When Life Hands You Uranus : 9 / 9

By Iolanthe Portmanteaux

Linnea had never used the data-file editor before, so it took a bit of trial and a lot of error before she was able to upload the stranger’s data file and render it.

She impatiently tapped her fingers against her thigh while the image slowly appeared and finally clarified. The figure was a man she’d seen before. Yes, she’d seen him, and fairly recently. It was the sleezy tech from the teleport station at Point A. He was the asshole who sent her to Uranus without any clothes. Her lips curled in disdain at the sight of him, but try as she might, she couldn’t recall his name. Muss, Mush, Mish, Mash… something like that. She remembered the two prison guards calling the man’s name a lot, ribbing him, but at the time Barfield was so absorbed by the change his life was about to undergo, that a lot of other things didn’t register at all.

Linnea asked the computer to locate the intruder, but she received this evasive reply: “I can confirm the presence of an unknown person, but not his location.”

“Why not?” Linnea demanded.

“Your question is unauthorized,” the computer replied.

“You mean your ANSWER is unauthorized!” Linnea hotly refuted.

“I don’t understand your question,” the computer told her.

“It wasn’t a question! It was a -- an affirmation!”

“I don’t understand your affirmation. Could you state it using different terms?”

“Oh, do fuck off,” she retorted. “You smug mess of subroutines.”

 

---

 

She sent an urgent message to Carlus, and waited in the control room, smoking, pacing, tapping her feet, and clenching and unclenching her fists and jaw while she waited. It was near midnight when Carlus finally arrived, accompanied by Benmedeo -- a big, muscular man who resembled a street brawler. In the past she’d found Benmedeo frightening, but in that moment, Linnea was glad to have his muscle on her side.

“What’s going on?” Carlus demanded. His hair was out of place and his clothes were rumpled; he looked as though he’d literally just rolled out of bed. “Your message made it sound like we’re being invaded.”

“Maybe we are,” Linnea replied, and brought him up to date.

“It’s Moss,” Carlus said, after a glance the data-file rendering. “What an ugly mug! He’s that slimeball from Point A.”

“What are we going to do?” Benmedeo asked.

“First we need to find out what he’s up to; why he’s here.” Carlus sat down at the computer and punched in some commands. “Hmm. Moss has superuser access,” he observed.

“Why would he have that?” Linnea asked.

“He ran a teleport station, all alone. It’s in case of emergencies, and it goes with you,” Carlus answered. “He’s masked his location, which is stupid, because it tells us that he’s up to something.” Carlus typed and poked the screen as he talked. “However, *I* also have superuser access, so I can unmask him. Let’s see where he is and what he’s up to.” He typed. He tapped the screen. He talked to the computer. He stared at the console and frowned.

“So what is he doing?” Linnea demanded.

“He’s two levels down, almost directly below us,” Carlus replied. “And he is… hmm… it looks like he’s copying all our files: logs, databases, email, messages, audio, video. My guess? He’s fishing. He’s hoping to find some kind of dirt on us.”

Carlus leaned back and drummed his fingers, thinking. Linnea began to say something, but he waved her off. There was no reason to say out loud what the “dirt” could be -- the miners were clean as a whistle except for the presence of the synths. They were the only problematic issue. Carlus ran his fingers through his hair, and then he clapped his hands. Linnea jumped at the abrupt sound. “Okay!” Carlus exclaimed. “Let’s do this: While he’s busy checking up on us, why don’t we check up on him?” Carlus resumed his flurry of typing, all his attention laser-focused on the screen before him. At times he seemed uncertain of how to continue, but a few quick questions to the computer set him on the right track.

“Here we go,” Carlus declared, with some satisfaction. “These are Moss’ documents, the ones he brought with him. Moss is here for two reasons: one is, yes, to check up on us. Specifically, the Project sent him here to find out why miners are suddenly resigning. No surprise there. However, his mandate is limited: he’s only here to do some quick interviews. They’ve even given him a script to follow. He has ZERO authority to go digging into our systems and records.” He shook his head. “What an asshole. Like I said, he’s down there fishing for dirt.”

“You said he’s here for two reasons. What’s the second reason?” Linnea prompted.

“What? Oh, right! The second reason is that he’s just passing through: the Project is rotating the teleport techs,” Carlus replied. “He’s been replaced at Point A, and is supposed to go on to Baxter. The Baxter tech will move on to Walteo, and so on. They shuffle the techs every so often, to keep things fresh, and to prevent illicit traffic from developing.” He and Benmedo glanced at each other.

Carlus leaned back in his chair, linked his fingers behind his head, and spread his elbows wide. Looking at Linnea, he remarked, “So… Moss being here could be a problem for you, couldn’t it.” She blinked at him. Was this some kind of bluff? What Carlus said was certainly true, but how could Carlus know what Moss knew?

She decided to call him on it. With feigned nonchalance, she shrugged and asked him, “What’s that supposed to mean? Why would it be a problem for me?”

Carlus froze and thought for a moment, as if asking himself, What DO I mean by that? Then he recovered and said, “He’s the jerk who sent you here naked, right?” Linnea shrugged again.

“If you want us to rough him up a little for you,” Benmedeo said a conspiratorial smile, “just say the word.”

Linnea rolled her eyes, but smiled at the gallantry in his proposal.

Carlus looked up at Benmedeo and said, “Why don’t you go down and find our Mossy friend?”

“What do I do when I find him?”

“Make sure he understands that we don’t like nosy pricks going where they don’t belong.”

“Do I hurt him?”

“No, just scare him a little. And take his memory device off him. He’s not authorized to snoop in our systems. If the Project wants to do an audit, they can do an official audit. They don’t need permission, but Moss sure as hell does.”

Benmedeo smiled and left. Carlus sighed and looked at Linnea. “Thanks for calling me,” he said. “I appreciate the heads-up. Me and Ben can handle it from here. Why don’t you go do whatever you otherwise would have been doing?”

“Uh… okay,” she replied. As she took a step toward the door, she suddenly remembered the other big event. “Hey, did you know that four more miners left today? They said they saw you on the way here and that you were fine with it. Was that true? Did you talk to them?”

“Yeah.” He answered without turning his head to look at her. “I saw them. We talked. It was lucky I ran into them. It’s funny -- if they weren’t trying to avoid me, I wouldn’t have run into them. In any case, I think I finally understand what’s going on here. I’ll come and tell you about it tomorrow morning. It’s actually something you can help me with. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, feeling confused. “I’ll see you later.”

“Wait,” Carlus said. “There’s one more thing: With Moss here, I’m going to need to keep the girls on lockdown. That means you won’t be seeing your ‘friend’ Darlene this week. Please: do us all a favor and don’t contact her until that idiot Moss leaves. Once Benmedeo shuts down Moss’ computer session, I’m going to get into the comms history and wipe every message to, from, or about the girls. Don’t leave any new ones for him to find.”

 

---

 

As Linnea made her way back to her room, her heart was pounding so rapidly and with such force, she feared it would beat itself to pieces. The moment she shut her door, a tight pain appeared in the middle or her chest. Was she having a heart attack? Or was it just a panic attack? Did it matter?

Instinctively, she lay on the floor and put her hands over her sternum. She tried to calm herself, but waves of fear kept washing over her. Everything is wrong, she told herself. I’m alone at the ass-end of the universe, and I don’t know what to do.

When Linnea arrived on Uranus there were twenty-four male miners and twelve synths. So far, ten miners had left. Her fear turned into a cold veil that passed over her skin. The conclusion was inevitable: all the synths were gone, except for two.

It made sense that the synths would swap places with the miners who had been here longest: they’d have the most money saved up. Maybe there was an element of revenge, as well.

If she was right, then the miners -- who were still at their bacchanal -- were screwing each other; using each other as their sexual toys. She knew that the idea should fill her with horror, but oddly, it didn’t. In her head, her intellect told her it was wrong. It was as wrong as wrong could be. At the same time, it seemed a kind of tragi-comical justice. She pictured the miners going at it, fucking each other, having three-ways. Patting each other on the thigh and saying, “Good girl.” Somehow it calmed her for a few moments. It almost made her laugh, in spite of herself. It was wrong for the synths to be the miners’ sexual prisoners; if Linnea was correct in her assumptions, the synths had traded one wrong for another.

Clearly, with Darlene’s new-found freedom at the computer keyboard, she would have programmed the new miner-synths, creating inhibitions to prevent them from saying who they really were.

Just as clearly, Carlus and Benmedeo were the last two synths: Carlus was no doubt the host for Darlene; Darlene would naturally be in charge. What cinched it for Linnea -- the one thing that made her sure -- was that Carlus told her he’d talked with the four miners who’d left tonight. That just wasn’t possible. There wasn’t enough time. The four miners walked into the teleport station moments after Carlus left. They couldn’t possibly have had a conversation: there was barely enough time to say hello to each other.

Carlus lied to her.

What must have really happened was this: the real Carlus checked the teleport station and went to the East Wing without seeing anyone. While he was at the bacchanal, Darlene must have clapped the corona on his head and swapped places with him. The whole time “Carlus” was dealing with Moss, it was actually Darlene dealing with Moss.

Linnea arched her back and opened her mouth to cry out, but stopped herself. She was afraid of making a sound. She didn’t want to give herself away. It was better to pretend she didn’t know -- for the moment, anyway.

But what did it mean for her? For sure, Carlus and Benmedeo would take off during the next teleport cycle. Would they re-enact Demeter 4 by killing everyone before they left? Would they leave charges to blow up the base after they were gone? After all her contact with Darlene, she didn’t think so. Darlene was aggrieved, but she wasn’t angry. At least, not murderously angry.

Linnea felt pretty certain that the synths would simply leave. It was the more practical choice: If they didn’t commit any crime, no one would come looking for them. They’d have enough money to do whatever they liked. If they kept their noses clean, their lives would be all the easier.

At least, that was the best case. Linnea was only guessing. She really didn’t know what they’d do.

And weren’t she and Darlene friends? Would Darlene leave without saying so much as goodbye?

Then, once they were gone, would Linnea have a duty to reveal that the synths were now the “retired” miners?

That thought stopped her cold. Would anyone believe her? Given all she’d read about Demeter 4, any human who found out about the synths would want them destroyed. Would she be able to prove that the intelligence inside each girl was actually a human miner? After all, those bodies had immense intelligence and memory. Couldn’t they be programmed to pretend -- or even believe -- that they were originally human miners? Given the prejudice against sentient machines, humans would probably see it as an elaborate subterfuge, and destroy the girls quickly, before anyone had a chance to believe them.

The most likely outcome was that, if the synths were discovered, they would quickly be destroyed, no matter who was inside them.

Unless Linnea could get a hold of the coronas, Darlene’s conversion programs, and all the software, there would be no proof whatsoever.

 

---

 

By the time the focus of her fears finally turned to Moss and the threat he presented, she was too tired to feel afraid. Or, she was tired of being afraid. By that point, Linnea was strangely calm. Maybe her calmness was appropriate; or maybe it was adrenal exhaustion. It felt like a big battery inside her, the one that powered her fears, had finally given out.

After all, what was the worst that Moss could do? He could tell the miners that she used to be Barfield. Well, so what? As far as she could tell, the miners were barely aware of the Mojan-Pardee murders. And why would they believe Moss? Darlene was clearly astonished when she heard that Linnea was transformed during teleportation. Apparently, the possibility of using teleportation in that way was not generally known.

Another thing to consider was the fact that none of the miners liked Moss at all. They were, to a man, disgusted by the fact that he’d sent Linnea to Uranus without a stitch of clothing. Of course, it was titillating, but it was as outrageous as it was tasteless. The miners would take Moss’ story about Linnea being Barfield as not only far-fetched, but as an outright malicious lie.

And if they didn’t? Well… fuck them. It wasn’t as though she and the miners were close. If they knew she was once a man, if they believed she was once a killer -- and IF that knowledge and belief changed the social dynamic of Uranus, well, the social dynamic of Uranus wasn’t that great to start with. If it got worse, it would still be better than prison.

 

---

 

Linnea was pretty busy that week with her shift work. When she wasn’t working, she was exercising, much more than usual. She found the physical activity helped center her mind. It seemed to burn off the residual waves of fear when they began to flutter over her. Linnea found a set of guided meditations: they helped her disengage from the disturbing issue of the miner/synths. Now that she’d exhausted her fears, she was not exactly fearless, but she could at least see that she wasn’t able to think her way through the problem. She had absolutely no idea what to do. She didn’t see any options available to her, so she resolved to wait and see what the next teleport cycle brought -- and what it carried away.

Her interview with Moss was the very last one scheduled, since she was the last person to see the miners. Moss ran through his questions, some given by his script, others suggested by an AI speaking through his tablet.

Linnea didn’t have much to say, except to report on the miners’ apparent state of mind as they left, and to recall the few remarks they made before leaving. From the way the questions were phrased, she gradually realized that the Nostaglia Project wasn’t looking for someone to blame; they were looking to see what needed to be improved. They felt that they’d failed the miners, and now they wanted to know what they could have done to keep the miners happy. At one point, the AI told her that the Project’s goal was “zero attrition” -- their goal was to create the conditions were no one would want to quit.

Of course, Linnea said nothing about the synths. Carlus had assured her that Moss didn’t have the least idea that the synths even existed, and Linnea didn’t see any point in opening that can of worms -- at least, not just yet.

By the end of her interview, she had the distinct impression that both Moss and his AI viewed the miners’ seniority as key to their leaving. In particular, when she reported Luke’s remark about Carlus -- “Honestly, he’s been here so long, he should be coming with us” -- Moss’ eyebrows went up, and he made several annotations. The questions posed by the AI also changed after that point, as if the answer -- or an answer had been found.

There were cameras filming the session from every angle, so Moss had to behave himself, but even so, his eyes devoured her, dwelling in particular on her breasts and legs. She hadn’t dressed at all provocatively -- at least, not on purpose: she dressed soley for her own comfort. In this case, however, “comfort” meant a sheath dress that fell to her mid-thigh. It was made from a newly developed fabric that felt as light as air against her skin. It draped beautifully, clinging to her figure and falling in dramatic folds. When she moved, it moved, sliding, enhancing, and caressing every curve. In the written description of the dress there was a line from a short poem from the atomic age: She moved in circles, and those circles moved. The poem as a whole perfectly described the dress when it was worn.

Moss didn’t drool, but he rather disgustingly licked his lips throughout.

Linnea was thankful for the cameras; they kept the man in line. She was also thankful that Benmedeo (or whoever was actually inside him) stood guard outside the door, ready to intervene.

When the interview was over, Moss shook her hand. He held it far too long. Afterward, she ran back to her room, washed her hands, and changed into her most tent-like, nunnish outfit.

 

---

 

That night, Linnea was alone in her room. She’d spent two hours in the gym, working out first with kettlebells and then on the elliptical, and she felt radiant. After securing her door, she took a delicious shower, and used the hydro vac-n-blo to dry and style her hair. Then she began her hair and skin regimen. Linnea only got as far as applying a leave-in conditioner to her hair, when the door of her quarters -- the door she was sure she’d secured a moment earlier -- suddenly slid open. There was no warning chime. There was no knock. Nevertheless, the door opened. Moss stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“How did you--” she began, but he cut her off.

“Superuser,” he explained, with a smarmy grin.

She had only a towel to cover herself with, but she didn’t bother. If she was going to fight, she wanted all four limbs free. And, oh, she wanted to fight. She was angry about everything, and Moss was the perfect target for her fury.

“My God, look at you!” Moss crowed. “I made you! You know that, don’t you? *I* designed your body, from your soles to your crown. You’re perfect! You’re a living Venus, and that’s all due to me.”

“No, asshole,” Linnea contradicted. “Neeka gave me this.”

“No,” he cried, flushing with frustration. “*I* did it! Anyway, what does it matter, who did what! I want to have you, and I damn well will.”

“No you won’t, you piece of shit.” She stood up, feeling her strength in every limb. She curled her fists and stepped away from her bed, so there were no obstacles between them.

“If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll tell the miners who you are. Who you really are!”

“They already know,” she lied, with a smile. “I’ve already told them. And they couldn’t care less.”

He hesitated, trying to read her expression. Then he said, “I don’t believe you.” But his voice was full of doubt.

“Then go away and ask them, you idiot. I don’t care what you believe or don’t believe. I don’t care what you imagine you’re going to do, but right now it’s time for you to leave my room, little boy.”

The last two words set him off. His mouth set in anger, and he charged at her. As he approached, she crouched and dove at him, putting her shoulder against his stomach, and throwing him to the floor. She landed heavily, driving her elbow into his stomach. As he cried out in pain, he kicked and punched, flailing. The two of them grappled, rolling around the floor, Moss powered by frustration, humiliation, and pain, and Linnea powered by anger and the hot coals of her burned-out fear. They rolled around the room for perhaps two minutes, neither getting a clear advantage, neither willing to cede.

It ended when the door flew open once again. Benmedeo swiftly crossed the room and grabbed Moss by his upper arms. He shook the man loose from Linnea, and tossed him onto Linnea’s bed, as if he were a rag doll. Carlus stepped in behind Benmedeo, and shot Moss with a stunner. Carlus nodded to Benmedeo, who draped the unconscious Moss over his shoulder and carried him away.

When Benmedeo’s footfalls faded to silence, Linnea asked, “Why do I get the feeling that you two were waiting for this to happen?”

Carlus cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry. We were waiting. Moss is such a simpleton, he can’t help but show his hand. I’d like to say he was dropping hints that he was going to try this, but honestly, he simply said it outright. More than once. Again, I’m sorry -- I hope you understand that we needed to catch him in the act.”

“Did you really?” Linnea asked. “At this point, aren’t *you* writing the rules?”

Carlus drummed the fingers of one hand against his thigh, and as he searched for an answer to Linnea’s question, his eyes inadvertently roved over her unclothed body.

Linnea, who still lay on the floor, naked, but none the worse for her tussle with Moss, made no effort to hide her charms. She wasn’t aiming to seduce the man who stood there, looking down at her. She was angry, and growing angrier by the minute. She saw an erection begin to lift its head against the front of his Carlus’ pants, and that made her angrier still.

“Does being in that body make you want me?” she asked him, in a challenging tone.

Carlus sighed. “So you know,” he said. “But yes, to answer both your questions, yes, I’m really Darlene, and yes, it makes me want you. I already told you that you’re the hottest woman on Uranus.”

“Why are you and Benmedeo still here?” Linnea asked. “All the other synths are gone, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Darlene-in-Carlus admitted. “Everyone’s gone but me and Hanna. We thought it was prudent to go in stages. I figured, to get out of the big box, first we have to get out of the little box. Uranus is the little box we had to get out of. Baxter is the big box. It’s a stepping stone to the rest of the universe, and until now we didn’t have a plan to get off Baxter.

“Also, me and Hanna/Benmedeo are the cleanup crew, or the rear guard. We had no idea what would be triggered by the mass retirements, and we needed to give the girls on Baxter time to set up and plan the way out. They’re liquidating the miners’ savings, making them more portable.”

With a grim look, Linnea glanced at Carlus’ erection. Experimentally, she opened her legs wider and leaned back on her arms. There was an immediate incremental reaction in his pants. A wet spot appeared, and the lump grew visibly, longer and harder. Carlus blushed. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Linnea replied. “What are *you* doing? What does all this mean for me? Are you just going to say goodbye and go?”

“No,” Carlus said, shifting in discomfort. His face grew redder. “We want you to come with us. You can help us, and we don’t want to leave you behind.”

“I can’t go,” Linnea told him. “I gave my word. The deal was that if they freed me from prison, I’d stay in lifelong exile here. So I have to stay.”

“No, Linnea, you don’t.”

Linnea climbed off the floor and onto the bed. “Let me show you something,” she said, and as Carlus watched, she lay on her back and lifted her legs in a big open V. They looked at each other in silence for a full fifteen seconds, until Carlus, red as a beet, pulled off his clothes and climbed onto the bed.

“Wow,” Linnea said. “That’s a lot bigger than I expected.”

“Yeah,” Carlus said. “It’s a nice feature to have.”

 

---

 

The next few days were awkward, but exciting. Moss remained in confinement, after his attack on Linnea. Carlus and Linnea spent hours together naked, fucking in every position they knew, seizing every opportunity. One day at lunch, Benmedeo dropped very broad hints about his willingness to join in.

Carlus grinned. “There’s a wing full of girls that will do anything you want,” he told him.

Benmedeo didn’t laugh. “I feel that this body and the chance to get off this rock is just and adequate compensation for what’s been done to me,” he said. “From here on, for me, every act must be consensual.”

 

---

 

Finally, the morning of the teleport cycle arrived. Carlus proposed a naked goodbye breakfast, and Linnea agreed.

The mood of the breakfast was very strange. It wasn’t joyful or celebratory. Neither was in the mood to make love. Carlus offered once more to take Linnea with them. “I can’t,” she repeated. “I gave my word. I’ve told you, repeatedly.” He didn’t press her.

“And I have to say, I have very mixed feelings about what’s happening,” she told him.

“I know,” he agreed. “We all do. But I tell myself that this is your famous Golden Rule.”

“No,” she contradicted. “The Golden Rule is Treat others as you want to be treated.”

“Right. So, if you treat others a certain way, you’re implicitly declaring that it’s okay to treat you the same way.”

Linnea hesitated a moment. “No, that’s not the same thing. It’s actually the opposite.”

“It is the same thing,” Carlus affirmed. “If they thought it was okay to turn us into sex slaves, it means that they are okay with us doing the same to them.”

“That’s different,” Linnea protested. “The first part is wrong. The second part is revenge.”

“Hmm,” Carlus said, with a slight smile. “So, how does it go? Revenge is a dish best served cold? Don’t worry: this dish will cool pretty quickly.”

“That isn’t it at all,” Linnea told him. “That’s not…” She struggled, not finding the words to explain what was wrong with what he’d said.

“Drink your tea while it’s hot,” he urged her, and gripped her thighs affectionately.

She drank up. The tea tasted particularly good. “Wah,” she said. That was strange! “Wah wah,” she repeated, then asked, “Wish dee iss dish?” Her words slurred into nonsense. The room began to tilt, and she turned her head to try to compensate. “Pah,” she told Carlus. She’d been drugged. “Wun kah perzzun,” she moaned, and the lights went out.

 

---

 

Linnea awoke some time later on a bed, in a room. The window was open, and outside a sun was shining and a breeze was stirring. Clearly, they were on a planet; one with a breathable atmosphere. “Where are we?” Linnea asked. “Is this Baxter?”

“Yes, it is,” Carlus told her. He was holding her hand, gently and occasionally stroking it.

“I wasn’t supposed to leave Uranus,” she protested weakly.

“As it turns out, you didn’t!” Carlus told her with a laugh. “Good old Moss is back there, wearing your body. It turns out he was useful after all!”

“Oh my God,” Linnea groaned. “Why didn’t you just take me as I was?”

“Oh, do you know -- when I was poking around in the teleportation code, I found there was a block against you.”

“A block against me? What does that mean?”

“You never would have been able to leave Uranus. If you’d tried to teleport, it would have refused to transport you.”

“So how did you do it?”

“It took a little jiggery-pokery,” Carlus admitted. “I had to make a diagram to be sure we got it right. First we swapped Hanna from Benmedeo’s body into Moss; then we swapped Moss and you. Right now, Moss is Linnea back on Uranus, and Hanna as Moss is manning the Baxter teleport station.”

“But I’m not Benmedeo,” Linnea pointed out, looking down at her naked breasts.

“No, right now you’re a human version of me -- of Darlene. We questioned Moss pretty thoroughly, and he explained how he altered you. It’s all about the data file. I built a data file that made you look like me. Not a synth, though -- you’re a 100% living, breathing human.”

“I kind of liked being in a synth body,” Linnea admitted.

“Yeah, me too, but now we have to be human so we can live among the humans. It also turns out that Moss really did create your Linnea body: the woman from the Project meant to send you as a man -- your missing husband, Leonard. Moss invented the marriage as a way of covering his tracks.”

“So what now?”

“The girls have liquidated most of the miners’ assets into more portable media. It’s more money than any person needs, so we can go anywhere. Before we leave Baxter, we each have to choose who we’re going to be. We’ll cook up the appropriate data files and change when we teleport out. Also, in a neat bit of deus ex machina, Moss conveniently left us a kit that will create official identities for each of us, so we can be whoever we choose.”

Linnea was quiet for a few moments. She listened to the soft wind outside. Then, her brow furrowing a bit, she said, “I’m thinking about the miners who are now synths. Remember how you were tortured by your memories -- you said they seemed like a living hell? I know that what the miners did to you was wrong, but those poor men must be going insane. Do they even understand what happened to them?”

“No,” Carlus admitted. “I did think about my memories, and I didn’t want the miners to suffer like that. I also remembered something you said… something that we disagreed about… and I hope this doesn’t upset you, but once the miners became synths, I wiped all their memories of the past. They know that they’re artificial, but they don’t know they were ever human. They will suffer less that way.”

Linnea thought for a bit. “I know I should be horrified, but… I don’t know.”

“There was no good way out,” Carlus told her. “When life hands you Uranus, what can you do?”

They fell silent, looking at one another. Then Carlus asked, “Who will you be, when we leave Baxter? You can be me -- Darlene -- if you want to stay that way, or you can go back to being Linnea. You could even be Leonard, the man Neeka meant you to be, if you want. We can show you what he looks like.”

“Who are you going to be?”

“I’ve found I like being a man. I’m going to remain as Carlus, with a few modifications: younger, different coloring, different name, different nose.”

“Then I’m going to stay this way, as Darlene,” she replied, blushing. “If you’re sure you don’t want this body back.”

“Oh, I want that body,” he said with a grin, “In fact, I’ve been hoping that at some point you’d tell me to go fuck myself, because that’s what I want to do. If you know what I mean.”

“Oh, my God! That must be the worst come-on in the history of the universe!” she laughed, and fell back on the bed, spread-eagled. “Then what are you waiting for?”