The Whisper of Stars

by Nick Jones

  They’re used to seeing her. Jesus, how many of these do they do?

  He joined her and they entered a small metal lift. She pulled a safety cage in front of them and pressed a large yellow button. The lift whined into action and descended slowly, the sound of the workshop giving way to the steady metallic drone of its machinery. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all, but Nathan was learning to embrace the unexpected. That was the cost – and the wonder – of living in the moment.

  They faced forward for a while, not speaking. He could smell her, feminine like floral soap, and looked over to see her wiping grease from her fingers with a dainty handkerchief. With polite will he forced her to return his smile, which felt like a minor triumph after the taxi driver’s inability to connect on any level. She seemed harmless, but he watched her carefully. The car conversion business seemed to be viable in its own right, but he hadn’t forgotten why he was here. He wasn’t going to be taken out by some honey trap in a tight skirt.

  The lift slowed to a halt. Its doors slid open, and stretching out in front of them was a modern medical facility. Nathan felt an invisible wall of chilled air wash over him and took a deep breath, his lungs thanking him. Groups of people were milling around in the long white corridor. It reminded him of a private hospital wing, clean, bright and pleasantly cold. The contrast to the heat and industry of the workshop above couldn’t have been stronger. They exited the lift. The woman turned and Nathan noticed that her cheekbones were unusually pronounced, her dark skin somehow richer under the fluorescent light. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman. Probably wouldn’t again, he thought without sadness.

  ‘I’m sorry if your trip was… difficult,’ she said, gesturing to her left. ‘Please wait in here. Mr Ferreira will be with you shortly.’

  Nathan nodded. He entered the room and looked around. It was simple, unadorned: a steel table with two matching chairs and what looked like an airlock in the left corner. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t place it. He brought his shoulder blades together, aware of the sweat now cooling his back. Moments later Raul Ferreira entered the room, smartly dressed in a pale blue shirt, grey trousers and polished black shoes.

  ‘Mr O’Brien. Good to meet you.’ He shook Nathan’s hand. ‘My colleague has already apologised for the journey, I believe. I’m afraid it’s necessary.’

  Ferreira had a warm, friendly demeanour and, although born and raised in Brazil, spoke impeccable English.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Nathan lied.

  ‘Please sit.’ Raul pulled out the chairs and they sat facing each other. ‘First, some formalities. As we discussed previously, your candidate is European, very fit, healthy, no distinguishing marks. He is exactly as ordered. Prepped and ready.’ Raul paused, frowned and tipped his head, ‘But there has been a slight change.’

  Nathan shifted in his seat. ‘Change?’

  ‘Yes, the donor’s travel visa is now four weeks, not six. Since you and I first spoke, the UN have changed the rules. Again. Unavoidable, I’m afraid.’

  He spoke as if they were discussing a simple tax return.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’ Nathan asked. Two weeks less would make things more difficult.

  ‘UN law is outside of our control,’ Raul said confidently, ‘and therefore outside of our agreement.’

  Nathan couldn’t argue. He remained focused on Raul. ‘Is there anything else I should know?’

  ‘Everything else is as agreed, but I will take this opportunity to remind you of something.’ Ferreira leant forward, his eyes tightening. He spoke slowly and clearly. ‘I don’t ask your intentions, but I do make it my business to correctly ensure the safety of my clients. Your security deposit is repayable on return. Your donor understands the risks involved, hence the higher premium, but you are only hiring his body. It is on loan. He wants it back. I just wanted to be clear on that.’

  Nathan would have preferred a permanent body jump, but it just wasn’t possible. They cost millions. He had to rent instead, knowing that he might not make it back, might never see his old body again. If that happened, they would eventually restore the donor into a clone of his original body – an expensive, complicated procedure. That’s what the excessive deposit was for. Nathan supposed it went some way to appeasing his guilt.

  ‘I’ll be back for my deposit,’ Nathan lied again. ‘It’s a lot of money, Mr Ferreira.’

  ‘Yes, it is. So are you happy to proceed?’ Raul asked.

  Nathan pulled a clear data card from his trouser pocket. ‘It’s all there,’ he said, handing it over.

  Raul took the slide and placed it onto a flat glass console in the centre of the table. Nathan watched the two connect. Digits formed for a few seconds and then disappeared. The secure bank transfer was complete. Raul smiled, and his behaviour changed almost immediately. He seemed keen to conclude the meeting. Nathan presumed he had other clients.

  ‘I will leave you now,’ Raul said. ‘Please undress, step into the sterile chamber and follow the instructions. The procedure takes around one hour. Once complete, a driver will take you back to the airport. Your ID and luggage are all prepared.’

  He stood, smiled and shook Nathan’s hand firmly. ‘I will see you on your return.’

  Nathan followed the instructions and undressed, finally realising what the facility reminded him of. The thought made him smile. It was a moon base he’d seen on the news, a Helium 3 processing plant. This was simpler, though, like the old science fiction films.

  He entered the booth and felt vulnerable as a laser rotated and scanned every inch of his naked body, removing all traces of bacteria. A burst of chemicals washed him clean and suction cleared the air with a hiss. He grabbed a thin gown, wrapped it around himself and stepped out into a small room that resembled an operating theatre. In the centre were two beds surrounded by high-tech machinery. A gowned nurse wearing a mouth guard and hairnet was being advised by a virtual doctor. Nathan was reassured; artificial intelligence meant less chance of error. His donor body lay on the right-hand bed. The left-hand bed was empty.

  ‘Please lie down and try to relax,’ the AI instructed him, its voice calm and authoritative. The nurse barely looked up.

  Nathan approached the empty bed, stealing a look to his right. The donor was as described, tall and physically strong. Even lying there apparently lifeless, the man appeared trustworthy. He was perfect. Nathan took a breath, sat on the bed and lay down. He had already said his good-byes to his current body. It could be traced and was therefore useless to him now, but he wondered about his donor. What would drive a man to hire his own body out? Even for such a large sum of money?

  The nurse shone a green light into his eyes and attached two warm rubber nodes to his temples. The mind transfer itself was actually pretty straightforward, as long as it was executed correctly. The donor’s mind would be backed up, stored and then restored to its original body on Nathan’s return. For the donor, the weeks wouldn’t exist; the operation would seem almost instantaneous. At least, that was how it was supposed to play out.

  What would drive a man…?

  Nathan felt another pang of guilt for his donor but pushed it aside. He knew all about sacrifice, about doing whatever it takes.

  ‘Sleep now,’ the AI said softly.

  He felt himself slide away, the small tablet he’d taken helping him relax, making him more obedient. With his guard lowered, primal instincts took over. He thought of the girl who had accompanied him in the lift, the sound of her heels and the sway of her body squeezed into that tight skirt. No guilt.

  Women… Women are good. She could tell me what to do, he thought, smiling, glassy-eyed. I would be a very good boy. Do as I’m told.

  As his thoughts became echoes, Nathan drifted from consciousness, suspecting this might be the best sleep he would have for some time.

  Chapter 10

  Doctor Leon Povis paused, staring at a gowned patient in the theatre below. The subject was no one special, but
today was an achievement, something to be proud of.

  He returned to his terminal and initiated the operation, reminding himself that forty thousand was just the beginning. It wasn’t yet time to crack open the champagne. A large robotic arm jerked to life obediently, rearing up like a praying mantis before creeping slowly towards the patient’s head. As Povis checked the man’s vitals, a nurse to his side confirmed all was ready.

  ‘Synchronising Hibernation chip with biorhythms,’ the nurse said.

  The doctor watched as a unique link was made between the host’s brain patterns and the Hibernation chip’s magical circuitry. It still impressed him. That thin slither of nanoengineered genius, so advanced not even he understood it. That didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. What mattered was that it worked. A dark wisp of smoke licked the sterile air as a laser burnt a thin slit into the patient’s neck. The robotic arm, which tapered down to a thin point, inserted the tiny chip before retracting quickly to its original position. Povis and the nurse waited a few seconds. Data streamed into view.

  ‘Chip is active. Bonding complete,’ the nurse said, her voice dry and mechanical.

  Understandable, the Doctor thought. We’ve got millions of these to do.

  In the right-hand corner of his vision, an alert bobbed annoyingly. Having already ignored it twice, he glanced at the icon and answered the call. It was reception.

  ‘Doctor Povis?’ the woman asked, her squeaky voice grating down his spine.

  ‘You called me,’ he said flatly, wondering what the point of direct-thought comms was if you still had to check who you were talking to. There was a long pause, presumably while the squeaky-voiced one caught up with him.

  ‘Doctor Povis?’ she repeated in exactly the same tone.

  ‘Yes,’ he snapped. ‘Christ! This is Doctor Povis.’

  ‘Officer Logan from Duality is waiting to see you,’ she said, and then added deliberately, ‘Three o’clock, as arranged.’

  The Doctor glanced at the clock. It was nearly half past.

  Great. This is all I need.

  * * *

  Jen looked around the atrium of the Hibernation centre and sighed. She’d listened to the informative voiceover twice and didn’t want to go for a third. Opposite her a family of four waited, fidgety and nervous. The centre may have been purpose-built, designed to calm and ease concerns, but no amount of peaceful music and water fountains could make you forgot what it was. The couple were in their fifties, she guessed, although it was becoming harder to tell; the average life expectancy was almost a hundred and forty now. Their kids, a boy and girl, aged around ten, were becoming agitated. The couple quietly mumbled to each other, probably discussing the draft, a common subject for those chosen. There were another thirty or so people dotted around the space, all of them looking equally apprehensive.

  The woman opposite caught Jen’s eye and smiled. ‘Are you here to join Hibernation?’ she asked.

  ‘Already in,’ Jen replied. ‘Two years ago. I’ve completed one cycle.’

  The boy inched along the sofa, prodded repeatedly by his sister. ‘Does it hurt?’

  His mother tugged his jumper and explained it wasn’t a polite question.

  Jen reassured her that it was okay, that the procedure was painless. ‘You go to sleep, then you wake up. A whole year has passed, but it’s like a dream. Like a really good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Are you a police person?’ the girl asked, eyeing Jen’s clothing.

  Jen nodded. ‘Kind of.’

  The couple resumed their conversation and the boy saw his chance to make up for his sister’s constant poking: a single thump to her arm. The girl nestled against her mother, crying. The boy smirked at Jen, but couldn’t take his eyes off her gun. Jen tightened her stare but was smiling inside. Kids are nice, she thought, as long as you can give them back.

  ‘Ms Logan?’ A man in a white coat, presumably Doctor Povis, stood next to her. ‘Apologies for keeping you. One of those days.’

  There was no sincerity in his voice. Jen said her good-byes to the family and followed the Doctor, who seemed rushed and annoyed by her presence. She took an instant dislike to him.

  ‘You were expecting me?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’ He walked quickly, as if trying to lose her.

  ‘You seem aggravated. Is there a problem?’ Jen asked.

  The Doctor stopped and looked her up and down slowly.

  ‘I take my work very seriously, Ms Logan.’ A sharp sigh. ‘People seem to think Hibernation is simple. That we just flick a switch off, and then flick it back on again.’ He mimicked the gesture of a switch. ‘Click. They’re back.’

  Jen eyeballed him. ‘No one takes extraction lightly, Doctor Povis. I can assure you of that.’

  Approval to extract Phillip Harvey, husband of the train killer, hadn’t been easy, but it was a high-profile case, one that Richards seemed determined to capitalise on.

  ‘It’s not standard procedure, Officer Logan,’ Povis continued. ‘When we hibernate, we aren’t designed to be pulled out of –’

  ‘Doctor,’ Jen interrupted. ‘There’s been a murder, and under the Hibernation Act we are permitted by law to extract anyone, at any time.’

  The Doctor scowled, raising an eyebrow that remained set in place. Jen crossed her arms and waited. Povis shook his head and muttered something under his breath before striding towards a lift, tutting. It was important to Jen that he was the one to break the stalemate. This man might be smart, educated and important, but she was in charge. She joined him by the lift doors.

  ‘Ready to see behind the scenes?’ He punched the lowest button on the console, seemingly pleased with himself. The phrase echoed in her mind during the rapid descent.

  Stepping out of the lift, they walked a narrow corridor before entering a box-like room that appeared to be some kind of viewing platform. The entire far wall was glass. Jen walked to it and swallowed, her mouth hanging open slightly, eyes blinking rapidly. Her experience of Hibernation centres so far had been exclusively front-end. She had attended opening ceremonies, managed security, done her bit. And then, when her name was drawn, she had been through the pre-checks and finally the procedure itself. Never here, though, behind the curtain. She stared through the glass at a sight most people would never see, and knew then it was right they didn’t. It was as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying.

  As far and high as she could see were circular glass windows built into smooth walls. Behind each sealed door, a human, hibernating. The sight reminded her of a steel beehive, organised like a military unit, sterile and efficient.

  ‘How many?’ She turned to the doctor, her voice wavering slightly.

  ‘At the moment, forty thousand. Next cycle will be triple that.’

  He accessed the control panel and spoke a command. ‘Chamber 26578. Mr Phillip James Harvey.’

  The AI confirmed the subject in question and awaited his instruction.

  ‘Extract and prep for acclimatisation.’ He smiled at Jen, pointing out through the glass. ‘You’ll enjoy this bit.’

  She turned back and watched as a huge robotic machine went to work. In the distance, she heard a hiss as Phillip Harvey was removed from his chamber on a tray and lifted high into the air. She could see his body – grey-blue and lifeless – wrapped in protective film. She frowned at the precision of it all, could feel her breath quickening, a chill setting into her core.

  ‘How long will it take?’ she managed eventually, doing her best to hold his stare.

  ‘Two days at least,’ the Doctor replied, his thin smile suggesting he was enjoying her discomfort. ‘And to reiterate, this is not normal protocol.’

  Jen tilted her head and stared at him. ‘Noted. Again.’

  She shook his hand – cold and limp, as expected – and returned to the ground floor alone, the lift rolling her stomach, the sight of the Hibernation chamber burnt into her mind. A tomb, people not alive, more like death.

  Ready to see behind the sc
enes?

  She felt her skin crawl and realised she was rubbing the tough nub of flesh on the back of her neck: her Hibernation scar. The doors opened, snapping her thoughts away. The family from earlier were sitting next to a man in a suit. The boy noticed Jen and waved.

  You’ll enjoy this bit.

  She managed a weak smile but felt her face flush red. Hibernation was necessary, Jen knew that, but now, perhaps for the first time, she understood why they didn’t want people to see the reality.

  The false front of the waiting room was peaceful and calming. She walked past the group, her gaze set on the exit, not wanting them to see the irrational, creeping fear that had taken hold of her.

  Chapter 11

  Phillip Harvey’s interrogation happened three days later. After a bout of Hibernation sickness – something he dragged out – he’d finally been cleared and brought in just after noon. Detention room 4, Duality Headquarters.

  ‘It’s too late, isn’t it?’ Phillip Harvey sat slumped in a small steel chair, head down, resignation in his voice. ‘For her, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is,’ Jen replied coldly.

  The file said it all. Phillip had screwed around. He wasn’t a good husband. His wife, desperate to entice him back into their marriage, had undergone an illegal body swap. So far, so familiar. Then, as they often did, she splintered, and the next thing you know, Operation Penthouse is a murder enquiry.

  Mr Harvey sniffed. ‘She had the operation because she wanted me to notice her again.’

  ‘But it didn’t work, did it,’ Jen said, colder still.

  ‘It’s ironic I suppose,’ he continued, ignoring her, his mind seeming to drift.

  ‘Ironic?’

  ‘For years she craved attention, and suddenly, well, she had more than she could cope with. After the operation people noticed her again, she ended up leaving me. She was the one who ended up fucking around.’ He shook his head at the irony, letting out a long, heavy sigh and looked at Jen for the first time, his eyes glazed with obvious regret. ‘Not that I blame her.’