“No, Tandy. Get used to it.” — It isn’t easy. “I’ll bet it isn’t. But you’ve got no choice.” — If it’s a mistake? “Even if it is, that doesn’t affect you. Assuming Tandy Cushing is still walking around alive somewhere, you’re still where you are. A persona in my skull. You aren’t Tandy, you’re just an identity of Tandy’s memories up to the day she recorded you. Well, now you’re off the shelf and in a body again. You’re lucky, I’d say. And in any case Tandy is dead. You’re all that’s left of her.”
There was silence within. The persona was digesting all that. Risa, too, made adjustments. She still lay shackled. The light had gone out, and she could not tell if Leonards was still in the room. Cautiously, gingerly, she made contact with the persona at a variety of points. She picked up a memory of her late body, tall, dark-haired, with high, firm, heavy breasts. A man’s hand ran lightly over those breasts, hefting them, savoring their bulk. His fingertip flicked across her nipples. So that was what it was like, Risa thought. You’re less aware of them than I expected. Suddenly she darted back along Tandy’s timeline and was eleven years old, staring in a mirror at her budding little chest and frowning. And then, coming forward five years, Risa saw Tandy soaring on personnel jets eighty yards above the Sahara, a strong, dark-haired man beside her as they flew.
I have never done that, Risa thought. Yet I know what it’s like. I am Tandy!
She did not go deeper. There was time to explore the depths of the persona later. For Risa the world was suddenly tinged with wonder, all objects taking on new hues, extra dimensions. She saw through four eyes, and she had never seen such colors before, such greens and reds and yellows, nor had she tasted wine so sweet scented flowers so pungent.
“Tandy?” she said. “How is it now?” — Better. So you’re a Kaufmann? “Yes. Lucky you.” — Why did you pick me? “You seemed interesting.” — You’re very young for this. “I’m past sixteen, you know.” — Yes, I know. But I was twenty-four, and I hadn’t had my first persona yet.
“Don’t you wish you had?” — I was waiting until I was twenty-five. “I never wait,” Risa said. “Not for anything.” — I see that. We’ve got so much to talk about. “We’ve got all the time in the world. You’ll be with me forever, Tandy.”
—Forever?
“Of course. The next time I record myself, your persona will be added to mine. Someday I’ll need rebirth, and you’ll be going along to the next carnate with me.”
—People can get awfully bored with each other like that. “We won’t,” Risa said. “I promise you, we won’t.” The shackles dropped away. Risa sat up, feeling a little shaky. Leonards was eyeing her hesitantly.
“You’ve made a good adjustment,” he said. “Is that so? Fine.”
“How does it go?”
“I’m very pleased,” said Risa. “What happens now?”
“We take you to a rest booth. You can lie down, relax. get to know your persona. After an hour you can leave the building.”
“You’ve been very kind, Leonards.”
“Thank you.”
“Maybe we can get together after hours.” He looked smitten with confusion. “I’m afraid-that is — I mean to say—”
“All right. Take me to the rest booth.” She lay down on a comfortable webfoam cradle, closed her eyes, sent her mind roaming through the treasury of Tandy Cushing’s experiences. Risa felt faintly uncomfortable, seeing the older girl so nakedly exposed. But she told herself that she had every right to explore that material. At this very instant, wasn’t Tandy peering into her own soul? By definition they now were one person. They would share everything.
Risa felt no regrets. Her fears had evaporated. She felt only tremendous relief, for she had accepted a transplant and it was good.
She smiled. She said softly to Tandy, “I’ll record the two of us in a week or two. Just to be on the safe side.”
—Good. And then I want you to help me find out how I really died.
Chapter 7
“Come to Jubilisle!” the barker called. “Games, thrills, pleasure! Three bucks fish, the round trip! Jubilisle, Jubilisle, Jubilisle!” And globes of living light drifted free over Battery Park, soft indigo bursts tipped with yellow, reinforcing the shouted message with subtler pleas, many-hued whispers, Jubilisle, Jubilisle, Jubilisle…
It was night. The hydrofoil ferry waited at the pier. Crowds shouldered past, hustling toward it, people in rough, low-caste clothes, some of them even waving cash in their fists. Watchful quaestors stood by, ready to make arrests if the mob got out of hand. Charles Noyes experienced a sudden dizzying spasm of resistance. Everything about this outing repelled him all at once: the shouts of the barker, the faces of the people rushing past him, the too sleek hull of the waiting ferry, the quaestors. He turned to the handsome woman at his side.
“Let’s not go,” he begged. “I’ll take you somewhere else, Elena.”
“But you promised!”
“Can’t I change my mind?”
“I’ve wanted to go to Jubilisle for months. Mark won’t take me. And now you—”
Sweat rolled down his face. “I’ve only been out of stasis for a few days. The noise, the tumult — it’s upsetting me.”
She looked at him, wounded. “Before you say yes, now it’s no. That’s your name, isn’t it? No-yes? Don’t disappoint me like this, Charles!”
—Pull yourself together, man, came Kravchenko’s voice. She won’t like it if you back out.
“Ferry leaving now for Jubilisle,” roared the barker. “Hurry, hurry, hurry! Thrills! Gaines! Pleasure! Three bucks fish, that’s all it costs!”
Elena silently pleaded. She looked radiantly beautiful, her opulent body sheathed in glittering scales of some dark green material that followed every contour of her majestic thighs and breasts and buttocks. Her black, glossy hair tumbled to her bare shoulders. In this crowd she stood out so vividly that even the jostling plebs stepped back in automatic deference. Noyes peered into the dark, large, soft eyes. He observed the small, flawless nose, the full, shining lips.
Kravchenko obligingly sent one of his own choice memories bubbling up from the storehouse: Elena nude in Kravchenko’s bachelor apartment in Rome, sprawled on a divan like a Venus by Titian, one hand coyly resting on the plump mons, the eyes beckoning, the breasts heaving, the dark-hued nipples erect, the firm flesh tense and taut with anticipation.
—You’ll never get anywhere with her if you let her down now, pal. It’s now or never, and she holds grudges.
“All right,” Noyes said. “I won’t go back on my word. Jubilisle for us, Elena!”
“I’m so glad, Charles.” He slid his arm around her waist. The scales of her gown pricked his skin. He felt the roll of meat at her hip. Sweeping her forward, he joined the flow of pleasure-seekers rushing aboard the ferry. A robot ticket-vendor held out a hand as though expecting Noyes to put cash in it. Noyes shook his head and offered his thumb instead. The robot, adapting smoothly and without comment, rang up the credit transfer, billing Noyes’ account for six dollars, and the barrier dropped, admitting them to the ferry. Minutes later they were speeding across New York Harbor toward the pleasure dome. Ahead lay the bright glow of Jubilisle; behind rose the majestic black-capped somberness of the Scheffing Institute tower, with the rest of the Lower Manhattan skyline behind it. Noyes looked from island to tower. Those who could not buy rebirth at one could purchase distraction at the other.
He and Elena found a place at the rail for the ten-minute journey to the anchored artificial island. She stood close to him. The warmth of her body on this cool spring evening was welcome, and the fragrance of her perfume helped obliterate the rank stench of the mob all about them. She had been kind to him last week at Dominica, when he had had that awful convulsion at Kaufmann’s beach party; a touch of the sun, she said, deftly concealing the truth, which was that he had suffered a sudden and nearly successful rebellion by Kravchenko. She was kind, yes. Tender, almost motherly, though she was several years younger than he was. That vast bosom of hers, he thought. It makes her seem the mother of us all.