"Does this procedure ever fail?" I asked.
"You would ask that question," Dr. Russell said. "The answer is yes. On rare occasions something can go wrong. However, it's extremely rare. I've been doing this for twenty years—thousands of transfers—and I've lost someone only once. The woman had a massive stroke during the transfer process. Her brain patterns became chaotic and consciousness didn't transfer. Everyone else made it through fine."
"So as long as I don't actually die, I'll live," I said.
"An interesting way to put it. But yes, that's about right."
"How do you know when consciousness has transferred?"
"We'll know it through here"—Dr. Russell tapped the side of his PDA—"and we'll know it because you'll tell us. Trust me, you'll know when you've made the transfer."
"How do you know?" I asked. "Have you ever done this? Been transferred?"
Dr. Russell smiled. "Actually, yes," he said. "Twice, in fact."
"But you're not green," I said.
"That's the second transfer. You don't have to stay green forever," he said, almost wistfully. Then he blinked and looked at his PDA again. "I'm afraid we have to cut the questions short now, Mr. Perry, since I have several more recruits to transfer after you. Are you ready to begin?"
"Hell no, I'm not ready," I said. "I'm so scared my bowels are about to cut out."
"Then let me rephrase," Dr. Russell said. "Are you ready to get it over with?"
"God, yes," I said.
"Then let's get to it," Dr. Russell said, and tapped the screen of his PDA.
The crèche gave a slight thunk as something physically switched on inside it. I glanced over to Dr. Russell. "The amplifier," he said. "This part will take about a minute."
I grunted acknowledgment and looked over to my new me. It was cradled in the crèche, motionless, like a wax figurine that someone had spilled green coloring into during the casting process. It looked like I did so long ago—better than I did, actually. I wasn't the most athletic young adult on the block. This version of me looked like he was muscled like a competitive swimmer. And it had a great head of hair.
I couldn't even imagine being in that body.
"We're at full resolution," Dr. Russell said. "Opening connection." He tapped his PDA.
There was a slight jolt, and then it suddenly felt like there was a big, echoey room in my brain. "Whoa," I said.
"Echo chamber?" Dr. Russell asked. I nodded. "That's the computer bank," he said. "Your consciousness is perceiving the small time lag between there and here. It's nothing to worry about. Okay, opening connection between the new body and the computer bank." Another PDA tap.
From across the room, the new me opened his eyes.
"I did that," Dr. Russell said.
"He's got cat's eyes," I said.
"You've got cat's eyes," Dr. Russell said. "Both connections are clear and noise-free. I'm going to start the transfer now. You're going to feel a little disoriented." A PDA tap—
—and I fell
waaaaaaaaaaaaay down
(and felt like I was being pressed hard through a fine mesh mattress)
and all the memories I ever had hit me in the face like a runaway brick wall
one clear flash of standing at the altar
watching kathy walk down the aisle
seeing her foot catch the front of her gown
a small stutter in her step
then she corrected beautifully
smiled up at me as if to say
yeah like that's going to stop me
*another flash of kathy where the hell did i put the vanilla and then the clatter of the mixing bowl hitting kitchen tile*
(god damn it kathy)
And then I'm me again, staring into Dr. Russell's room feeling dizzy and looking straight at Dr. Russell's face and also the back of his head and thinking to myself, Damn, that's a neat trick, and it seems like I just had that thought in stereo.
And it hits me. I'm in two places at the same time.
I smile and see the old me and the new me smile simultaneously.
"I'm breaking the laws of physics," I say to Dr. Russell from two mouths.
And he says, "You're in."
And then he taps that goddamned PDA of his.
And there's just one of me again.
The other me. I can tell because I'm no longer staring at the new me anymore, I'm looking at the old me.
And it stares at me like it knows something truly strange has just happened.
And then the stare seems to say, I'm no longer needed.
And then it closes its eyes.
"Mr. Perry," Dr. Russell said, and then repeated it, and then lightly slapped me on the cheek.
"Yes," I said. "I'm here. Sorry."
"What's your full name, Mr. Perry?"
I thought about it for a second. Then, "John Nicholas Perry."
"What's your birthday?"
"June tenth."
"What was the name of your second-grade teacher?"
I looked directly at Dr. Russell. "Christ, man. I couldn't even remember that when I was in my old body."