"I don't like the idea of my body running around on its own," Jesse said. "I don't think it's right for the CDF to do that."
"Well, that's not all they do," Harry said. "You know that these new bodies we have are deeply genetically modified. Well, apparently Special Forces bodies are even more modified than ours. The Special Forces soldiers are guinea pigs for new enhancements and abilities before they're introduced into the general population. And there are rumors that some of the modifications are truly radical—bodies modified to the point of not looking human anymore."
"My doctor said something about Special Forces soldiers having special needs," I said. "But even allowing for hallucinations, the people who rescued me looked human enough."
"And we didn't see any mutants or freaks on the Sparrowhawk," Jesse said.
"We weren't allowed full run of the ship, either," Harry pointed out. "They kept us in one area and kept us disconnected from everything else. We saw the sick bay and we saw the rec area, and that was it."
"People see Special Forces in battle and walking around all the time," Jesse said.
"Sure they do," Harry said. "But that's not saying that they see all of them."
"Your paranoia is acting up again, sweetie," Jesse said, and fed Harry a french fry.
"Thank you, precious," Harry said, accepting it. "But even throwing out the rumor about supermodified Special Forces, there's still enough there to account for John seeing his wife. It's not really Kathy, though. Just someone using her body."
"Who?" I said.
"Well, that's the question, isn't it," Harry said. "Your wife is dead, so they couldn't put her personality into the body. Either they have some sort of preformatted personality they put into Special Forces soldiers—"
"—or someone else went from an old body into her new one," I said.
Jesse shivered. "I'm sorry, John. But that's just creepy."
"John? You okay?" Harry said.
"What? Yeah, I'm fine," I said. "It's just a lot to deal with at one time. The idea that my wife could be alive—but not really—and that someone who isn't her is walking around in her skin. I think I almost preferred it when there was a possibility that I hallucinated her."
I looked over to Harry and Jesse. Both of them were frozen and staring.
"Guys?" I said.
"Speak of the devil," said Harry.
"What?" I said.
"John," Jesse said. "She's in line for a burger."
I spun around, knocking over my plate as I did so. Then I felt like I got dunked directly into a vat of ice.
"Holy shit," I said.
It was her. No doubt about it.
FOURTEEN
I started to get up. Harry grabbed my hand.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm going to go talk to her," I said.
"You sure you want to do that?" he asked.
"What are you talking about?" I asked. "Of course I'm sure."
"What I'm saying is that maybe you'd want Jesse or me to talk to her first," Harry said. "To see if she wants to meet you."
"Jesus, Harry," I said. "This isn't the sixth fucking grade. That's my wife."
"No it's not, John," Harry said. "It's someone entirely different. You don't know if she will even want to speak to you."
"John, even if she does speak to you, you're going to be two total strangers," Jesse said. "Whatever you're expecting out of this encounter, you're not going to get it."
"I'm not expecting anything," I said.
"We just don't want you to be hurt," Jesse said.
"I'll be fine," I said, and looked at them both. "Please. Let me go, Harry. I'll be fine."
Harry and Jesse looked at each other. Harry let go of my hand.
"Thank you," I said.
"What are you going to say to her?" Harry wanted to know.
"I'm going to tell her thanks for saving my life," I said, and got up.
By this time, she and two companions had got their orders and had made their way to a small table farther back in the commissary. I threaded my way to the table. The three of them were talking, but stopped as I approached. She had her back to me as I approached, and turned as her companions glanced up at me. I stopped as I got a look at her face.
It was different, of course. Beyond the obvious skin and eyes, she was so much younger than Kathy had been—a face that was as Kathy was half a century before. Even then, it was different; leaner than Kathy's had ever been, keeping with the CDF genetically-installed predisposition for fitness. Kathy's hair had always been a nearly uncontrolled mane, even as she aged and most other women switched to more matronly cuts; the woman in front of me kept her hair close on her head and off her collar.
It was the hair that was the most jarring. It'd been so long since I'd seen a person without green skin that it didn't register with me anymore. But the hair was nothing that I remembered.
"It's not nice to stare," the woman said, using Kathy's voice. "And before you ask, you're not my type."
Yes I am, a part of my brain said.
"I'm sorry, I don't really mean to intrude," I said. "I was just wondering if you might recognize me."