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LJ Idol 9.16: A terrible beauty...
Aug. 4th, 2014 12:59 pmI would have sooner expected the sun to not rise than for Schellenberg to not show up for our appointment. What did surprise me, however, was him showing up in a vehicle that was far too small to contain the package I was picking up. Through my exterior optical link, I saw him get out of the flitter, bend over to say something through the driver's side window to the person sitting in the passenger's seat, and then turn and walk briskly toward my ship. The main hatch opened when he stepped onto the access ramp. He boarded without ceremony and proceeded to the flight deck.
"Greetings, Duke," said Schellenberg, looking at the optical link that served as my "face" on the flight deck. "I hope you are well." He sat down at the only chair in the compartment.
"As well as can be expected, Shelly," I said, from inside the hardware where my consciousness has "lived" for over half a century. "And while I'm grateful you didn't show up with half the planet in tow to make a simple, straightforward delivery, I'm a bit confused as to just what you did show up with. It appears to be a vehicle just big enough for two people and a couple of bag lunches. You do have the package I paid you for, don't you?"
"The package," repeated Schellenberg, stressing the word slightly. "Yes, Duke, I have your package." Again, that same odd stress. Schellenberg continued, "If I recall our discussions correctly, you intend to use it to save your wife, Ann, by going back to Earth, to a point in time mere minutes before your wife was killed in a highway accident, and to avoid creating the kind of temporal discontinuity that will almost certainly result from the accident not happening and your wife disappearing with no explanation—a discontinuity that, by the way, will have the unhappy side-effect of making you the number one kill-first-ask-question-later priority of every lawforce unit known—you plan to leave the package in place of your wife, with the idea that it—or, rather, she—will be identified in Ann's stead, thereby avoiding the formation of a discontinuity, as nothing will appear to have changed in the timeline. Is that a fair summary, do you think?"
"You've covered the high points, Shelly," I said, "but you just used the word 'she'. What gives?"
Schellenberg murmured something into a lapel communicator, whereupon the door on the passenger's side of the flitter opened and a young woman stepped out. She turned to face the ship and I swear, had I been inhabiting a flesh-and-blood body at the moment, I would have had a coronary event of some kind, because the woman sure looked like Ann. Then she turned toward the rear of the vehicle and started to get something out of the shoebox trunk.
"What in the name of all that's...," I began, and fell silent. "What kind of double-cross are you pulling, Shelly?" I continued, after a few seconds. "That woman outside, that's not what I..."
"I sincerely beg to differ, Duke," interrupted Schellenberg, "because the woman—and you are correct, it's a woman and not a package out there—is exactly what you ordered and paid for when you gave me a sample of Ann's DNA. Read the contract."
"But...," I said, and fell silent again.
"I can imagine you were expecting something a bit—how shall I put it—less alive, yes? Not as much of a drag on the conscience? A healthy young body on a gurney, perhaps, covered with a sheet and hooked up to some kind of life support?"
"Well,... yeah!" I said.
"Do you have any idea what is required to 'grow' a healthy human body to a chronological age of twenty-four years, starting with just a few strands of DNA?" said Schellenberg. "There is only one way to do it right, which does not involve simply keeping the body in a pod, supplying it with oxygen and nutrients, and removing waste. For the muscles to develop normally, they must be used, daily, or else the limbs will atrophy after a short time—assuming they develop well at all—and the face will have a completely different appearance, too."
Schellenberg paused, and continued, "The woman outside grew up in a loving home, ate nutritious food, and received an excellent education, just like your Ann. In addition, as she is under the impression that she has been hired to be a crew member aboard this ship, she received additional training as a nurse, which will come in handy when you take delivery of your new body, which you will require to carry out your plan. Believe me, the woman outside will serve your purposes quite well!"
When I said nothing in response, he asked, "Is there a problem?"
"For her to serve her purpose...," I said, "she's going to have to die. You know that, don't you?"
"Oh, most assuredly," said Schellenberg. "If not by your hand, then by your order, or as a result of the accident."
"But I'm no...," I began.
"Spare me!" said Schellenberg, almost shouting. "Between you and N'klaus, your late master, you've done things that, on some planets, cause mothers to invoke your names when they wish to scare their children into submissiveness. Have you become squeamish in your dotage? And anyway, what's one more offering at the altar of your all-consuming desire to save your long-dead wife?"
Before I could answer, Schellenberg continued, less aggressively: "Of course, it doesn't have to be that way, you know."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"Your Ann has been dead for over half a century, Duke. Let her rest in peace. If you go back to save her, and even assuming that nothing goes wrong from among the many things that could—and here, I'm not talking about the technical risks of time travel, which are all too real, but about someone noticing, for example, that the corpse extracted from the wreck has never had dental work done, because the woman outside has never required it—the plain fact is, your Ann will not recognize you. And when I say 'recognize', I'm not talking about your physical body, but about who you are. You are no longer the Duke Jacobs she knew, and that alone will doom your relationship. It's hard to believe, I know, but I've seen this happen too often, and to couples that have been separated for far less time."
I considered what Schellenberg said, and then replied, "Thanks for your input, Shelly, but my mind is made up. I believe our business is finished." Schellenberg nodded slightly and again murmured into his communicator, whereupon the woman who had been waiting by the flitter picked up a small gear bag she had extracted from the trunk and began to walk toward the ship. Schellenberg got up.
"One thing, though," I said. "If you knew how I was going to react to all this—if you never had any intention of giving me what I said I wanted—why'd you take the contract?"
Schellenberg smiled a little and said, "Because then you would have then gone to someone less competent than I, who would have charged you more and wouldn't have given you what you needed, but want you wanted, thus ensuring a failed attempt to save Ann." He took a step toward the exit. "Besides," he said, turning to look again at my optical link, "it was a challenging job and I needed the money." He stepped away from the door as it opened to let the new arrival onto the flight deck, and then quickly disappeared through the portal and closed the door behind him.
I observed the woman closely as she put down her bag and then straightened. She looked and moved just like Ann, carrying herself with the same confidence as she looked around at what she could see of her new surroundings.
She was beautiful, too, as Ann had been, but this was beauty that was terrible for me to behold, as my plans for her future did not include a long life. A line from Yeats popped into my mind, which I quickly put to one side as the woman drew breath to speak.
"Crewmember Schellenberg, reporting for duty, Captain!" said the woman, not knowing quite where to look while speaking. The surname confirmed my suspicion that Shelly was, deep down, a sentimentalist.
"Welcome aboard," I said. "As there are only two of us aboard ship, I'd like to keep things relatively informal. You may address me as 'Captain' or 'Skipper', while I will call you by your first name. What is it, by the way?"
"My first name is Ann, Skipper."
Yes. It is, isn't it? I thought to myself, and started issuing orders in preparation for departure.
"Greetings, Duke," said Schellenberg, looking at the optical link that served as my "face" on the flight deck. "I hope you are well." He sat down at the only chair in the compartment.
"As well as can be expected, Shelly," I said, from inside the hardware where my consciousness has "lived" for over half a century. "And while I'm grateful you didn't show up with half the planet in tow to make a simple, straightforward delivery, I'm a bit confused as to just what you did show up with. It appears to be a vehicle just big enough for two people and a couple of bag lunches. You do have the package I paid you for, don't you?"
"The package," repeated Schellenberg, stressing the word slightly. "Yes, Duke, I have your package." Again, that same odd stress. Schellenberg continued, "If I recall our discussions correctly, you intend to use it to save your wife, Ann, by going back to Earth, to a point in time mere minutes before your wife was killed in a highway accident, and to avoid creating the kind of temporal discontinuity that will almost certainly result from the accident not happening and your wife disappearing with no explanation—a discontinuity that, by the way, will have the unhappy side-effect of making you the number one kill-first-ask-question-later priority of every lawforce unit known—you plan to leave the package in place of your wife, with the idea that it—or, rather, she—will be identified in Ann's stead, thereby avoiding the formation of a discontinuity, as nothing will appear to have changed in the timeline. Is that a fair summary, do you think?"
"You've covered the high points, Shelly," I said, "but you just used the word 'she'. What gives?"
Schellenberg murmured something into a lapel communicator, whereupon the door on the passenger's side of the flitter opened and a young woman stepped out. She turned to face the ship and I swear, had I been inhabiting a flesh-and-blood body at the moment, I would have had a coronary event of some kind, because the woman sure looked like Ann. Then she turned toward the rear of the vehicle and started to get something out of the shoebox trunk.
"What in the name of all that's...," I began, and fell silent. "What kind of double-cross are you pulling, Shelly?" I continued, after a few seconds. "That woman outside, that's not what I..."
"I sincerely beg to differ, Duke," interrupted Schellenberg, "because the woman—and you are correct, it's a woman and not a package out there—is exactly what you ordered and paid for when you gave me a sample of Ann's DNA. Read the contract."
"But...," I said, and fell silent again.
"I can imagine you were expecting something a bit—how shall I put it—less alive, yes? Not as much of a drag on the conscience? A healthy young body on a gurney, perhaps, covered with a sheet and hooked up to some kind of life support?"
"Well,... yeah!" I said.
"Do you have any idea what is required to 'grow' a healthy human body to a chronological age of twenty-four years, starting with just a few strands of DNA?" said Schellenberg. "There is only one way to do it right, which does not involve simply keeping the body in a pod, supplying it with oxygen and nutrients, and removing waste. For the muscles to develop normally, they must be used, daily, or else the limbs will atrophy after a short time—assuming they develop well at all—and the face will have a completely different appearance, too."
Schellenberg paused, and continued, "The woman outside grew up in a loving home, ate nutritious food, and received an excellent education, just like your Ann. In addition, as she is under the impression that she has been hired to be a crew member aboard this ship, she received additional training as a nurse, which will come in handy when you take delivery of your new body, which you will require to carry out your plan. Believe me, the woman outside will serve your purposes quite well!"
When I said nothing in response, he asked, "Is there a problem?"
"For her to serve her purpose...," I said, "she's going to have to die. You know that, don't you?"
"Oh, most assuredly," said Schellenberg. "If not by your hand, then by your order, or as a result of the accident."
"But I'm no...," I began.
"Spare me!" said Schellenberg, almost shouting. "Between you and N'klaus, your late master, you've done things that, on some planets, cause mothers to invoke your names when they wish to scare their children into submissiveness. Have you become squeamish in your dotage? And anyway, what's one more offering at the altar of your all-consuming desire to save your long-dead wife?"
Before I could answer, Schellenberg continued, less aggressively: "Of course, it doesn't have to be that way, you know."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"Your Ann has been dead for over half a century, Duke. Let her rest in peace. If you go back to save her, and even assuming that nothing goes wrong from among the many things that could—and here, I'm not talking about the technical risks of time travel, which are all too real, but about someone noticing, for example, that the corpse extracted from the wreck has never had dental work done, because the woman outside has never required it—the plain fact is, your Ann will not recognize you. And when I say 'recognize', I'm not talking about your physical body, but about who you are. You are no longer the Duke Jacobs she knew, and that alone will doom your relationship. It's hard to believe, I know, but I've seen this happen too often, and to couples that have been separated for far less time."
I considered what Schellenberg said, and then replied, "Thanks for your input, Shelly, but my mind is made up. I believe our business is finished." Schellenberg nodded slightly and again murmured into his communicator, whereupon the woman who had been waiting by the flitter picked up a small gear bag she had extracted from the trunk and began to walk toward the ship. Schellenberg got up.
"One thing, though," I said. "If you knew how I was going to react to all this—if you never had any intention of giving me what I said I wanted—why'd you take the contract?"
Schellenberg smiled a little and said, "Because then you would have then gone to someone less competent than I, who would have charged you more and wouldn't have given you what you needed, but want you wanted, thus ensuring a failed attempt to save Ann." He took a step toward the exit. "Besides," he said, turning to look again at my optical link, "it was a challenging job and I needed the money." He stepped away from the door as it opened to let the new arrival onto the flight deck, and then quickly disappeared through the portal and closed the door behind him.
I observed the woman closely as she put down her bag and then straightened. She looked and moved just like Ann, carrying herself with the same confidence as she looked around at what she could see of her new surroundings.
She was beautiful, too, as Ann had been, but this was beauty that was terrible for me to behold, as my plans for her future did not include a long life. A line from Yeats popped into my mind, which I quickly put to one side as the woman drew breath to speak.
"Crewmember Schellenberg, reporting for duty, Captain!" said the woman, not knowing quite where to look while speaking. The surname confirmed my suspicion that Shelly was, deep down, a sentimentalist.
"Welcome aboard," I said. "As there are only two of us aboard ship, I'd like to keep things relatively informal. You may address me as 'Captain' or 'Skipper', while I will call you by your first name. What is it, by the way?"
"My first name is Ann, Skipper."
Yes. It is, isn't it? I thought to myself, and started issuing orders in preparation for departure.
