Science Fiction: The Best of the Year, 2007 Edition

by Rich Horton

  An unexpected side effect of this was that we all got famous. It turns out that this was an unprecedented legal situation, with lots of human interest and a colorful cast of characters. Janis became a media celebrity, and so did I, and so did Anna-Lee.

  Celebrity didn't do Anna-Lee's cause any good. Her whole mental outlook was too rigid to stand the kind of scrutiny and questioning that any public figure has to put up with. As soon as she was challenged she lost control. She called one of the leading media interviewers a name that you, Doctor Sam, would not wish me to repeat.

  Whatever the actual merits of her legal case, the sight of Anna-Lee screaming that I had deprived her of the inalienable right to kill her daughter failed to win her a lot of friends. Eventually the Five Principles people realized she wasn't doing their cause any good, and she was replaced by a Movement spokesperson who said as little as possible.

  Janis did some talking, too, but not nearly as much as she would have liked, because she was under house arrest for coming to Earth without a visa and without paying the immigration tax. The cops showed up when she was sleeping off her hangover from all the umbrella drinks. It's probably lucky that she wasn't given the opportunity to talk much, because if she started on her rants she would have worn out her celebrity as quickly as Anna-Lee did.

  Janis was scheduled to be deported back to Ceres, but shipping an actual incarnated human being is much more difficult than zapping a simulation by laser, and she had to wait for a ship that could carry passengers, and that would be months.

  She offered to navigate the ship herself, since she had the training, but the offer was declined.

  Lots of people read her thesis who wouldn't otherwise have heard of it. And millions discussed it whether they'd read it or not. There were those who said that Janis was right, and those that said that Janis was mostly right but that she exaggerated. There were those who said that the problem didn't really exist, except in the statistics.

  There were those who thought the problem existed entirely in the software, that the system would work if the simulations were only made more like reality. I had to disagree, because I think the simulations were like reality, but only for certain people.

  The problem is that human beings perceive reality in slightly different ways, even if they happen to be programs. A programmer could do his best to create an artificial reality that exactly mimicked the way he perceived reality, except that it wouldn't be as exact for another person, it would only be an approximation. It would be like fitting everyone's hand into the same-sized glove.

  Eventually someone at the University of Adelaide read it and offered Janis a professorship in their sociology department. She accepted and was freed from house arrest.

  Poor Australia, I thought.

  I was on video quite a lot. I used my little-girl avatar, and I batted my big eyes a lot. I still wore blue, mourning for Fritz.

  Why, I was asked, did I act to save Janis?

  "Because we're cadre, and we're supposed to look after one another."

  What did I think of Anna-Lee?

  "I don't see why she's complaining. I've seen to it that Janis just isn't her problem any more."

  Wasn't what I did stealing?

  "It's not stealing to free a slave."

  And so on. It was the same sort of routine I'd been practicing on my parents all these years, and the practice paid off. Entire cadres—hundreds of them—signed petitions asking that the case be dismissed. Lots of adults did the same.

  I hope that it helps, but the judge that hears the case isn't supposed to be swayed by public opinion, but only by the law.

  And everyone forgets that it's my parents that will be on trial, not me, accused of letting their software steal Anna-Lee's software. And of course I, and therefore they, am completely guilty, so my parents are almost certainly going to be fined, and lose both money and Citizenship Points.

  I'm sorry about that, but my parents seem not to be.

  How the judge will put a value on a piece of stolen software that its owner fully intended to destroy is going to make an interesting ruling, however it turns out.

  I don't know whether I'll ever set foot on Earth again. I can't take my place in Pisa because I'm not incarnated, and I don't know if they'll offer again.

  And however things turn out, Fritz is still zeroed. And I still wear blue.

  I don't have my outside job any longer. Dane won't speak to me, because his supervisor reprimanded him, and he's under suspicion for being my accomplice. And even those who are sympathetic to me aren't about to let me loose with their computers.

  And even if I get a job somewhere, I can't be incarnated until the court case is over.

  It seems to me that the only person who got away scot-free was Janis. Which is normal.

  So right now my chief problem is boredom. I spent fourteen years in a rigid program intended to fill my hours with wholesome and intellectually useful activity, and now that's over.

  And I can't get properly started on the non-wholesome thing until I get an incarnation somewhere.

  Everyone is, or hopes to be, an idler.

  Thank you, Doctor Sam.

  I'm choosing to idle away my time making pictures. Maybe I can sell them and help pay the Earth tax.

  I call them my “Doctor Johnson” series. Sam. Johnson on Mars. Sam. Johnson Visits Neptune. Sam. Johnson Quizzing the Tomasko Glacier. Sam. Johnson Among the Asteroids.

  I have many more ideas along this line.

  Doctor Sam, I trust you will approve.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  EXIT WITHOUT SAVING, by Ruth Nestvold

  Spending credit illegally was difficult, but there were ways, if you were clever. There were always ways. Using a morph unit illegally was even more difficult, but to Mallory it was worth the risk.

  Friends like Lorraine made it possible. Lorraine was a lab technician for Softec, and she was both clever and greedy; to make a little extra on the side, she allowed Mallory to use the units during off hours. Mallory had no idea if any of the other morph agents were also clandestine customers—Lorraine could be trusted to keep her mouth shut.

  "I don't understand why they don't market these things for entertainment purposes,” Lorraine said as she adjusted the download cap on Mallory's head.

  "I'm testing them for that,” Mallory said, grinning.

  Lorraine frowned. “It isn't a joke. Softec just lost Max to identity scramble last month. You be careful, girl."

  "I am."

  "Hope so. Another thing I don't understand is why you of all people feel the need to change shape.” She looked pointedly at Mallory's bare breasts, which men had a tendency to describe as perfect.

  Mallory glanced in the mirror behind Lorraine and shrugged. She might not have anything to complain about as far as her own appearance was concerned, but that wasn't the point. As a morph, she wasn't tied down to herself, to her own identity; she could get out of it, escape to any shape she wanted, be anyone she wanted.

  "It doesn't have anything to do with that, Lorraine."

  "Yeah, I know. You're just not an easy gal to satisfy. Now lie down.” Looking grim, Lorraine hooked the body Mallory would soon be leaving to the life support system.

  Some agents disliked the sensation of the actual morphing process. Mallory was not one of those. As she settled into the cushioned pallet, her stomach was churning in anticipation. On the other side of the transferal equipment was the long, dark morph unit. It looked inanimate, but it was actually a DNA matrix controlled by a neural network. With the mind upload, it would become her home for a couple of hours, and with its assembler technology she could become anything she wanted to be.

  "Ready."

  But Lorraine didn't start the download immediately, looking instead at Mallory with something other than greed in her dark eyes. “You make sure you tell me if you ever start feeling the effects of brain drain, you hear?"

  "Of course,” she replied impatiently. It wouldn't happen.
Her extra excursions were nothing. She'd never had a bout of dizziness, let alone the more serious symptoms like a fainting spell.

  Finally Lorraine began the transferal, and Mallory felt a sense of elation as her mind left her body. She was free.

  "Transferal complete,” Lorraine said. “Begin anthropomorphing process."

  The unit began to take on human shape and sensation, and once done, Mallory adjusted the appearance of the morph to be her own twin, a double of the empty husk lying in the body case on the other bed. She would change that soon, but she had to leave the Softec complex as she had come—herself.

  The bed unit cooled the naked skin of her back, absorbing the warmth created while she morphed. She remained there for a moment, enjoying the sensation of cold against her hot skin.

  "I want you back in no more than three hours,” Lorraine said. “Well before the next security audit."

  Somehow, things always looked more beautiful to her in a morph—even the glistening, rain-wet streets of the Softec corporate zone at night. Of course, the neural network of the unit was enhanced, hearing, sight, and memory all heightened. But it wasn't the neural network that stared at the halos of light beneath the street lamps sparkling on the rain-coated pavement of Pill Hill, marveling at the pattern of shine and shadow. It was her own mind, free of her life, of expectations, free to change and choose.

  The Softec complex was fairly close to both Elliot Bay and Broadway and a wide selection of bars and bands. Mallory chose Broadway. On the way, she ducked into an empty alley. It was already dark, but it was better to err on the side of caution. She had chosen her clothes carefully, an androgynous outfit of baggy pants with a draw string which could be let out, a wide silk tank top, loose blazer, and light rain jacket. Behind a garbage bin, she stood with her face to the wall as if she were a man about to relieve himself and loaded an image of the appearance she wanted into her processor-brain. The warmth of the morph process coursed through her veins and along her spine. She could feel her shoulders widening, her chest flattening, her clitoris transforming into a penis. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she wiped it away with the back of a hand which was now more square than before.

  After about five minutes, she left the alley again. Her hair was still the same, a shaggy shoulder-length dark gold, just in case anyone had noticed her enter the alley, but the rest of her was gloriously different.

  She had left the female morph agent who couldn't maintain a relationship behind and had become the guy who didn't need one.

  Mallory headed for the Down-And-Out, where she could always count on getting good music, and maybe more if everything played out right. She descended the stairs into a generous black and neon room full of noise and flashing light. The band was putting on an elaborate holo show, with half a dozen of each of the band members projected all over the bar. It was still too early to be full, but the illusion kept customers from noticing—it wasn't even ten and the place had people or projections at almost every table.

  She sat down at a table off to the side but still close to the front. She liked to be in the thick of things, but while she was morphing, it didn't do to draw attention to herself. There were a few women glancing at her surreptitiously, though—it invariably happened when she morphed into a likeness of her brother Dane.

  She wondered where he was now. Not that she cared. He had abandoned them, abandoned her, chosen a life in the burbs, outside of the protective walls of the cities, an enemy of the corporations. Because of him, she had changed her name, had given up the last connection she had to their parents.

  The parents who had always loved him best.

  Mallory ordered a martini, giving them cash rather than her thumb, and watched the band and the audience, keeping an eye out for someone she might be able to spend an hour with before she had to go back to Softec. While she was trying to choose a candidate, the singer approached. Mallory smiled her most suggestive male smile and was rewarded by an armful of singing female. It was the real singer, not just a holo, and the body she was wearing sprang to life.

  They really were fools at Softec for trying to keep morph technology secret; they should be perfecting it for entertainment, not industrial espionage. She wouldn't be the only one addicted to the transformation and the sensations of another body.

  The singer continued to sing, pressing her ass into Mallory's lap, while Mallory moved her hips subtly to the music. With time and opportunity, she had often played this game to the end. Perhaps it was strange, but making love to women as a man had never led her to want to try anything with a woman when she was in her own body. The reason she wanted sex as a man was for the male sensations. But she wouldn't want to give up the female sensations permanently either—she wasn't a candidate for a sex change. What Mallory wanted was both.

  Everything.

  The singer got up, giving her a look of promise, and Mallory returned her attention to her martini and the other guests in the bar. One guest's gaze was trained on her with unusual intensity.

  It was her friend Sue.

  A fist closed around her stomach, tight. She had morphed to look like her long-lost brother, and her brother looked a hell of a lot like her. Sue was sure to notice the resemblance.

  Sue started to get up from her table and Mallory pretended to concentrate on the stage. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sue winding her way through the tables to her. Mallory got up casually and headed in the direction of the restrooms, but as soon as she was out of sight, she changed directions and exited the bar.

  Nervous, she walked fast to the alley she had used for her transformation and leaned against the wall as a violent bout of dizziness swept over her. She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, and the dizziness faded.

  It wasn't brain drain, it couldn't be.

  Not her.

  * * * *

  Mallory was not in the best of moods when she went to work the next morning. She didn't much care for office work, the sifting and filing of information on other corporations, keeping abreast of even the faintest rumors of new technological developments which could lead to better weapons or a wider sphere of influence. Alliances between corporations were uneasy in the best of times, and the best of times were rare.

  "Have you reconsidered?"

  Mallory looked up to find her recently ex boyfriend Ethan leaning against the wall of her cubicle, dark rings under his almond eyes.

  "Have you?” she asked back.

  Ethan pulled a vacant chair into her cubicle and sat down. “I've been doing some thinking,” he said, his voice low.

  Mallory nodded. Now he would apologize. They had broken up because Ethan had asked her to give up her position as morph agent before the critical point established by Softec, had asked her to join him in research. Agents had to retire all too soon anyway because of the danger of identity scramble, their minds weakened and lost amid the remnants of all the other minds which once inhabited their morph.

  Or at least that was the theory. The unrecoverables among the morph agents could have been the result of anything.

  Ethan took her hand, gently stroked the skin between thumb and forefinger. “I meant what I said the other day about you giving up morphing, but I'll compromise. I'd like you to take a new test I've been developing for brain drain. If your levels are safe, I won't say anything else about you working as a morph agent during your remaining time."

  She stared at him, panic taking hold of her gut. Why would he ask that? Did he know about her illicit morphing activities? She pulled her hand out of his. “This test, it's not official yet, is it?"

  He shook his head.

  "So you want me to act as your guinea pig?"

  "You know it's not that."

  "It isn't, huh?” She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice. “Just because Softec doesn't even know yet what exactly happens in the case of identity scramble doesn't mean I'll put up with experiments being done on me."

  "It's not an experiment, Mallory."

&nbs
p; "Of course it is. I'm not allowing you to use me."

  Ethan pursed his lips. “Perhaps I shouldn't have asked you to quit, but just doing a test for my peace of mind—is that really too much to ask?"

  Mallory glared at him. “You just want a reason to make me stop."

  He leaned forward, searching her eyes. “You really think that?"

  Mallory looked away. “I don't know what to think."

  "And you won't do the test?"

  "No."

  Ethan stood up, pursing his lips. “I thought I was coming halfway with this. But you don't want to meet me, you just want me to follow you."

  "You want me to give up morphing."

  "Because I worry about you."

  "Because you're selfish."

  "No, Mallory, you're the one who's selfish.” With that, he left. Mallory told herself she was glad.

  By the end of the week, it was obvious Ethan wasn't coming back a second time. It didn't matter. He wasn't willing to let her run her life the way she wanted, and it wasn't in her nature to mourn. She'd learned long ago how useless that was.

  So Ethan was gone too. She would get over it.

  * * * *

  She and Sue were scheduled for a morph job at Hypersystems the next week, and they met daily to plan the sting.

  "You have a brother, don't you?” Sue suddenly asked one afternoon while they were going over the floor plan of the Hypersystems building in the holo well of Mallory's desk unit.

  Mallory nodded curtly. “Why do you ask?” Of course, she knew why Sue was asking—she'd been expecting it ever since the incident in the bar, but all they had talked about had been her break-up with Ethan.

  "I think I might have seen him last week."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "I saw a guy at the Down-and-Out who looked a lot like you."

  "I doubt if it was Dane.” The blood was going to her head and she shook it briefly to rid herself of the feeling.

  "Funny,” Sue said, “The resemblance was uncanny."

  "My brother wouldn't dare show his face in Seattle."

  "Why not?"

  "Look, I don't want to talk about him, okay?” She shouldn't care. Dane was AWOL, hiding out somewhere in the ruins of the burbs, doing God knows what. He'd disappeared a decade ago, leaving his home and family for some cheap ideals. What choice had Seattle and other bankrupt cities had after the epidemics and the depression of twenty years before but to privatize the police force, privatize the cities themselves? Dane and his kind called it selling out, but at least the enclaves of the corporate zones were safe.