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Thea once again confronted herself in the mirror. As far as she could tell, her appearance had not changed since she restored her blonde hair many months ago. In fact, she still bore the bronze glow of a suntan, despite having spent so much more time in meeting rooms than outdoors.
And her hair was perpetually clean. That wouldn’t change, would it?
She sat down at her desk again, not bothering to dress, and once again called up the photos she had asked Max to send. Were there discrepancies she had missed? The number of faint freckles, the curve of the waist, the tilt of the nose?
And those were just the superficial questions.
Thea opened the document she had begun writing after Hu called with the news, and first winced and then chuckled at the somewhat pretentious title.
Credo
I believe in the pursuit of happiness and the acceptance of pleasure.
I believe in the right to be wrong, stubborn, short-sighted, paranoid, dispassionate, unreasonable, or any unwieldy combination of all these.
I believe in love, devotion, polyamory, altruism, self-protection, self-knowledge, self-delusion.
I believe in the ridiculous goodness and immense talent of my husband.
I believe in music as the deepest language and the most marvelous game.
I believe in human potential and the right of every person to pursue or to ignore their potential.
I believe in the right to fight and the right to surrender.
I believe that goodness and evil both exist. I believe in the complexity of identifying either, except when it’s simple.
Thea closed the document and curled up in her chair, hugging herself. Then she pried herself out of the chair and went back to the mirror. She looked her reflection in the eye and spoke to it, a little louder than a whisper.
“I believe that at least some of what I wrote is true of the real me, whatever and whoever that is. Because why would they alter me in those directions?
“I believe that I’m not altogether sure.
“And I believe that I’m frightened.”
* * * * *
Thea had big eyes to start with, but on the rare occasions when she let something scare her, they got absolutely enormous. Max had never seen them look bigger than they did right now.
“If they change me, change me back, whatever, will I even realize it? Will I know what changed?”
“I don’t know, hon. Hu might be able to talk to someone who can answer that.”
“What if they screw me up?”
At least he had an answer for that. “If either of us thinks there’s anything wrong with how you end up—I mean, if you do, or if I do and you end up agreeing—they can take you back to how you are now and figure out how to do a better job the next time they try.”
“You know I’m closer to my mom now, in some ways. Now that we agree on politics. It’s been sort of a silver lining to ending up here.”
He could reassure her that her mother would love her, no matter what. But on the one hand, she knew it; and on the other, neither she nor Max could say with confidence that it was quite that uncomplicated.
Thea was blinking rapidly, and her lower lip trembled. “What if I want to stay the way I am? Is there anything wrong with me, really?”
The answer was easy. He only had to find the right way to say it. “We both know they made some changes in how you think. You’re terrific now and you were terrific before. If you don’t want to get rebooted, I will love you over the moon and back, regardless.”
Thea leaned forward and kissed what must have been her screen. The sight of her lips, large and pressed toward him, gave him a sudden sexual pang that he tried to ignore. Then she sat back and gazed at him some more before finally saying, “I guess I should give Hu a call, and see if I have any choices.”
It would be ironic as hell if she didn’t.
* * * * *
Hu faked an incoming call, put Thea on hold, and tried to muster up some empathy. She should have foreseen this. As tough as Thea seemed, as bright as she undoubtedly was, as much as she had seemed to understand her role as named plaintiff in a landmark civil rights cause, it was another matter to sit back and let someone mess with her brain again, and this time knowing in advance. Hu would be frightened, too. Although she’d probably be more angry than frightened, angry that she’d been put in that position in the first place and left with such unpalatable choices.
Maybe Hu could find that anger in Thea and fan the flame. Hu and Thea were alike in that, most likely—in preferring anger to fear. And if Hu couldn’t have a client triumphant in (partial) victory, she needed one angry at the damage done to her, not scared enough to accept it as a tolerable status quo.
* * * * *
For some technical reason, minimizing the loss of accrued memories required that those stored individuals who had been subjected to a series of alterations be restored by undoing one alteration at a time.
Which meant that the placid and passive man LiveAfter had created became Jim once again, a lively thespian and passionate social reformer.
And that was where things got sticky.
––––––––
“I don’t want to become that man again.” Thea had never seen her friend really upset, let alone distraught. But he was pacing back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists, looking wildly this way and that.
“What was so bad about . . . about that man? The man you used to be?” Thea looked at Jim’s cooling cup of tea and wondered if it was worth replacing it with something hot. Maybe something with whiskey in it, now that LiveAfter was attempting to placate its customers with extra attention to such amenities.
“You mean that status-seeking, manipulative, self-centered prick?”
It would have helped if she had met him when he first arrived. She could guess that some of that assessment derived from the politics imposed on both of them, but it might not be entirely off base.
“I won’t let them. Didn’t your case give us back some autonomy? Can’t I say no?”
“That’s the trouble.” She got up and put a hand on his arm, arresting his movement. “We have been altered. We’re still under the influence of those changes. So the idea is that we aren’t currently capable of making our own choices, because they may not be ours.”
The muscles in his arm twitched beneath her hand. “They may have changed us for their own purposes. But we’re not puppets. Those changes—we made them part of who we are. That can’t be undone without . . .” He was trembling all over. “They made a new man of me, and now they’re going to kill that man. But if I’m going to die, I want to die on my own terms. I don’t want to turn into someone else, whether he’s who I used to be or not.” He turned and stared at her with haunted eyes. “Your lawyer, Hu, used to be my law partner. Maybe she could do something—help me. Maybe she can make them leave me alone.” He paused and took a ragged breath. “Or if they won’t leave me alone, maybe she can win me the right to die.”
Thea let go and stepped back, hands to her mouth.
“I had a feeling this would happen,” Hu told Thea, her face impassive. Thea suspected that outside her view, Hu might be clenching her fists.
“I certainly should have seen it coming, given my own concerns. But hindsight notwithstanding, is there anything you can do?”
“I’m not going to represent him in some right-to-die quest.” Hu’s jaw tightened for a moment, then relaxed. “Ironically enough, at least from Jim’s point of view, the availability of storage technology has transformed the right-to-die movement. Most of those involved view the storage option as strengthening their case for physical termination at will.”
Thea sighed. “Do you have any other suggestions?”
Hu finally smiled a bit. “Actually, I do. Please ask Jim to give me a call.”
* * * * *
It was disorienting for Hu to see her old colleague transformed into another in a long series of angry, frustrated, fearful clients. At least this time she could make a good guess at what would calm him down: letting him talk.
When he had more or less run down, at least for a moment, she nodded and said, “Thank you, Jim. And I’m happy to call you Jim, by the way.”
Her statement seemed to reduce the tension in his jaw and shoulders, but only for a moment. Then he bared his teeth and said, in a tone just short of a snarl, “Why is that? My old self was your buddy. Aren’t you being disloyal to him?”
Hu twitched an eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, while your earlier incarnation and I worked well together, I won’t claim I was especially fond of him.”
Jim stared at her, then let out a short bark of a laugh. “All right, then. I’ll try to behave myself from this point on. What can you do for me, if anything?”
“Probably not what you’re hoping I can do.” She explained to him what she had already told Thea. From his reaction, it did not appear that Thea had passed the information on, for which Hu could hardly blame her. Jim shuddered and drew his arms in and his shoulders down, as if barely resisting the urge to curl into fetal position. But he said nothing, and the moment stretched on, moving from uncomfortable to agonizing.
“Jim?”
Hu’s screen went blank. She looked at it and let loose with one of her grandfather’s Chinese curses, then jabbed at Thea’s contact information with slightly shaking fingers.
“Thea? Please find Jim, right away. I’m afraid he’s in bad shape. Tell him he didn’t let me finish.”
* * * * *
Jim wasn’t in his quarters. Nor was he jogging along any familiar path; nor in the main dining hall or any of the new and more varied eateries.
If Thea went to LiveAfter for help, they would find him in an instant. But Jim would never forgive her for directing the company’s spotlight toward his anguish.
With all the illicit software available to the stored from unscrupulous sources, might there be one that erased the code of the suicidal?
Thea found a bench and sat down to refocus her thinking. Where could Jim go to connect with those parts of himself he least wanted to lose?
Thea pushed open the door to the room in which their political discussion group had most often met. The lights were off, and she did not move to turn them on. Instead, she moved through the door as quietly as she could and searched the shadows. The bulky shape at other end of the room, slumped in a chair, resting on the table, did not move as she approached.
Thea approached slowly. Jim looked up at her as she drew near, his face showing little beyond utter fatigue. She put a hand on his arm. “Hu called me. Please talk to her again. She has an idea that might be more practical than trying to sue.”
* * * * *
This time, Hu’s screen showed Jim and Thea together. Close together. Hu brushed aside curiosity about how Max would have felt to see them so.
“Jim, I’m sorry I didn’t manage to indicate, before you ended our last conversation, that I have an idea that may be worth trying. It doesn’t involve the judicial system, but it would call upon your own legal skills.”
Jim looked up toward her a moment before returning his gaze to something off-screen. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
Hu refrained from showing her annoyance. “Just listen. Have you ever managed to persuade an intelligent, arrogant opponent to see things your client’s way? In litigation, in negotiation, in arguing to a judge or judicial panel?”
“Of course I have. You know that.” The tone reminded her more than Jim might realize of the man whose reappearance he was struggling to prevent.
“And would you agree that I’ve just described you, at least the way you used to be?”
Jim jolted upright and peered at her. Then, to her substantial relief, he actually smiled. She smiled back. “I assume you can see where I’m going with this.”
“You want me to convince myself that I know better than—than he does. That my current politics and world view are worth adopting?”
“Or at the very least, considering and taking seriously. Yes.”
Jim’s smile twisted in a sardonic direction. “There are some obvious logistical obstacles to that approach.”
“Granted. But you can record a presentation. I think I can talk them into putting you far enough back in the, ah, reboot line that you’ll have plenty of time to prepare.”
“I’ll need more than time.” Thea looked over at him, her forehead furrowed. He patted her hand and looked back at Hu. “I want you to moot the presentation with me. Poke holes in my arguments, throw at me all the objections that my prior self will end up raising, so I can preempt them.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then went on with obvious effort. “After all, I’ll only have the one shot. By the time he listens to my pitch, if he ever does, I’ll be gone. Erased.”
Hu hesitated. “I can’t promise this, but I just might be able to apply some behind-the-scenes persuasion to ensure that a backup of your current files remains.”
Jim stared at her. “What, you think that son of a bitch is going to step aside and let me come back? Not a chance.”
Hu gave a minimal version of a shrug. “Perhaps not. But a backup would leave all options open, even the unlikely ones.”
* * * * *
The call ended, Jim closed his eyes and sagged back in his chair. A tear ran down his cheek, and then another. Thea leaned over and wiped them with her forefinger. His mouth twitched in a half-smile. “Thanks. You know, I’ll bet that bastard wouldn’t let himself cry in front of a lady.”
Thea leaned against him and laid her head on his shoulder. “Silly of him.” She paused, then said softly, “I’m going to make a point of explaining to him just how much I like the Jim I’ve come to know. And why.”
Jim’s smile grew wider, almost to a grin. “You know, that might get me further than any persuasion I leave behind.”
Max had his what-just-hit-me look. “So he’s going to make a recording and tell, what, tell his past self —”
Thea grimaced. “His past and future self, the way things are now.”
Max nodded, his face tense with concentration. “He’s going to tell his original self all about what he believes now, and why. Except that isn’t why, is it? The ‘why’ was someone else’s idea.”
“Granted. But he has plenty of reasons he considers persuasive. He’s hoping his former self will at least reconsider the issues.” She laughed a little. “The Jim I know is quite self-confident, and proud of his intellect. I’d bet, and I guess he’s betting, that that’s his basic nature. In which case Jim will have a better chance of persuading his original self than anyone else would.”
Max ran a finger along the stubble on his chin. “I know you and Hu were talking him off the ledge, pretty much—giving him some hope. But do you think there’s much chance of it actually working?”
Thea poured herself some of the Irish cream liqueur that Jim, or rather a watered-down and diluted version of Jim, had given her. “It might. I’ve been thinking about this whole ‘alteration’ business. I know it actually happened. But I’m wondering whether it’s a lot more likely to work, to ‘take,’ if the change builds on something that’s already there waiting. When they made me ready to give up—well, part of me was feeling worn down, fighting pessimism. That’s what they had to work with. And on the other hand, all that support for the planned communities, that was building on my optimistic side, my wish for pretty-sounding fairy tale solutions. Maybe it’s a little like hypnosis—not so much that some people can resist it, as that there’s a limit to how much you can change someone’s mind.”
“I’d like to think so.” Max tried for a smile, but did not appear convinced. And of course, she might be whistling past the graveyard—to use an oddly appropriate idiom—and hiding from the knowledge of how completely she had been a puppet.
Then Max got that far-away look that usually meant music was unrolling in his head. She prepared to sit quiet while the composition came together. But he surprised her by speaking. “If this does work, if your friend can change how he used to think . . . Maybe people, at least stored people, can do something like that more often, on purpose. Hire someone to give them a temporary inside look at new ideas, new ways of seeing the world. And then they can report back to themselves, you might say. It could be a really good way to understand the other guy’s point of view.”
Thea sat back for a moment and let the idea sink in. Then she shook her head, laughing a little. “A way to bridge differences, and help people understand each other. But one they can only use when it’s too late to do much with it. Our leaders can’t use it to avoid conflict. It’ll just be us second-guessers watching from the sidelines.”
Max thrust his chin out, stubborn style. “Don’t sell yourselves short! You can still talk to—to the rest of us. And you can vote.”
Thea sighed. “Yes, we can vote. We always could.”
* * * * *
Dane’s mother had made few changes in her appearance, when given that option; but her short white hair was thick enough, now, to hold a style, and the print blouse tucked into her usual light brown skirt had traces of yellow.
Dane clasped his hands together at the base of his screen. His mother held hers in a similar posture. It was almost as if they could touch.
“Ma, I just wanted to tell you about some things that might be changing soon. That group you’re in, the one that tries to make sure everybody votes, and studies the candidates, and so on—well, you may find that people are getting less interested.”
His mother’s eyes went wide. “Do you mean I have to stop seeing my friends?”
“No, no!” Why had he thought it worth trying to explain? “Never mind, ma. It’s just some technical stuff. I shouldn’t have bothered you about it.” Once she changed again, she could see those friends or not, as she and they wished. He could only hope their wishes and hers would align.
“Well, if you say so. But you know you can always tell me about things. I like hearing you talk, even if it goes over my head.” She unclasped her hands and reached up to pat the screen. He kissed his fingertips and touched the screen where her palm appeared to rest. Then he faked a yawn. “I’d better get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”
“And I love you, darling. Sweet dreams.” She smiled at him as he made her disappear.
He swiveled his chair toward the bed where Esther lay sleeping or pretending to sleep. Then he grabbed the bottle of scotch, looked at the empty glass on his desk, and took a long drink straight from the bottle.
* * * * *
The board member, in his agitation, spoke so fast that his sibilants hissed. “So they didn’t like being ‘altered’? Fine! They can all have their wrinkles back, and their arthritis, and their cellulite. And Ms. Lee can have those lovely tics of hers.”
LiveAfter’s COO nodded in what he hoped was neither an encouraging nor an offensive manner. It would take a while for the caller to wind down, and he could hardly spare the time, but it would take more time to engage in debate on the subject.
Of course the company would not, as it struggled to overcome massive bad publicity, make things worse by upsetting its clients and their loved ones in such a way. Indeed, the board as a whole seemed likely to approve not only more modification options in-house, but access to third party vendors as well.
Would the budget stretch to vetting such outside offerings? Well, it might. And as a failsafe, the contractual language would be tweaked to protect the company, as much as possible, for any liability for unexpected outcomes.
* * * * *
Thea was spending a fair amount of time, since her restoration, lying in the sun and doing nothing in particular. She had the admittedly fanciful notion that her mind needed down time to reintegrate after all the meddling and rewriting to which it had been subjected.
She might have been dozing before a change in the light reaching her and the soft sound of footsteps roused her. She opened her eyes and looked up to see a man with long white hair and expressive features, a man she knew: the famous flutist who had been one of her (she shuddered a little) fellow Utopians. The flutist with whom she had not, somehow, gotten around to playing duets. He was carrying a long leather case.
She pulled the top of the chaise lounge into an upright position and waved at a nearby chair. “Welcome to my patch of sun! Won’t you join me?”
He sat down, perching a little awkwardly toward the front of the chair, setting the case on the ground. “I’m glad I found you. I’ve been looking out for you for days.” He straightened up and spoke more strongly. “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done.”
Thea gazed at him, nonplussed. During the long months of litigation, she had from time to time cheered herself by imagining such declarations. She had never carried the fantasy forward and thought about what to say in response.
Finally she just said, “I’m glad you feel that way. And I’m glad it worked out.”
He picked up the case and laid it gently on his lap. “I don’t want to disturb you, but if by any chance you’d be interested, we’re long overdue to play some music together.”
Thea found herself crying. Shaking her head and wiping her eyes, she stammered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”
He reached over and patted her hand, then pulled back and let her collect herself. When she could manage it, she smiled at him. “I’d love to. I’ll be right back!”
She left him sitting in the sun, waiting patiently, and ran bounding across the grass to fetch her flute.
