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  “Why are her eyes taped like that?”

  “To prevent damage to her corneas.”

  “She was supposed to be transferred at the station. What happens now? Is she still eligible?”

  “I’m afraid it's too soon to make that determination, son.”

  At the time, it was like a dagger to my heart—the possibility that she wouldn’t be able to pursue her dream after all. Maybe she was supposed to stay with me at the campus after this.

  But no, that wasn’t right.

  The doctor rushed me out of the room, sweeping me through the doorway. I found a nearby nurses’ station and waiting area where I could at least sit and think. The nurses were gynoids, but not Transhuman—two of them, watching carefully for a moment before going about their duties behind the desk. The doctor went back to his business, scurrying back to treating Ramona and the other patients on the floor.

  I looked at my phone, wondering if Ms. Nancy was on the way or had notified authorities to deliver me back to the campus. But I couldn’t leave Ramona—I couldn’t leave her so close to her dream without helping her. But what could I do?

  Tapping away on the screen, an idea formed slowly in the back of my mind. Some hospitals have transfer equipment to assist patients as a last resort. A patient’s eligibility could be dependent on injuries. A transfer station was ideal, specifically for their ability to print bodies to the person’s specifications and for biological cryofreeze. Hospitals just didn’t have that equipment, but kept generic bodies as contingencies.

  What about Riverside? Did they have transfer equipment?

  Even if they did, how could I get Ramona to that equipment?

  All I needed was to convince those two nurses. Simple gynoid nurses without the spark, not connected to the chorus. Machines that could be fooled.

  What I decided to attempt wouldn’t work on Transhumans, or even normal humans. A disguise app through the phone—augmented reality that would distort the features of my face and allow me to impersonate a doctor. Not something that would fool a consciousness ... but a machine? Maybe it would work.

  Transhumans rarely busy themselves with the well-being of humans—it’s well known they think they solved all our healthcare problems and fucked off to build Dyson spheres and such, so mankind still has to take care of itself when it gets hurt. Still, from the stories I’ve heard from before the Transmigration, it’s much better than it used to be.

  The app mapped the features of my face in thousands of points and lines. I tried to find a picture of the doctor from the Riverside staff files on the Knowledgebase—it wasn’t difficult. Dr. Samuel Desmond, a resident general surgeon. I could load his photo into the app to map his facial features as well and write one over the other. With a simple tap, the nurses would think they were speaking to Dr. Desmond instead of an adolescent boy. This kind of deep fakery was just crazy enough to work.

  Identity fraud, impersonating a doctor—more crimes for the list.

  “Excuse me, nurse?” I asked one of the two. She looked at me blankly, vapid brown eyes below dark hair, which was tied in a ponytail behind her head. “I need to take patient Ramona Sault to consciousness transfer. Do you know where I could find a wheelchair?”

  “She’s not scheduled to be moved,” the nurse responded.

  “It’s a new order. We just determined her eligibility, and the severity of her wounds renders her body useless. We can provide her with a better life through a transfer,” I lied through my teeth. Gritting and nervous, I waited as she processed this new information.

  “That’s no problem, Doctor,” she said. “Let me log the new order and notify consciousness transfer to have a vessel standing by.”

  I couldn’t believe it.

  She stepped away for a moment, leaving the other nurse at the station. When she returned, she rolled a wheelchair to me. “Do you require assistance in moving the patient to consciousness transfer?”

  I thought about it for a moment, realizing that having a nurse with me would lend this operation an air of legitimacy. “Yes, please.”

  The two of us went to Ramona’s room, me leading the way and her rolling the wheelchair. I was careful to avoid the real Dr. Desmond as he bounced between patient rooms. I pulled the blanket on her bed forward and hugged her close, carrying her carefully to the edge of the bed. The scent of her perfume was gone. The nurse helped to move her to the wheelchair, and then made sure the IV drip was securely attached.

  “Please lead the way,” I said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  The nurse led Ramona out into the hallway, pushing both the chair and the IV on wheels. I made sure the coast was clear before leaving her room, the real Dr. Desmond nowhere to be seen. One of the wheels on Ramona’s chair squeaked mercilessly, increasing my anxiety with each agonizing chirp. We made our way to the elevators, the rote actions of the nurse requiring neither command nor request. In the elevator, she pushed the button to take us to the third floor.

  It felt like a maglev train I couldn’t stop. Now the nurse pushed her to consciousness transfer and soon there’d be no going back. She’d join the chorus, experience the singularity, and be gone. But she’d never be able to forget the boy who helped her reach her dream—to escape the limitations of her now damaged body and ascend to the stars.

  There was a wooden door with the words “364 - Consciousness Transfer” labeled on the wall next to it. There was also a security pad next to it.

  “Do you have your pass?” the nurse asked, sending a shiver down my spine. I could stop this now. I could reveal myself, have Ramona brought back to the ward where she belonged, under the care of a real doctor.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have it on me. Could you scan us in?”

  “Absolutely, doctor,” the nurse responded, stepping out from behind the wheelchair. She waved her hand over the security pad to the right of the door. Why she’d even asked me for a pass I had no idea.

  The door led to a dark hallway, which opened up to a rose colored room with a large apparatus suspended from the ceiling over a patient chair. Next to that was another patient chair where an android secured a generic synthetic gynoid body in the seat. “This is Ramona Sault,” the nurse said.

  “Yes, I received her order. The machine is being prepared now.”

  I could still end this. All I had to do was say something, but the words stuck in my throat. It couldn’t be this easy, could it?

  Staring at her face, eyes taped shut, I remembered the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty for some reason. I wanted to will her awake, to say one last goodbye before she moved to her new vessel. Her burned and scarred face remained inanimate. And then the nurse was helping her into the chair beneath the suspended apparatus. Her arms and legs were strapped by restraints.

  “It will take a few moments,” the android said, still adjusting the generic synthetic in the other chair.

  “Do you need anything else from me?” the nurse asked.

  “No,” I said with barely any awareness. The word just tumbled from my mouth.

  She passed me and went back down the dark hallway to the door out of the department. I heard it close behind her.

  “Doctor, if you wish to observe, you’ll need to do so from back there,” the android said, gesturing to a glass partition on the other side of the room.

  “What?” I replied. “Oh, thank you.” I’d almost forgotten the masking technology disguising my appearance to the android. I did as he asked, leaving Ramona behind and moving to the other side of the partition.

  The android adjusted the generic synthetic, propping its mouth open with a mouthguard. He lowered part of the apparatus, pointing it directly into its mouth, before moving over to Ramona. He placed a helmet-like device on her head, wires protruding from it. Lastly he pulled a chinstrap tight on her face, and then joined me behind the partition. The room dimmed as the apparatus warmed up.

  The hulking machine revved as though it were an engine, screaming to life. It fired a beam of pink light
into the synethetic, and I shuddered.

  “We have to stop this.”

  “We can’t stop this, Doctor,” the android said.

  “I’m... I’m not a doctor.”

  “What?”

  “We have to turn the machine off! We can’t let her be transferred. We can’t!”

  “You don’t understand. We can’t turn off the process once it’s begun. For the patient’s sake.”

  We watched silently, the pink laser light streaming from the machine into the synthetic’s mouth. The android didn’t say anything further regarding my impersonation. We waited for a time for the process to complete, my heart sinking further and further into my chest. I held my breath, mouthing something like a prayer.

  Eventually the laser stopped, and the lights brightened in the room. I felt a need to rush in to check on Ramona, but I waited. My natural inclination was to examine the scarred and burned body of the one I loved so dearly, but deep down I knew that wasn’t really Ramona anymore.

  “Please wait for the cycling to complete,” the android whispered, holding a hand up. He referred to the boot process for the synthetic. “Only once she’s up and running is it safe to enter the chamber.”

  I watched as its head lifted from beneath the apparatus—only then did I rush back into the chamber. “Ramona!” I shouted.

  “Huxley?” she asked in an unfamiliar voice.

  She looked beside her to see the scarred and burned body of her former self.

  “Wait,” she murmured. I came face to face with the synthetic as Ramona blinked from behind new eyes. “It’s so loud.” Her head started to twist about as though confused. Her eyes rolled upward, artificial lashes fluttering.

  “Ramona, stay with me,” I said. “Focus! Listen to the sound of my voice.”

  Her right arm thrashed about, knocking a tray back, the startling clatter ringing throughout the chamber. The other android emerged from behind the partition.

  “Help me restrain her,” he said calmly.

  By then her entire body writhed in the chair, contorting unnaturally. Her left hand grabbed me by the shirt and flung me back against the wall with immense force. The android stepped in front of her chair and she threw him upward, his body crashing into the apparatus that dangled above.

  “Ramona?” I asked, still winded from the impact. She didn’t even look at me. Her focus remained on the only real threat, the other android that had attempted restraint. She began to pummel him mercilessly, ripping the machine from the ceiling and driving it into the android’s torso, pinning him to the floor. Coolant spilled out in sickening waves as it twisted about beneath the apparatus, its arms and legs flailing mechanically. She grabbed at the android’s head and violently jerked it from the neck. Part of its spinal column gave way as well. The horrified head’s mouth drooped open, not believing the turn of fate, its eyes fluttering back.

  Why didn’t I stop this when I had the chance?

  I know what you want to say to me. There are protocols in place to prevent the injured from consciousness transfer as it significantly heightens the chance of the statistical anomaly. Most sufficiently eligible patients are aware of the risk involved. Ramona couldn’t make that choice. I had to help her. That’s my only defense.

  Maybe the underaged shouldn’t make such choices, you’d probably tell me. But here we are, in a world with careless emotions and the technology to do anything. There’s one loose thread, and we’ll pull and pull until it all unravels.

  Her new face and body were covered in coolant while the lights flickered overhead. She dug her new hands into the mess of wires and metal from the apparatus and the detached body of the android. Her eyes fluttered—a surge that made her look reinvigorated. Then her eyes drifted to the scarred and burned body in the other chair.

  “No!” I shouted, leaping to my feet. In one fluid motion, I threw everything into a charge, bodying her synthetic vessel as she started towards her former self. It gave me a moment, enough to unstrap the restraints and pull her over my shoulder. Behind the chairs and the gore in the center of the chamber, the synthetic now containing Ramona looked more like a beast than a person, heaving breaths and bursting with anger.

  As quickly as I could, I moved toward the dark hallway with Ramona’s former body draped over my shoulder. The thing lunged toward us as we turned the corner and crashed into the wall. I was able to open the door and rush through just as she regained her footing.

  “Help us!” I shouted impotently at anyone who would listen.

  Those stiff guardian androids headed toward us just as Ramona punched through the door. We limped away as it crashed to splinters behind us. The androids had batons extended, but were no match for her fury. We hobbled away, putting as much space between us and the feral thing as we could.

  People and androids watched as we passed by, covered in the milky fluid. We waited by the elevators. I listened as the chaos continued behind us. “Ramona,” I said, setting her to the ground. I patted her face, trying to get her to come to. “Please, Ramona.” I pulled the tape from her eyelids as she started to show signs of consciousness, her eyes flickering slightly.

  “Who?” she asked, exasperated and barely awake. “It hurts. It hurts so much.”

  “Can you stand?”

  “I think so.”

  “Just stay with me. We need to move.”

  The elevator finally opened to our right. I helped her inside as we heard the sounds of carnage moving closer. I smashed the button for the first floor. The doors closed behind us as we caught a glimpse of the raging thing.

  “What’s happening? What was that?” she asked.

  “It’s... you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a lot to explain right now.”

  “Who are you?” My heart sank at her question. What had I done?

  “My name is Huxley. And yours is Ramona. And that thing is also you.”

  “Me? I…"

  Then the elevator shook. Something was on top of us.

  “Oh fuck,” I muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Her,” I said.

  The elevator’s ceiling shuddered. Another thump and shake. The lights flickered. Then part of the ceiling collapsed next to us, and Ramona shrieked.

  “We have to get out of here. Come on come on come on..."

  The thing peered down from above just as the doors opened, its eyes burning with hate and hunger.

  “Go, GO!” I shouted, pushing Ramona out of the elevator. My feet carried me out as well, but I tripped on my way. I caught a glimpse of the thing behind me as it dropped from the ceiling. It appeared to be crawling on all fours, its arms contorted out of joint. I propelled myself to move. It galloped behind me on hands and feet.

  We were in sight of the body scanner vestibules at the exit. “Help us!” I called after the the guards that flanked the scanners. The thing rounded the corner, galloping like a feral beast hounding after us. On the other side, we could see a crowd gathering.

  “Into the vestibule!” I shouted at Ramona. Even if we couldn’t get through, we’d be trapped inside, and the thing wouldn’t be able to get us.

  We practically dove in together. Behind us, the thing made short work of the security androids, ripping into them like they were paper. It was covered in what looked like a combination of synthetic blood, white coolant, and oil. The scanner vestibule closed and the thing slapped its palms against the glass. The fluid mixture smeared along the outside in the shape of a palm print. It screamed with rage toward us as we backed against the exit.

  I don’t know that I’ve ever been so relieved in my life as the vestibule opened and we fell to the other side. As the exit opened for us, the entrance to the vestibule opened for the snarling, raging thing.

  It was trapped.

  It continued to slap and punch at the glass, both at the entrance and exit of the vestibule. The scanner wouldn’t let her through.

  Ramona stood to face the thing. Th
ey regarded and reflected each other. It growled and screamed at her.

  Chorus officers closed in on us from the lobby. In the chaos, someone must have contacted them. Their post-human faces with skin of silver and blue and purple stared at the seething thing enclosed in the vestibule.

  “It’s the anomaly,” I said, pointing at the trapped beast.

  I couldn’t read their reactions, if they gave any. They watched it slapping against its cage, smearing the primal fluids along the glass.

  “She’s me?” Ramona asked, shortly before they took us into custody.

  “Not anymore,” I said.

  “What am I supposed to do now?”

  “Continue.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  

  Grant Piercy lives in Columbus, Ohio. His first novel, The Erased , was released in 2012. Between 2016 and 2018, he published a series of novellas titled I Am Mercury , which he later compiled into an omnibus.

  Also available from this author:

  The Erased

  I Am Mercury