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Ronan Truett sits on the exam table, wearing what he calls a gasmask, but
the doctor called it something else. It is quite literally freezing cold on
his face, but he doesn’t mind it. It isn’t going to be the hardest thing he
will ever do over the course of the next few decades. After the twenty
minutes are up, the doctor comes back and removes it. “How does it look?” he
asks.
“Good. How does it feel?” the doctor volleys.
Ronan rubs the new beard on his chin. “Like a thousand tiny cuts.”
The doctor dismisses it with his facial expression. “That’ll go away in a
few minutes. Would you like me to hot press and discolor it? I can make it
unkempt and wild, so you look more rough and tumble.”
“Actually, historical Norsemen were quite well-groomed. A long and
well-styled beard was the sign of a masculine and respectable man back then.
Pay no attention to the inaccurate old movies you may have seen. They didn’t
wear horned helmets either, if that’s what you’re picturing.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about it.”
“It’s not in your internal database? Can you access the central archives
remotely?” Ronan presses.
The doctor chuckles. “My brain doesn’t do that. I’m not an android, but one
of those virtually immortal organics. I change substrates when I need to,
like you, but I don’t have cybernetic connections.”
Ronan is surprised and impressed.
The doctor seems to sense this. “I just like medicine, so they let me do the
simpler procedures, like your hair follicle stimulation. I wouldn’t be
allowed to conduct any major surgeries. Castlebourne follows the same laws
that Earth does in that regard.”
“I see,” Ronan says as he’s admiring his new appearance in the mirror. He’s
never been one for facial hair, but he’s about to become a Norseman, so he
wanted to look the part, and really immerse himself in the simulation. He’s
not the only one. “So that’s why you’re not doing the foetal consciousness
transfer for my wife.”
This gives the doctor pause. “I’m sorry? Foetal?”
“Oh, she’s not going to transfer herself to a foetus. She’s going to carry
the foetus, and have the baby in the simulation.”
The doctor is still confused by this, and also now speechless.
“I assure you, it’s perfectly legal. We’re well within the Charter Cloud—”
“I’m aware of how the law works on this planet, Mister Truett. I’ve probably
lived here longer than you. I know that foetal transference is possible, and
I’m not surprised it’s legal. I’m surprised anyone would actually ever do
it. There’s a reason it is illegal in the Core Worlds. We don’t know
what it would do to a person, regressing to a prenatal state, or even early
developmental, with all that neuroplasticity. What impact does that have on
a person’s psyche, when their brains rewire themselves so drastically? Can
you even have a continuity of consciousness when you let that happen? Is it
not just an elaborate form of death? Suicide, that is?”
“Well, we’ll see,” Ronan says as he’s putting his shirt back on. He needed a
little chest hair too. That is designed to take longer, which is fine. “My
friend has fully consented to it.”
“He’s your friend?” the doctor questions. “I’m not sure if it’s
weirder that he’s not your wife’s biological son already, or if it would be
more awkward if he were.”
“Pretty judgy for a medical professional. A bot doctor would never say
that.”
He shrugs. “You could have designed a substrate to develop facial and body
hair during the gestation process, but you chose to come to me. Most people
like my blunt attitude, specifically because they can’t get it from a bot
doctor, unless it’s their personal model. But you’re right, I’ll zip my
mouth. There’s the door, have a good immersion.”
Ronan leaves the exam room, and heads down to the other floor where his wife
and friend are sitting up next to each other in their respective gurneys.
“Oh, you look great,” Mayumi reaches up towards his face with a dumb look on
her own. “Fluffy.” She actually looks and sounds intoxicated. Her gown is on
backwards.
“She’s on drugs for the implantation procedure,” their friend and future
son, Talus explains. “I am not. I have to be sharp before I become a baby
again.”
Mayumi smiles over at Talus. “You’re gonna love my uterus. We play hip-hop
on Tuesdays.”
“Not anymore, we don’t,” Ronan points out. “It’s all lyres and flutes for us
for the next thirty years. We’ll play the lyre for you while you’re baking
in there, son.”
“You don’t know how.”
“I’ll have plenty of time to learn.”
“When you’re not off a-viking,” Talus reminds him.
“Maybe even then.” Ronan cracks his knuckles. “I’m sure I could break heads
and carry a tune at the same time.”
“I don’t think I have a head anymore,” Mayumi says.
A new doctor walks in—a proper bot this time. He hands Talus a tablet.
“Okay, the mother has already finished her consent forms, but here’s the
last one for you, Mister Sauter. This one personally absolves Hrockas
Steward from any liability in the event that the results of this procedure
render you neurologically damaged, physically defective in your new
substrate, or philosophically deceased and replaced. It is the same waiver
you signed before, but the owner wanted you to sign a separate one for him.”
“Sounds good to me,” Talus agrees. He signs without hesitating. He has
thought about this for a very long time. They did not do this on a whim.
Ronan must admit, this is a crazy idea, and yes, there is a reason it has
never been done before. What comes out of Mayumi nine months from now may
not be Talus at all. It may be an entirely different person; new memories,
new personality, new everything. It could mean that this Talus right here is
dead. He deliberately didn’t make a copy of his mind as backup, since that
wouldn’t really be him either, since it would already have been outdated by
hours at best. This might very well mark the end of Talus Sauter, and they
won’t really have an idea for another ten years maybe? But it’s what he
wants, it’s what Mayumi wants, and while his opinion doesn’t technically
matter here, it’s what Ronan wants too. He is going to raise his best friend
in a simulation of Scandinavia in the first millennium, and he couldn’t be
more excited. He kisses them both, then leaves for the waiting room so they
can move forward.
An hour later, Mayumi wheels out alone. She smiles at him. “Great news,
husband. I am no longer light.”
“Okay,” Ronan says, clapping his hands. “Let’s go to Danmörk.”
