Absorption (23 page)

He regretted the question as soon as he asked it. He didn’t want to hear about Michael. She shook her head, and he asked no more questions. She had agreed to be careful, and he would help her.

“So how do we get started?”

He put on the cap he had removed before dinner. One by one, he disabled safeguards, after receiving warnings they should only be overridden for medical or maintenance purposes. Ariel told him, “For the first fifteen or twenty minutes, don’t move. No need to worry about forgetting, you won’t want to. You’ll know when it’s OK.

They each lay down on a couch. Brett asked, “Do you think this would be easier if we undressed first?”

“Maybe, but not as much fun. Lean back and close your eyes.”

Brett endured the dizziness and nausea. Behind his eyelids he saw impossible colors. He heard noises that smelled wrong, couldn’t reach itches with a strange flavor. Eventually the mere thought of thinking no longer confused him, and it seemed he was as well adjusted as he would ever be.

Still keeping his eyes shut, Brett carefully lifted an arm. It didn’t feel lighter than his old arm, perhaps because that one had more muscles to do the lifting as well. He carefully did some stretches. When he lifted Ariel’s legs, he felt the hem of her dress fall on her (his now?) midriff, leaving her legs exposed up to her panties. He resisted an impulse to explore that further just yet.

When he opened her eyes, everything looked a little different, though it was hard to describe. Colors were sharper and brighter, but shapes and edges not so sharply defined. Probably the difference lay in his and Ariel’s occipital lobes rather than their physical eyes. After taking a moment to get used to it he found he could see well enough. Then he turned Ariel’s head.

Looking at himself was an odd experience, and the fact that his image wasn’t reversed as in a mirror was the least of it. Ariel had managed to prop his body against the side of the couch. Hopefully he didn’t look that awkward when in his own body. Other than that, it wasn’t too bad. The legs on his trousers were bunched up. His grey eyes watched himself eagerly, or Ariel, whoever.

He carefully stood up, becoming accustomed to the different balance. He took his first steps slowly but surely, finding his center of balance. Soon he was moving automatically, which was actually easier because it permitted parts of Ariel’s brain to resume the work they always did. Even not tripping over the dress became almost natural. It was a good thing he (she, whoever) had removed the high heels.

At first Brett wanted to do a little strip tease for Ariel, but he soon discovered that removing a dress from the inside wasn’t as easy as he had assumed. Dancing was soon forgotten. Ariel must look a sight, with the bottom of her dress covering her head while Brett struggled to get it off. He was reminded again how different the balance of this body was from his usual one, and paused a few moments to regain his poise.

He heard a deep masculine voice, somehow soothing despite the surface mockery. “Take it off baby! Shake it!”

Brett fought off disorientation from the sudden realization he was hearing his own voice from outside of his head.

Then the dress was off. What about the bra? The straps connected directly behind her. What the heck was that for? Brett had undressed women, but never watched one undress herself. It took a few minutes to recall seeing an old girlfriend from long ago dress herself in his presence. He could do that in reverse. Before starting, Brett looked over at his body – his usual one.

Ariel had slumped his body in an awkward posture, half sitting, half leaning on an arm. She was watching him (herself?) intently, but hadn’t moved much, and was still completely dressed. Brett was darned if he was going to do all the work.

He walked Ariel’s half naked body back and forth. It felt wrong somehow, until he realized he strode like a man instead of gliding like a woman. He stood completely still and closed his eyes, trying to visualize how Ariel walked when she was herself. He wondered if he could do a pirouette. His responses didn’t seem to be lagged, but presumably the brain edited that out. He found himself very aware of the uneven feeling of the thick carpet against the undersides of Ariel’s stocking clad feet. He opened his eyes and tried again, stumbled, but managed to catch himself on one of the couches.

Ariel applauded, clumsily at first. “As soon as you learn to do that backwards in high heels you’ll really know how to dance.”

He walked over to where he was reclining and carefully leaned over himself, using Ariel’s arms to hold her weight above his body. He bit himself on the neck, uncertain if Ariel would enjoy the sensation as much from his point of view as she usually did when he bit her neck.

He felt a phantom tingling in Ariel’s neck and was puzzled for a moment, but the reason was obvious. He was still himself, and the nannies weren’t canceling out the signals from his own nerves to his brain perfectly.

Apparently Ariel enjoyed the sensation, because she reached out to grab him. She hadn’t adjusted yet, and ended up knocking Brett’s forearm into the shoulder of the body he had borrowed rather hard. Somehow the muttered apology didn’t sound quite right in the deep bass voice she was now using.

Before Ariel could try again, Brett backed away. He sat Ariel’s body down on a couch up against an adjoining wall. He tried to make Ariel’s voice as alluring as possible. “All you need is a little practice, and you’ll be grabbing me in no time. Just warm up a few minutes first.”

Instead she stood up immediately. She didn’t seem to have much trouble at first, perhaps because his brain knew how to process the instruction to stand up. Then she began to flail around. Only when Ariel realized the balance felt wrong did her own brain interfere. She (or Brett) pitched face forward into the wall.

Although he felt the dull ache of his bleeding nose beneath the artificial mask of Ariel’s transferred sensations, for a confused moment he felt sorry for Ariel. Then he lay carefully on Ariel’s back so there would be no more accidents, and used the emergency override.

The shock of transition wasn’t as disorienting as he had feared – parts of his brain had known he was here all along, lying on the floor with a bleeding nose. Ariel helped him onto the bed and got him a towel. He leaned his head way back to help the bleeding stop. He spoke carefully not to interfere with clotting, but some things had to be said.

“This wasn’t quite what it was cracked up to be.”

“The governing coalition of the Pan-Oceanian party has fallen. The Galactics have successfully put together a majority.”

Brett nodded. Williams had already warned him that the new government might be harder to deal with than the previous one. The chessboard was nowhere in evidence. One of these days he would convince Williams to move to an office with windows. He shouldn’t need the Ambassador to tell him about Oceanian politics. With his new hat and newer skills, he should have been tutoring Williams. In the week since he had completed his training, there had been the horrible day when he learned what his own government had kept from him, and the odd experiment with Ariel. At least his nose had stopped bleeding. He hadn’t found time, but should have made it.

As a parliamentary democracy Oceania might seem monolithic to the rest of the galaxy, but governing coalitions rose and fell. While the name Galactics sounded more cosmopolitan than Pan-Oceanian, Brett seemed to recall the Galactics had a history of being even less accommodating to the Federalist Worlds.

Brett asked tensely, “Have they given us some sort of ultimatum?”

Williams shook his head. “Oddly enough, what they want is a joint press conference. Normally that would be good news. You have a joint press conference to show people you’re one big happy family.”

“But?”

“Most of the local criticism of the Pan-Oceanian coalition has been about them not taking a hard enough line. It’s strange that the Galactic coalition should be so eager to show we’re all friends. The way it was set up is strange too. No negotiating about where and when, very little advance notice, just a polite invitation.”

Brett considered. While Williams didn’t leave the embassy more than the minimum his job required, Brett knew he read many Oceanian newspapers and magazines. He now respected Williams’ intuition. “What can we do? Say no?”

Williams shook his head. “That won’t help – and if they are sincere it might be counterproductive.”

“So we have to ask for more details.”

Williams shook his head again. “What can we ask? Basically we’re going to meet with the Oceanians in front of the media.”

The Ambassador slid a piece of paper across the desk. “How do we get here?”

Brett replied, “The short answer is we walk two blocks south and get in a pod. Then I think about where we’re going and we get out a few minutes later.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“You’ve got me worried though. The hard part may come soon.”

They emerged in an outdoor plaza, near a big stage with a huge U-shaped table on it. They had been directed to a VIP pod station. Guards were right outside, ready to escort them up the steps. The crowd couldn’t all be members of the media. Some of them held cameras, which might not take video much better than the computer on Brett’s belt, but did make you think twice when the bearers asked you questions. The ones with eye implants were probably more professional, and on Oceania some people could actually sell their memories and perceptions. Eventually some videos would make their way off world. This might be a bigger deal than Brett had anticipated.

Brett and Williams seated themselves at the table. They had arrived at the time requested, but the only other people at the table were some functionaries at the far end. Williams seemed unhappy, and Brett really hoped it was just his discomfort around Oceanians. Seeking an explanation for the strange arrangements, he asked quietly, “Hurry up and wait?”

Williams shook his head. “I think it’s more than that.”

As if by prearrangement, people began climbing stairs to the podium from all sides. The seats next to them and across from them filled up rapidly. With a shock, Brett found himself sitting directly across from Michael Waterborne. What was he doing here? Brett had heard something about his role in politics, a member of a minority party – oh shit!

Before Brett could wonder how to deal with the awkward situation, a boy ran up beside his chair. He clearly didn’t belong here. Brett wondered how the youth had gotten past the heavy security and onto the stage. He might have been thirteen. His clothing gave Brett pause. It wasn’t a scouting uniform – more like a smaller copy of an Oceanian military uniform. The boy was too young to understand what such a uniform meant. Dressing him up as a play soldier was distasteful. Nobody else wore costumes.

When Brett looked away from the boy, he saw Michael had noticed his glance. Brett didn’t like the smile he saw. Brett held his face still.

Williams addressed himself to Michael. “This is not the event we were lead to expect. Maybe someone could find this young man’s parents?”

Brett grinned inwardly at what would have to be at least a minor embarrassment for the Oceanian organizers, but Michael seemed unfazed. “Please don’t go yet. Why don’t you listen to what we have to say first?”

Michael’s voice sounded … statesmanlike, and outwardly friendly. Had some change really occurred, or was this his public persona? Williams stopped moving. It would seem childish to insist on walking out immediately, and there could be little harm to merely listening.

There were more surprises in store. The teenager was the first to speak. “I see that you’ve noticed my uniform and it makes you uncomfortable, but I understand the Federalist Space Marines have always respected the laws of war wherever they go, even when they’ve had to study local variations. They’ve never willingly killed children – and neither have Oceanians.

“I have inoperable tumors throughout my brain. There are worlds you allow limited nanny capability for medical purposes, but they’re dependent on us for things that require economies of scale. Oceania will probably lose this capability in the aftermath of a strike on our Nanotechnological capability followed by a war against the occupation. We couldn’t forgo that if we wanted to. Militias would spring up independently.”

Whoever coached the kid had made the speech too complex to originate with a thirteen year old. Even so, the stunt made an impact.

“So I’d rather fight – but I’ll be in uniform. People won’t be turning their children into terrorists, so you don’t have to worry about kids out of uniform. If you see a few teenagers armed, only the ones in uniforms are part of the resistance.”

Despite awareness of manipulation, Brett felt sick. The sentiment sounded authentic. He sounded like a soldier ready to die. That part was no trick.

“We could transport you to Praisehim.”

“So you’re going to let them keep the nanotechnology they got from us as long as they don’t start a full fledged overmind? Anyway, the resources involved would save more lives if you use them right here, if only to finish your war more quickly. I don’t want to leave my family to the occupation to live safely in exile.”

Brett was silenced. His proposal could be cost effective only as a publicity stunt.

Williams tried to rescue him. “Young man, I believe you’re being manipulated for political purposes.”