Layover

CHAPTER 25

It was a small place really, modest, not at all what he was expecting. A waiting area with enough seating for eight, with a flatscreen up on the wall and changing flat ads all around touting the wonders of implants. He was the only one waiting, trying to ignore the inane comedy on the screen. Something farcical about a settler family out in the wilds of Monsipur. The father kept trying to find time alone with his wife, but couldn't because his near-grown daughter kept trying to sneak off with the wild Danes lurking around the camp. Chris didn't find it amusing at all.

"This isn't what I wanted when I told you I didn't like the boys you'd been seeing," the father huffed as he confronted his daughter in a remote arroyo. Wild Danes scattered from the scantily clad young woman at his approach. The two lead actresses on the show spent an inordinate amount of time topless, Chris observed, although so far there hadn't been any sex.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

Chris turned his head to see one of the employees smiling warmly at him. She was older that she appeared at first glance, over fifty(S), with short strawberry blonde hair and a tanned, lean body. She wore an abbreviated white tongi that looked like a nurses tunic—or maybe it was a nurse's tunic that was made to look like a tongi, he didn't know. He stood up.

"That's okay." He'd only been in there a few minutes.

"Still, I apologize. Welcome to the ReelWorld. You're interested in a neural transceiver implant?"

"Yes," he said slowly, "but I have a lot of questions."

"Well, hopefully we can answer them," she said brightly. "My name's Margolaine." She stuck out her hand. It was warm and dry when he shook it. "Come on back."

He followed her through the Authorized Persons Only door into the offices beyond. The hot flashes were few and far between now, and low enough in intensity that he could suffer through them without touching himself. Still, he noticed that inside the loose tunic Margolaine's body was quite shapely. It came down to just above her knees, with a V-neck that revealed a flat, bony chest. He didn't think she was wearing anything under the tunic.

Some women thickened with age, others thinned; Margo had just begun to thin. She had small breasts and wide hips, with shapely legs below the tunic's hem. She was a little too tanned for his taste, but then most of the women on Monsipur were.

She led him to a small cubicle with sonic shielding, so their conversation would remain private. It was rather bare, equipped with a desk topped by a small, pivoting flatscreen. He sat across from her.

"Now, what questions do you have?" she asked. He noticed for the first time that she had a small number permdyed on the side of her neck- 00011 . He didn't know what that meant.

"Well, before I waste your time I think you should know I'm an offworlder."

"Of course, I saw your bracelet."

"Can offworlders get implants?"

"Absolutely. Now, it may not be legal to use it on a few backward planets, New Mantique for example, but we have no restrictions on implantation as long as you're at least twenty-three years old--Monny."

"Oh. And, uh, how much would an implant cost?"

"Well, there are two types. The first is the standard transceiver implant. That is eighteen hundred credits, complete. The second is a send-capable implant, which is what you would want if you ever wanted to record your own experiences. Send-capable implants are twenty-three hundred. If you have any questions as to which type you want, you should probably get a send-capable one. It will save you money later."

It was even cheaper than Chris was expecting. Eighteen hundred? A good synthetic cost ten times that much. He leaned closer. "How real is it? Honestly."

Margo smiled and leaned forward as well. "As real as if it was happening to you," she told him. "You've probably heard it in our commercial? Your brain won't know the difference? It doesn't."

"I'm sure you know the basics of the technology," she said, but gave him the short layman's version anyway. "All your sensations, what you're seeing, hearing, smelling, touching—they're turned into electrical impulses by your nervous system and then sent to your brain, which then interprets those signals in a set way. A feelie, to use the slang, is a recording of those signals."

"The neural transceiver is located at the base of the brainstem where those signals converge. When you activate a feelie, instead of the sensations from your body, your brain is receiving the impulses recorded on that chip, whatever they might be."

"I admit, at first it's a little disconcerting. One minute you're sitting in a chair in your apartment, the next you're, say, freewinging over the Bargo Mountains. ReelWorld recommends all novice implantees secure their limbs to avoid injury." She leaned in further. "You have a tendency to flail about in response to the chip's impulses. We also recommend using a handheld STOP button, provided with the master unit. That way, if you're becoming a bit overwhelmed by the program, you can hit the button and shut it off. Once you've experienced a few chips you won't need it, but at first— whew . We call them panic buttons."

"There's no…degradation of sensation? Tang berries are just as sour? Everything feels…real?"

"Yes. With the first couple generations of transceivers, I will admit, the signal was reduced in strength and clarity in comparison to the signals your brain receives from your own body. But that was decades ago. Now, you can eat tang berries all day, the sourest you've ever tasted, and when the chip's over you'll wonder why you feel hungry."

"I saw something on your commercial I didn't quite understand. It said women could experience being a man, and men could be women?"

"Yes?"

"How does that work? How could it work?"

"All your brain knows of the world outside your skin is the signals your nerve endings send in. If it's being told your body is that of a woman, it doesn't know any different."

"But I don't have any breasts, or…"

She was shaking her head. "When you're playing a chip, your body doesn't exist, as far as your brain is concerned. It only knows what is coming in through the implant. Say a big-breasted woman recorded the feelie you're experiencing. It doesn't matter that you've never had breasts, the chip tells your brain what they feel like. The nerve signals have been recorded. Whether you have the same body parts as the recorder or not, it doesn't matter. Your brain is just following directions. It's no different than if the chip is from a man six inches taller than you—you're not that tall, but in principle there's no substantive difference to your brain between that and any other physiological change."

"Sounds unbelievable."

She laughed. "Doesn't it? I still remember the first feelie I ever plugged in. It was recorded by Lena Hathaway, the first female zero-gee boxing champion."

"You have one?"

"Of course. Most people do, nowadays, at least on Monsipur. The procedure itself only takes a few minutes, and what minor swelling and soreness there is is gone in a day."

Chris pursed his lips and sat back. "Well, your job is to sell me on this. What are the reasons I shouldn't get one? Are there any?"

She smiled. "Of course. First, eighteen hundred is a lot of credits. A lot of people who get NTI's really can't afford them. And then there is the soreness, although it's only temporary. Approximately one in seven thousand people cannot realize a successful implant, either, and the medicos still aren't sure why that is. Something about brain chemistry. The biggest problem we've seen is people who enjoy feelies so much they withdraw from the real world. If your life is dull, you might have a real temptation to immerse yourself in feelies. Through them you can experience the best of everything life has to offer, but some people go too far. They neglect their work, or their family, and retreat inside their heads. ReelWorld considers that an abuse of their product."

"Here, we have a little informational vid that details the implantation procedure. Why don't you watch it, and then we'll see if you have any more questions." She angled the small flatscreen toward him and pressed a button. He was treated to a concise, ten minute program that explained everything he would experience if he elected to undergo implantation. Margo left briefly during the vid, and he was grateful—another hot flash got him red-faced and sweaty, but by the time she returned it was almost over.

"What more can I tell you?"

Chris slowly shook his head. "I don't know. I guess I'm just leery about someone opening up my head."

"I understand. Well, as the vid said, now that the system has gone wireless the consoles each have their own thirty-six alphanumeric ID code so no one else's feelie accidentally gets beamed into your head. Not that that's ever happened, but people have voiced concerns. We're of course fully licensed and accredited, and do thousands of implantations every year. I can provide you with a long list of satisfied customers if you'd like."

He smiled. "No, that's quite all right. The implant sells itself, doesn't it? Although you're definitely the prettiest salesperson I've seen in a long time." That was the fading hot flash talking.

"Oh! Thank you."

"Let's do it. I'm ready." Before I lose my nerve , he thought.

"Excellent." She stood up. "I know you won't regret this."