"He's here already, thank you, Raul.? Dr. Barrett appeared in the opening on my left. He was nowhere near as big as he should have been. I'd pictured him over six and half feet. He didn't come close and even looked shorter than me. The alarm in the back of my head became more insistent. He glowered at me.?
I've no idea how you managed to waken yourself, but put that thing down and get back in bed,? he said irritably.
"Sorry, Doc, but back alley medicine doesn't suit me. Thanks for getting me back together, body and soul and mind. But I'm taking Sanchez up on his offer and taking a hover. I'll send you a Christmas card.
? I motioned them back from the hover and almost dropped the gun, it was so heavy. No one rushed me. Instead, they all stepped back as I'd wanted. I lifted the gun again, now using two hands. This was going to make for an interesting time, getting into a hovercraft while holding this cannon. I heard a scuff behind me and turned back to the ladder. Barrett had negotiated the last step and had approached me.
He was less than ten feet away, but stopped as soon as I turned to him. I guess he was taller than me. A lot taller. But I'd have sworn-I glanced at the others on my right, but they had made no move whatsoever.
"You young fool!? Barrett's bedside manner had apparently stayed in bed.? You haven't the faintest idea what's going on! Stop this nonsense at once!"
"Sorry, Doc. I may be a fool, but I'm not young. You'll find more experience than you can handle in Mama Wyeth's boy, so don't try."
He stared at me, as though seeing me for the first time. He shrugged and spoke slowly.? All right. Leave.
But before you go, let me give you a quick medical history. Your medical history."
It was too tempting. My legs were getting weak, the gun was putting on weight, and I had miles to go.
But I couldn't resist hearing him out. This might be the only man who knew anything about me. I choked back a sob of frustration and weakness.
I glanced at Lt. Sanchez.? Lieutenant, I'll take you up on your offer of a chauffeur. Please make it the smallest female soldier you have. I only want to use her as a driver, and promise to you there will be no improper behavior.? He gave me an odd look, but motioned to someone to fetch her.
I turned back to the doctor.? Two minutes, Doc.? He was also looking at me strangely, nodding as though his suspicions had become convictions.
"Well, that explains the late wake up. Look… what is your name?"
"John. John Wyeth."
"Very well… John. Your story in two minutes.
"What I told you yesterday and earlier today is true, if edited. But you already knew that. What you don't know is exactly what the corporate world did with its little riping toy. Now I'll tell you.
"Riping had been initially started to treat man, or in a broader sense, man's society. In every case I gave you, except one, riping was viewed as a way to serve man's needs. In each of those cases, even the tragic ones, the mind stayed with the body. Or so everyone thought, until that raid against a corporate entity.
"Remember, John,? he almost choked on my name,? when I mentioned the security set up that was run by one riped homeless man?? I nodded.? Didn't you wonder how one single case should cause such an uproar?? He didn't wait for a response, but I had wondered.? That's because that homeless man's mind ran the security. His body had long since been destroyed, including his brain. All that was left of him was a series of circuit boards and holographic storage nodules into which his mind had been moved."
Do you understand? Industry had reached the point where ripes were serving them. I didn't want to tell you then, and I don't now, but I have to. Industry used the riping process for centuries. Using the convicted killer and catatonic patient loopholes, they still ripe today. But the vast majority of ripes after the three hundred years were on the same minds. You've been out for at least six hundred years!
Worse, you haven't been one other persona, John. You've been many. Different people, different personas, different bodies, different brains, different machines. For six hundred years."
The words hit like a series of blows. Six hundred years? It wasn't possible! I had left open the possibility of an error of a full century, but even my first calculations had discounted 500. My heart was racing, and I could feel the hot tears streaming down my cheeks. Tears. I couldn't remember the last time I had cried. My head was swirling as the truth hit me. I knew I was slipping into shock. Yet one thing held it off. I took my right hand away from the gun and showed it to him.
"If that's so, Doctor, how is it that after 600 hundred years, I still have the same body?? The woman soldier had arrived and was preparing the hover for departure.
He looked sad, very sad. He shook his head and spoke slowly as though every word hurt. He said very softly.? You're looking at your body with your eyes, John. Look at yourself with your mind, and you'll see the truth. Unless it was the custom in your time to give boys names to girls?"
I staggered at the words. Still holding the gun up with my left hand, I looked at my right. It was my hand, but it was a girl's hand. Thin, delicate fingers with neatly trimmed nails. I brought it to my cheek. To my cheek. Soft skin, stained with tears. A razor had never touched my face, and never would. My throat was smooth and elegant, with no protruding Adam's apple. The cavern was reeling as the gun slid from my numb hand and I sank to my knees, gasping and crying. I reached under my garment and my trembling fingers played over narrow shoulders and a smallish chest, which supported my young, developing breasts, now heaving in near hysteria. I heard a young girl's wail of despair and knew it to be mine. As blackness closed over me, I sensed people rushing forward, and I felt warm, concerned arms holding me close, protecting me as I fainted.
Chapter Three
I was struggling to waken out of Healer's Sleep, but couldn't. I tried to relax, but couldn't. Still in my Sleep, I got out of bed. Captain Taft from the Second Armored wanted to enlist strong men to help fight the war. We were the best company in the corps. My men were ready, trained killers all. He stepped up to me, his eyes sharp. I saluted, feeling confident and strong.
"Roll up that sleeve, soldier! Let's see those muscles!? he barked. I rolled up my sleeve, but was shocked to see I had only a thin, smooth arm. A little girl's arm.? You call that an arm? Pretty pathetic, soldier. Come on! Show us some real muscle! Take off that shirt, soldier, and show me some real meat!!
? I eagerly reached for my T-shirt to show him my strength, but suddenly couldn't pull it up.? What're you waiting for? A brass band? Strip, soldier!? But I couldn't. I was terrified and extremely embarrassed. Besides, couldn't he see I had muscles under the shirt? I could see two muscles right now.
Wait, those weren't muscles. They were…? Strip, soldier! Aren't you a man, soldier?? But I couldn't. I was tearing at my shirt, but it wouldn't come off. I pulled harder… harder…
"Hey! Settle down! C'mon! Wake up! Wake up! It's okay…? I felt myself being cradled in soft arms and opened my eyes. A young woman's face, close to mine, gazed back. I had my arms around her neck and must have been choking her, I was squeezing so tight. I stared up into her eyes, very confused. She smiled.
"There now, you're fine. Just a bad dream. No wonder! You've been through a lot. Just relax.? I eased my grip on her neck, but still held on. She felt very warm and safe. I was lying on my bed, and had kicked the sheets off in my thrashing. I had pulled loose the ties to my hospital gown, and the top hung loose from my shoulders. As I shifted to draw it tighter, the top slid away from my neck and I was looking inside the garment at my small, smooth chest and soft, maturing physique. Even as I stared, my long, brown hair slipped over my shoulder.