apartment.
@geektastic007: enjoy. later, gator.
I grin and stare out the windows without seeing anything. More fun nonsense. I don’t know why I get such a kick out of writing everyday stuff with this guy. Blair and Krista advised me last week that I need to find a “real” boyfriend—one who actually tells me his name and wants to meet up with me—but I haven’t exactly seen anyone I mesh with at school or while dancing at the Flash Point club. It doesn’t matter anyway. Now that I’m in this body, I’m not allowed to have a live relationship. Texting will have to be good enough.
We drive for almost forty minutes. As Dr. K. guides the car through an ornate set of iron gates, I flick Jodine’s curly hair away from my face and check out a smooth concrete drive leading toward an impressive whitestone building.
