Plasticity Read online

  Plasticity

  A.D. Shinn

  Published by Plastic Press, 2017.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  PLASTICITY

  First edition. May 20, 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 A.D. Shinn.

  ISBN: 978-1386358954

  Written by A.D. Shinn.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Plasticity

  Chapter 1: Café de la Chair

  Chapter 2: Alan Rice

  Chapter 3: Arakawa Portland's Apartment

  Chapter 4: In the Morning

  Chapter 5: Accessories

  Chapter 6: Charlene Becker

  Chapter 7: Thomas Jacob Winston Wensley

  Chapter 8: Alexander White

  Chapter 9: The Cabin in the Woods

  Chapter 10: Tabitha

  Chapter 11: Cyrus Grieg

  Chapter 12: The Apartment Downstairs

  Chapter 13: Errands

  Chapter 14: Charlene's Morning Shift

  Chapter 15: Margot Becker

  Chapter 16: The Junkyard

  Chapter 17: The Warehouse

  Chapter 18: Confrontational

  Chapter 19: Fist in the Air

  Chapter 20: Out of Focus

  Chapter 21: AWOL Plastic

  Chapter 22: Evil Empire

  Chapter 23: Haptic Feedback

  Chapter 24: Zhou Mei-Xiu

  Chapter 25: Haunted

  Chapter 26: Helen Maria Caballeros

  Chapter 27: Piloting a Corpse

  Chapter 28: Collections

  Chapter 29: Money in the Bank

  Chapter 30: Severance

  Chapter 31: A Soft Belly

  PLASTICITY

  by A.D. Shinn

  Chapter 1: Café de la Chair

  Second cup of coffee emptied and set on the glass table top, Thom turned back to the window in time to catch the swish of Portland's hair as she strolled past him and into the portico. Or, was it a colonnade? She walked in, ignoring the hostess, and headed straight for Thom's table.

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Portland! What are you, a horror movie?” It was obvious that he was talking about her eyes, mere hours old at this point.

  “From certain perspectives... Yes. You can call me Crawling Chaos, if you want.” She winked one glossy white, pupil-less eye at him, and smiled a razor-sharp line. “Anyway, Aren't they beautiful?”

  “Hmm... Not quite the word I would use. Maybe terrifying. Like you're powered by some kind of brilliant light, and at any moment, you could float into the air and start shooting lightning bolts from your fingertips.”

  “Now you're just arguing semantics, Thomas. Plus, they're high-function, not the standard vision model the old ones were based on. Second best thing I've ever done.”

  Thom tried to catch the attention of their waitress, but she was busy trying not to look in their direction. “Sure, okay, then. Anyway, try to be nice when Hayley gets here, please. She's pretty nervous about meeting you. I'm afraid I may have talked you up a bit too much. Though, I was certain I used more negatives than positives. And now you show up with new eyes that make you look like a rogue angel.” Portland started to smile, again. “Not a good angel. Maybe you have a different definition of rogue, but I meant something along the lines of a rogue angel that likes to murder puppies, or deflower virgins for sport, or something. Not a compliment.”

  “Coming from you, I take it as the highest compliment.” She caught the waitress's eye and saw her slump ever-so-softly. Too late now, you have to come over here. Portland could hardly contain her enthusiasm for the discomfort of their waitress. It was a point of pride that Portland pushed her synthesis on regular people, “Norms” they were usually called, sometimes “Normies.” Other derogatory terms sprung up regularly, such as“meatsicle” in polite company, “monkey” in less polite company.

  Thom saw the waitress thing, and was about to say something, but he didn't, as usual. Fortunately, Hayley rounded the corner, cut across the path of the waitress on her way to the table, and flung herself into the seat next to Thom. She barely had time to set her jacket between herself and Thom when the waitress was handing her a menu. The waitress tried not to be so obvious in her ignoring of Portland, while beaming brightly at the new, normal girl. Thom almost laughed at how quickly that smile plummeted to unfathomable depths.

  “Wow! Your eyes are beautiful!” Hayley gushed, then quickly prayed in silence that her burning flesh didn't show half as much as it felt. “I mean, they're cool-looking.”

  “Why, thank you, Hayley,” She stared straight into Thom's face, well, at least, it seemed that way to Thom. He was having a hard time figuring out who Portland was looking at, just now realizing how much he relied on corneal direction to figure these things out. “I love them, and I'm glad someone else can appreciate the aesthetic.” Thom's eyes rolled so hard, he almost lost a contact.

  Their waitress tried her best to forge ahead. “My name is Charlie, I'll be your server tonight.” She looked to Thom and Portland, neither of whom were paying much attention to her. “Can I start you off with anything to drink?” A hint of resignation in her voice.

  Hayley hesitated for a moment, in part to let anyone else go first, and in part because she was almost worried what might explode out of her mouth if she opened it again. But, both Thom and Portland were looking at her. That certainly did not help. “Uh, coffee, for me.” She shuffled her fingers under the table, which, of course, was visible to all, beneath the glass top. She didn't seem to notice.

  “And I'll have a bottle of Moscato.” Portland smiled, not maliciously, at least in intent, but hard to know that from the outside. “Actually, two bottles. The most expensive bottle you have, and the cheapest bottle.” Charlie balked for a micro-instant, but only one person at the table could tell, and she enjoyed it.

  “And, more coffee for you, sir?” Charlie's voice seeming to get lost in the years, the eons, interminable epochs of her shift.

  Thom nodded, showing his sympathy on his face, but knowing it did no good. Some people were just like that. They didn't get it, they didn't like it, and they weren't going to any time soon. Maybe fundamental religious reasons, maybe just unknowable prejudices. Regardless of the reason, Normies just could not accept this new world, with these new people. At least Charlie was trying to be professional. Sort of.

  She scurried away through the kitchen doors, undoubtedly looking for someone else to take her place before she worried about wrangling their drinks. Her reprise was short-lived. She was back through the doors, marching to the table, a soldier on the front lines of an outmatched battle.

  “I'm sorry, I know you're old enough, but my word is not law. Can I see an ID for the alcohol.” And then they noticed the face in the window of the kitchen doors. A manager of some sort, not scowling, but near enough to count.

  Portland stage-magician-ed a card from nowhere and displayed it between two fingers. Is this your card?

  “Yeah, Portland.” Charlie was thoroughly unimpressed.

  Portland shrugged, perhaps mistaking the tone of voice as a query. “Mom liked the name, Dad never won a fight.”

  Charlie handed the ID back and turned to leave, as Hayley failed to stifle a giggle.

  “They're going to spit in our food,” Thom spoke softly as Charlie disappeared through the kitchen doors.

  “We didn't order any food.” Hayley added, helpfully.

  Despite his obvious neuroses, Thom found himself comforted by this. They couldn't spit into food that wasn't ordered, and Hayley was doing alright, so far. He could relax a bit, but not all the way. Never all the way.

  “So, Hayley has been researchin
g the procedure, but she's getting conflicting information from the Internet, as one does, and all I have is professional pamphleting. Not very emotionally connecting, or particularly informative. So, I was hoping you could give her a more personal, more accurate account of the procedure.” Thom shifted slightly, to display discomfort, but it was all for show. Part of his act to make himself seem less aggressive, softer, more vulnerable. Thereby becoming more comforting to people with unknown-myriads of sensitivities. Although, years of suppressing himself made him unsure if he was really pretending anymore. He loved being called on for tasks like this, though. It made him feel more important in a world that was growing evermore needless of him. Not just him, specifically, either, but his kind in general.

  “Well, I can't guarantee everything would be the same for you, but I'll be as 'accurate' as I can. To start, do you have specific questions up front?” Portland studied Hayley's face, although from outside, you really couldn't tell. Pure white eyes could have been looking out the window the whole time, with no one the wiser.

  Hayley sat quietly for a bit. Thinking. Weighing the importance of her questions. She had not delved too deeply into her own feelings or fears, really, so she didn't have a game plan in place. Pain and loss of memories were at the top of the list, but which mattered more to her, right now?

  “Okay...” Hayley slowly drew it out, a dull ache of air through her lips. “I guess, first, did it hurt?”

  Portland had been confident that was going to be the first question. With a cloud of seriousness descending upon her, she made a few mental selections, and her eyes went dark. Hayley's eyes grew wide and she leaned closer. As beautiful as the white had been, the black was easily orders of magnitude more so.

  “This is kind of the biggest decision of your life, “ Portland began softly. “There is no going back after this. I, personally, love my shiny new robot body, but it does come at a cost. I'm not talking about money, although it costs plenty of that.” She set her hands on the table and glanced toward the kitchen doors. Words weren't needed for Hayley to understand. “There are certain details that they can't really prepare you for before the procedure, but the pain is something you should be aware of, in case you're the squeamish type.”

  “Oh, yes,” Hayley bounced enthusiastically, “I am definitely squeamish.” She didn't seem to care about the disconnect between her actions and her words, but her face was so lit up with joy, Thom didn't push the matter. Better for him to be quiet as much as possible, for now. Let them work this out, and just be here for support if needed.

  “It is, probably, the single most painful experience a human can have. I'm fairly certain of that, although I have never been burned alive, so I could be off a tiny fraction.” She sighed, remembering, and her face twisted a bit.

  The waitress came back with their drinks, bringing a carafe of coffee with the second mug, for Hayley. A ploy, perhaps, to avoid coming back to the table. Portland stopped her from leaving in her haste, though.

  “Can I have two glasses for the wine? I don't want to mix the good stuff with the swill. Thanks, Chuck.” She flashed a smile, and pointed her dark black voids at the agitated Normie. You could almost see the dark clouds lift a bit, as Portland soaked in the red fire from Charlie's face.

  Charlie returned with another wine glass. “Is there anything else I can get for you, right now?”

  Thom had begun to float off to another world while Portland was talking. He had barely heard the question, but it drifted through his head, while he was still a little lost in thought. Thoughts about how lonely he had been. So alone. But, maybe he could meet a nice girl. Maybe she would collect things. Thom had always been fascinated by people who collected things, although he had never found anything interesting enough to collect, himself.

  “Can I get a crème brulee?” He lazed his head around to face Charlie. Her nose wrinkled delicately, and Thom noticed how pretty she was. You know, for a bigot. He smiled at his musing. Charlie mumbled an affirmative response, picked up the menus, and turned curtly. He was lost, again, this time staring at Charlie as she walked away. How had he not noticed that she was a runway model? Strong, determined footsteps, hips swishing opposite her ponytail. Fierce. It took him a bit to realize that the girls at the table were staring at him.

  “She's gonna spit in that brulee.” Hayley smiled side-wise at him.

  “I'm starting to think that might not be so bad...” He smiled, dreamily.

  “No, they're going to spit in that crème brulee. Or worse.” Portland did not give any indication that she was joking, and Thom knew she wasn't. That made him examine his coffee a little more thoroughly, though there was no way he could have known if it was tainted. He wasn't having as good a time as he thought he was going to tonight, and he had already set his expectations pretty low.

  “So, to the point. Did it hurt? Yes, immensely. The transfer started with the worst pain I could imagine, and when I couldn't even think straight, and all there was, the entire universe, was pain, that's when the actual pain started. I was suddenly aware, acutely aware, of how many nerve endings I had in my body. I was blinded by explosions of color, deafened by rushes of ocean-sound. I could taste everything that had ever existed, all at once, and I could smell air so thick and salty, I could have drowned in it. Then, somehow, my skin burned a separate pain. The pain inside persisted, with a shell of outer pain.

  “Apparently, because they are collecting sensory data, the brain needs to be operational while they do it. After all, where do you go when you're under anesthesia? You're not asleep. You're gone. Can't have that, when the whole point is to capture everything that is you. So, no anesthesia during the procedure.

  “I don't know how long it lasts, but at some point they say things to you, completely unintelligible, and then the Propofol drip begins. After that, no more pain, just darkness and silence and worry. Was I in limbo? A ghost, waiting for hell? I was completely convinced I had died on that table. My new body and my old body laying in two different rooms, neither one needed, anymore.”

  Charlie was walking back to the table with a small tray, holding a small white ceramic dish. Portland hushed and Thom's stomach churned a bit, and then more than a bit. But he held on, and politely accepted the dish placed in front of him.

  Portland looked at it for several seconds, then went back to her story. Leaving Thom gazing with longing and fear at the small dish.

  “When I 'woke up' so to speak, I was in the blue room. Turns out, the whole darkness, silence, limbo part, was me in the blue room, as well. Nothing in my head lasted past the initial Propofol drip. Everything after that was in the new body, it just hadn't come online, yet. It was booting up for the first time with me in it. When it finished, the eyes opened automatically and vivid, painful blue assaulted me. The bed was too soft, and I could feel the sheets and blankets grinding against my thighs, calves, back, and arms. That was for about forty-five-or-so seconds. Then, the auto-adjust finished calibrating, and everything smoothed out. I was still psychologically sore, but it faded pretty quickly with the new input being added to my consciousness. Memories seemed to stay intact, and it didn't take long to map my thoughts to motions in the new body. Then came the real trial. The doctors entered the room, slowly helped me out of bed, and we walked to the observation room.”

  “I'm sure it's fine, Thom.” Hayley was trying to cheer him up. She felt bad, since he had been reluctant to do this anyway, and now he was paying the price for someone else's bigotry.

  “Yeah, Thom-boy, “ Portland pushed a flatware bundle across to him. “I scanned it, and there's no unusual biological material in it.”

  “You can do that? The new eyes?” He was perking up.

  “Yes. New eyes.”

  Thom returned to his usual self, then, which meant he no longer looked despondent, just regular mopey. It was sort of better, at least.

  “In the observation room, you get to see your old body on the table, wires and all kinds of what-not still hooked up all
over it. Naked. No modesty. And you see yourself from the outside for the first time. It's unnerving as hell. Then they ask questions, remind you of the clause in the contract, remind you about the organ donor bit. It is now your choice whether you live or die.” She paused to let it sink in.

  Hayley's hand feinted toward her coffee, then rested on the table. Her body was trying to do something, anything, while her mind was trying to put herself in the position of someone seeing themselves as an empty husk, and deciding to end its life.

  Thom had just pulled the first spoonful of his dessert into his mouth, and now it sat, unswallowed, as he thought about looking at himself and deciding to die. He knew it was part of the procedure, he just never really thought about it. When the saliva made it too much to bear, he swallowed hard, and sat in silence, looking out the window and across the street. His mind began to ask questions he didn't want the answers to, and he tried to think of Charlie's cute nose. Her sparkling eyes, her burning bigotry. They could raise kids together. Kids that would run, and play, and learn to hate full-prosth people. And they could have a plastic nanny that they would treat as less than human. Good times.

  Hayley broke the silence. “I guess I never really thought about what would happen to the old body. Maybe I thought it died in the process, but I don't remember thinking that's what happened.”

  “It's in a medically induced coma. It's still a living body. An empty shell, hooked up to life-machines, needing food and water, and to be turned at regular intervals to avoid bed sores and rot. An expensive, useless appliance. An abandoned house that would require twenty-four-seven maintenance. An abandoned house full of valuable items that you have promised to needy people. People that will never get those items as long as you're legally alive.” Portland finally opened the smaller of the two bottles of Moscato. The expensive one. “So, I stood there for a bit. Just staring. Staring at my comatose body. For a second, maybe less, I thought about what it looked like, and how much of that defined me. I thought about the dark sepia skin that transitioned to a pale ochre on my palms. The wrinkles that had started forming around my eyes. Not-so-young, but still perfectly me. Then, I looked down at my new hands, the pale ochre almost exactly reproduced, and then back to my old body. It was already a corpse when I walked it into the hospital, but I wasn't sure... didn't know if I could let it go. But, after a while, I realized I was being foolish. I knew the whole time that I didn't want the burden of having the body laying around, just in case, and I had promised them my organs. And, I knew that if I didn't give up the flesh body, then I would not truly be free, so I walked out of the room, checked in with the therapist, got my 'care-packet,' signed myself out, and I've never gone back.”