a meaningfulglance between new lovers, and I saw red. Literally. My vision washedover pink, and a strobe pounded at the edges of my vision. I took twolumbering steps towards them and opened my mouth to say somethinghorrible, and what came out was "Waaagh." My right side went numb and myleg slipped out from under me and I crashed to the floor.
The slatted light from the shutters cast its way across my chest as Itried to struggle up with my left arm, and then it all went black.
#
I wasn't nuts after all.
The doctor's office in the Main Street infirmary was clean and white anddecorated with posters of Jiminy Cricket in doctors' whites with anoutsized stethoscope. I came to on a hard pallet under a sign thatreminded me to get a check-up twice a year, by gum! and I tried to bringmy hands up to shield my eyes from the over bright light and the over-cheerful signage, and discovered that I couldn't move my arms. Furtherinvestigation revealed that this was because I was strapped down, infull-on four-point restraint.
"Waaagh," I said again.
Dan's worried face swam into my field of vision, along with a serious-looking doctor, apparent 70, with a Norman Rockwell face full ofcrow'sfeet and smile-lines.
"Welcome back, Julius. I'm Doctor Pete," the doctor said, in a kindlyvoice that matched the face. Despite my recent disillusion withcastmember bullshit, I found his schtick comforting.
I slumped back against the palette while the doc shone lights in my eyesand consulted various diagnostic apparati. I bore it in stoic silence,too confounded by the horrible Waaagh sounds to attempt more speech. Thedoc would tell me what was going on when he was ready.
"Does he need to be tied up still?" Dan asked, and I shook my headurgently. Being tied up wasn't my idea of a good time.
The doc smiled kindly. "I think it's for the best, for now. Don't worry,Julius, we'll have you up and about soon enough."
Dan protested, but stopped when the doc threatened to send him out ofthe room. He took my hand instead.
My nose itched. I tried to ignore it, but it got worse and worse, untilit was all I could think of, the flaming lance of itch that strobed atthe tip of my nostril. Furiously, I wrinkled my face, rattled at myrestraints. The doc absentmindedly noticed my gyrations and delicatelyscratched my nose with a gloved finger. The relief was fantastic. I justhoped my nuts didn't start itching anytime soon.
Finally, the doctor pulled up a chair and did something that caused thehead of the bed to raise up so that I could look him in the eye.
"Well, now," he said, stroking his chin. "Julius, you've got a problem.Your friend here tells me your systems have been offline for more than amonth. It sure would've been better if you'd come in to see me when itstarted up.
"But you didn't, and things got worse." He nodded up at Jiminy Cricket'srecriminations: Go ahead, see your doc! "It's good advice, son, butwhat's done is done. You were restored from a backup about eight weeksago, I see. Without more tests, I can't be sure, but my theory is thatthe brain-machine interface they installed at that time had a materialdefect. It's been deteriorating ever since, misfiring and rebooting. Theshut-downs are a protective mechanism, meant to keep it from introducingthe kind of seizure you experienced this afternoon. When the interfacesenses malfunction, it shuts itself down and boots a diagnostic mode,attempts to fix itself and come back online.
"Well, that's fine for minor problems, but in cases like this, it's badnews. The interface has been deteriorating steadily, and it's only amatter of time before it does some serious damage."
"Waaagh?" I asked. I meant to say, _All right, but what's wrong with mymouth?_
The doc put a finger to my lips. "Don't try. The interface has lockedup, and it's taken some of your voluntary nervous processes with it. Intime, it'll probably shut down, but for now, there's no point. That'swhy we've got you strapped down -- you were thrashing pretty hard whenthey brought you in, and we didn't want you to hurt yourself."
_Probably shut down_? Jesus. I could end up stuck like this forever. Istarted shaking.
The doc soothed me, stroking my hand, and in the process pressed atransdermal on my wrist. The panic receded as the transdermal's sedativeoozed into my bloodstream.
"There, there," he said. "It's nothing permanent. We can grow you a newclone and refresh it from your last backup. Unfortunately, that backupis a few months old. If we'd caught it earlier, we may've been able tosalvage a current backup, but given the deterioration you've displayedto date. . . Well, there just wouldn't be any point."
My heart hammered. I was going to lose two months -- lose it all, neverhappened. My assassination, the new Hall of Presidents and my shamefulattempt thereon, the fights with Lil, Lil and Dan, the meeting. My plansfor the rehab! All of it, good and bad, every moment flensed away.
I couldn't do it. I had a rehab to finish, and I was the only one whounderstood how it had to be done. Without my relentless prodding, thead-hocs would surely revert to their old, safe ways. They might evenleave it half-done, halt the process for an interminable review, presenta soft belly for Debra to savage.
I wouldn't be restoring from backup.
#
I had two more seizures before the interface finally gave up and shutitself down. I remember the first, a confusion of vision-occludingstrobes and uncontrollable thrashing and the taste of copper, but thesecond happened without waking me from deep unconsciousness.
When I came to again in the infirmary, Dan was still there. He had aday's growth of beard and new worrylines at the corners of his newlyrejuvenated eyes. The doctor came in, shaking his head.
"Well, now, it seems like the worst is over. I've drawn up the consentforms for the refresh and the new clone will be ready in an hour or two.In the meantime, I think heavy sedation is in order. Once the restore'sbeen completed, we'll retire this body for you and we'll be all finishedup."
Retire this body? Kill me, is what it meant.
"No," I said. I thrilled in my restraints: my voice was back under mycontrol!
"Oh, really now." The doc lost his bedside manner, let his exasperationslip through. "There's nothing else for it. If you'd come to me when itall started, well, we might've had other options. You've got no one toblame but yourself."
"No," I repeated. "Not now. I won't sign."
Dan put his hand on mine. I tried to jerk out from under it, but therestraints and his grip held me fast. "You've got to do it, Julius. It'sfor the best," he said.
"I'm not going to let you kill me," I said, through clenched teeth. Hisfingertips were callused, worked rough with exertion well beyond thenormal call of duty.
"No one's killing you, son," the doctor said. Son, son, son. Who knewhow old he was? He could be 18 for all I knew. "It's just the opposite:we're saving you. If you continue like this, it will only get worse. Theseizures, mental breakdown, the whole melon going soft. You don't wantthat."
I thought of Zed's spectacular transformation into a crazy person. _No,I sure don't_. "I don't care about the interface. Chop it out. I can'tdo it now." I swallowed. "Later. After the rehab. Eight more weeks."
#
The irony! Once the doc knew I was serious, he sent Dan out of the roomand rolled his eyes up while he placed a call. I saw his gorge work ashe subvocalized. He left me bound to the table, to wait.
No clocks in the infirmary, and no internal clock, and it may have beenten minutes or five hours. I was catheterized, but I didn't know ituntil urgent necessity made the discovery for me.
When the doc came back, he held a small device that I instantlyrecognized: a HERF gun.
Oh, it wasn't the same model I'd used on the Hall of Presidents. Thisone was smaller, and better made, with the precise engineering of asurgical tool. The doc raised his eyebrows at me. "You know what thisis," he said, flatly. A dim corner of my mind gibbered, _he knows, heknows, the Hall of Presidents_. But he didn't know. That episode waslocked in my mind, invulnerable to backup.
"I know," I said.
"This one is high-powered in the extreme. It will penetrate
theinterface's shielding and fuse it. It probably won't turn you into avegetable. That's the best I can do. If this fails, we will restore youfrom your last backup. You have to sign the consent before I use it."He'd dropped all kindly pretense from his voice, not bothering todisguise his disgust. I was pitching out the miracle of the BitchunSociety, the thing that had all but obsoleted the medical profession:why bother with surgery when you can grow a clone, take a backup, andrefresh the new body? Some people swapped corpuses just to get rid of acold.
I signed. The doc wheeled my gurney into the crash and hum of
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