Constance (Constance #1)(8)
Name?
Constance Ada D’Arcy
Age / Date of Birth?
22 / January 10, 2016
It informed her that her last refresh was forty-four days ago. An exhaustive, boilerplate disclaimer popped up, stating that Palingenesis strongly recommended gaps of no more than thirty days between refreshes to avoid neurological and psychological complications with the clone. In the event of the client’s untimely death, Palingenesis would not revive their clone if it had been more than ninety days since their last refresh. In legal terms, you’d be shit out of luck. Con skipped to the bottom and checked the box affirming that she had read and understood the risks.
She did understand and lately had begun to wonder why she kept taking them. That was the reason she was two weeks late for her monthly refresh. She’d been debating whether to quit outright and move on with her life. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. She knew it had something to do with the crash. Having a backup at the ready felt reassuring even if the ethics of human cloning troubled her. And she couldn’t be the only client who felt this way. There was a reason why Palingenesis worked so hard to make you forget why you were there. She couldn’t remember a single time she’d heard or read the word clone. Everything was dressed up in euphemistic language: backups and stewards and refreshes. All designed to dance clients away from the disconcerting fact that, close by, their inanimate doppelg?nger waited in the event that disaster struck.
Laleh returned and set down a silver tray. Five pills were arranged tastefully on a cloth napkin—the Alice in Wonderland meds that would put Con’s mind in a relaxed and conducive state. Even with the drugs, an upload couldn’t be made of an unwilling consciousness, but the drugs smoothed the way. Laleh waited until Con had taken the pills before excusing herself again, saying she would return after Con had finished her paperwork.
“All set?” Laleh asked.
Con’s head jerked up. She’d been daydreaming when she should have been filling out the forms. Her eyes felt too small in their sockets.
“What? No, I still haven’t eaten yet,” Con said, pointing to a serving tray that was empty apart from sliced ginger and a dollop of wasabi. Who ate her sushi? She looked around for the culprit. The old man in the bathrobe had also disappeared. Coincidence? Con frowned. But on her LFD, a green halo indicated the forms were complete. When had she finished filling them out? She noticed how thick her tongue felt and smacked her lips together, enjoying the sound it made.
“You’re so beautiful,” she told Laleh. “You’re the queen of pencil skirts.”
Lowered inhibitions were a side effect of the drugs, along with short-term memory loss. Perhaps that was why she didn’t remember taking the pills in the first place. Con wanted more than anything to yank out that gold pin and see Laleh’s hair tumble down around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” Laleh said sweetly, kneeling to help Con with her slippers.
“So you know how much this place sucks, right?” Con whispered conspiratorially.
“Alright, then,” Laleh said with the indulgent chuckle you saved for a three-year-old who had stripped naked in a family restaurant. “Time for a little trip. Are you ready?”
“Sooo ready,” Con said in a singsong voice.
She stood, swaying unsteadily on her feet, and all but fell into the waiting wheelchair. Laleh rolled her down a corridor that seemed to get longer the farther they went. The drugs again, flattening and lengthening her vision as if Con were standing between two mirrors. Laleh steered her gently into the refresh suite that would be her home for the next six hours until she was medically cleared to leave.
Laleh removed Con’s LFD and helped her out of the bathrobe. Con fell happily into the ergonomic seat that looked like a dentist’s chair no matter how hard Palingenesis worked to disguise it. Laleh began configuring the refresh, her fingers dancing in the air like she was practicing scales on a piano. Sensors snaked up from the headrest, attaching themselves to Con’s neck and scalp like a giant millipede spooning her spine. It should have been creepy as hell, but the safe haze of drugs made it feel like dozens of fingers massaging her back. A smooth, featureless pillar descended from the ceiling and stopped twelve inches from her forehead. Con heard a gentle hum, and her vitals populated a screen set into the wall, which was only there to make the client feel secure.
Dr. Qiao appeared at her elbow and asked how she felt. Laleh was Con’s steward, but Qiao ran this branch and oversaw every refresh personally. He linked to Laleh’s LFD, double-checking her settings. His reassuring fatherly presence and practiced bedside manner always helped put Con at ease. She needed all the help she could get. They were about to upload a perfect image of her consciousness, her memories, everything that made her her, and store it in a quantum mainframe on the off chance that she died between now and her next appointment.
If she were to die, a biometric chip implanted in her neck would register her death and notify Palingenesis, which would immediately download her stored consciousness into her clone so that life could go on as seamlessly as possible. Con giggled at the thought. The drugs again. It wasn’t funny, but it was. Life would go on. It was all so morbidly funny.
“Quiet now, Constance,” Dr. Qiao said. “Remember your breathing.”
“Sorry, Doctor,” she said.
“Do you consent to the refresh?” he asked.