Forgiven

‘Welcome to Forgiven. I am your Transition Advisor, Bethan,’ she said smiling with most of her teeth. Tipping her cherubic face down to me she added, ‘Are you ready to meet your new biovariant?’

I nodded, as much as my oxygen line would permit, and maneuvered my wheelchair through the opened doorway. The room was a mixture of glass, shiny chrome, and white enamel surfaces; the appearance of a futuristic office space blended with a laboratory, which was what it really was. A medical laboratory. The half of the room we were in contained a glass surface desk with built in computer display, two rolling chairs, though I didn’t need one, and a large glass bowl full of water on which floated a pink lotus flower, Forgiven’s corporate symbol. Behind a frosted glass partition, I could see a faint purple glow outlining a form, lying on a table.

It had been nearly a year and a half since my neural mapping, age and disease taking its toll on my body as I waited for a compatible biovariant. Today was the day. My consciousness would be transferred into a healthy, new form. My old one donated to science to study the pathologies I’d accumulated over nearly a century of living. Living well and, at times, to excess. I vibrated with excitement at the thought of being able to swim again. To ride a bike. To have sex, with another person. I fiddled with my oxygen line to keep myself from chattering out of nervousness.

‘I know we went over all of this material when you had your last memory storage appointment, but we are required to go over it again, one more time, so that you understand the risks and benefits.’

I nodded, my attention drifting to that form behind the frosted glass.

Bethan began reading from a prepared script that I’d heard several times since my first visit, ‘The Forgiven biovariants are former convicted felons, who have elected to relinquish their corporeal form in exchange for expunging their criminal record and a one-time monetary payment to their surviving immediate family members, as well as compensation to their victims. It is a gracious sacrifice they have made to atone for their crime. Out of respect for their victims, the biovariants are placed in suspension storage for fifteen years and relocated to a Forgiven facility in a different geographical area from whence they came. As a recipient of a Forgiven biovariant, you are prohibited from traveling to the location of origin for a period of time no less than ten years. Your Forgiven biovariant point of origin is…’

Bethan waved her finger over the display screen to reach the information she was seeking. Looking up at me she said, ‘Milwaukee. Do you consent to the prohibition around the city of Milwaukee and its surrounding suburbs?’

I looked at her and stated matter-of-factly, ‘I’ve never been to Milwaukee and I have no intention of going there. Ever.’

She gave me a noncommittal smile and looked back at the display. ‘All tattoos, piercings, brands, and scars have been removed and the surrounding tissue repaired. However, several biovariant specific attributes may still exist, such as the presence or absence of dental fillings, wisdom teeth, tonsils, foreskin, and or hair implants. Additionally, a mandatory vasectomy has been conducted, to prevent biological offspring. Do you accept the biovariant in its current condition?’

Not batting an eye, she looked up at me for my reply, as if it would be anything other than an affirmative. My current state was wheelchair bound with an arthritic hip, advanced emphysema from unrepentant smoking in my youth, and moderate liver damage from liberal alcohol consumption. I ingest a pharmaceutical routine of drugs for high cholesterol, emerging Type II diabetes, glaucoma, and various other maladies that is so rife with side effects and counter indications my pharmacist has a cheat sheet to remind her what warnings to give me every time I get my refills. I glanced at the outline of the form again and answered, ‘Of course.’

‘And finally, there will be some discomfort as your consciousness is transferred into the biovariant. Your neural pathways have been mapped onto the biovariant’s brain structure with high fidelity, but there will be some lost memories, usually small details, such as the name of your neighbor’s dog or the band that played at your wedding. There may also be the sensation of residual emotions from the biovariant. These usually dissipate over the first three months and thereafter only occasionally emerge in your dreams. Do you understand these cautions?’

I wasn’t even looking at her now. My sight was drawn entirely to the form on the table behind the frosted glass. What did he look like? Would I feel like me or would I feel like I was wearing another person like a suit? My alternative was to continue on in my current body, until I reached death, which wasn’t that far in the future. Mild discomfort and a few lost memories felt like a good trade off. ‘Yes, I understand.’

Bethan tapped the tick boxes on the display, signifying my agreement, and stood up, ‘Great! Let’s go meet the new you. If you are still happy with the transition, I’ll notify the prep team and we’ll get you started in an hour.’

Pointing at the glass partition, I asked, ‘Is he over there?’

In response, Bethan placed her thumb on the key pad embedded in the glass partition. A light in the key pad turned from blue to green and the frosted glass partition retracted into the wall. It felt like Christmas and I was getting everything I ever wished for.

I wheeled my chair into the room behind the partition. Lying supine on a white, padded leather table, bathed in a purple light was the most strikingly handsome man I’d ever seen. His dark brown skin tone was in sharp contrast to my paper-thin, ash colored one. Despite being technically dead, every muscle in his body looked poised to propel him up from the table with remarkable agility and strength. As if beauty and brawn weren’t enough, he was also quite tall. I could feel myself getting emotional and I reached out to touch him to reassure myself that this was real.

Bethan snatched my wrist with a firm grip before I could make contact, ‘Oh no, dear. You can’t touch him. The biovariants are very easily overcome by yeast and fungus until they are revived. That’s why he is under a UV light, to kill any fungus or bacteria. He’s basically a ham sandwich until we wake him up.’

Her comparison of him to cold cuts dampened my excitement. The whole process suddenly seemed transactional, buying a corpse to occupy like a cuckoo in another bird’s nest. Still, the Forgiven biovariant voluntarily relinquished his life. I wasn’t ready to end mine, so why shouldn’t I use his body? I looked back at his fantastic profile and announced, ‘I’m ready to make the transition.’

‘Fabulous! I’ll call the lab and I’ll need you to finalize the financials. Let’s return to the office.’

After another hour of legal paperwork placing my estate in the possession of my biovariant, linking his fingerprints, genetic profile, and image to all of my accounts and holdings, I made the final bank transfer of a blistering 10 million dollars to Forgiven. It only took another glance toward the open partition to quell any hesitation I felt. As soon as the money was received, a man and a woman in surgical gowns entered the room and wheeled me down the hall to the laboratory suite where I would be transitioned.

***

‘How do you feel, Mr. Barbury?’ asked a woman’s voice. I tried to locate the direction it came from, but my head felt heavy and my eyes wouldn’t focus completely. Had they started the procedure? I slowly rolled my head to the left and blinked hard several times. On a surgical table next to me was…me. Confused, I just stared. When did I get so small? My neck looked like a turkey neck and my skin hung on my bones like unbaked phyllo dough. I was dead. I began to cry. I couldn’t help myself. Sobbing, I tried to reach out and touch my hand.

‘Would you like help sitting up?’ the same woman’s voice asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I could just make out a figure in medical scrubs and a mask. I nodded in response and the nurse moved to my side, slipping a hand under my neck and another under my shoulder, bringing me to an upright position.

‘It can be overwhelming seeing your former body. Touching it can help you accept the transition a little faster.’

The nurse slid my legs around to the edge of the table – muscular, long legs covered in a wonderful amount of leg hair. As I faced my former body, I sobbed softly. I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t regret my decision. I waited as the nurse moved the other table closer, so I could touch my former self. My body was still warm, but I could tell it was cooling. It felt waxen and foreign. I studied my slack face. The small scar above my left eye from a fist fight in my twenties. The perfect, but somewhat artificial looking teeth; dental veneers that signified the wealth I’d accumulated in my thirties and forties. The crow’s feet from too much time on the golf course in my fifties and sixties. Sentimental about the moments etched on my face, but not enough to take their evidence with me. I would make new memories, give myself new badges from life to wear with pride.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded to the nurse that I was okay to let go of my old self. An orderly that I hadn’t noticed in the periphery stepped forward, covering my old body with a sheet and wheeled it out of the room. The nurse supporting me said, ‘You’ll need to go through a week of intensive therapy, until your mind learns to talk to your new form. You’ll over compensate – walk too fast, pick things up too quickly – until you get the hang of it. Plus, you’ll need to be on a special diet for the first seven days. You have no gut flora, so you’ll be terribly gassy and have diarrhea. It’s only temporary. You’ll feel yourself in no time!’

Her comforting tone made me feel more hopeful and eager for the future than I had in years.

***

It had been six months since my transfer to the biovariant. The transition was rough at first. It took more than the promised seven days for my intestines to settle down and I had great difficulty shaving my new face. The muscle control needed to pull my upper lip down to get the hair under my nose still wasn’t there, so I opted for a close-cut beard, to avoid cuts on my handsome face. Every day was something new; finding out that I could wiggle my ears, not having to wear glasses anymore, recovering a strong sense of taste. After years of avoiding tacos, because they tasted like bark filled with dirt, I could eat them with relish again and appreciate the subtle flavor of the corn tortilla.

Once my legs were functioning properly, I began what I called my “Grand Tour”. I visited all my old friends to introduce them to my new face. My club memberships had to be updated. I could use the pool and sauna again. I began spending more time at the office, which resulted in our stock jumping by more than thirty percent. Having decades of experience and a long-term plan wrapped in the youthful energy to implement it instilled confidence in my investors. The phenomenon, called the “bivariant bump”, led to my face appearing on Fortune magazine and an interview with all of the major networks.

And, as always, with power and money, came the attention of a cadre of beautiful women. I’d buried my second wife more than fifteen years ago, so I could enjoy the company of a different beauty every weekend and not feel guilty about it. Not that any of them would be a suitable third wife. Marriage was a business contract and had to be taken up with someone that understood the term and conditions. My recent companions were looking for a handsome hero to sweep them off their feet and make all their dreams come true. I was no Prince Charming.

But this evening, I was going home alone, by choice, not circumstance. I’d just been to a formal dinner party with some of my top investors. After a brandy or two, there had been discussions of me entering politics. I’d acted demure about the possibility, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about it. Should I start with a local position or jump right to a Senate seat? Seemed like a leap, but everyone knew it only took money and influence, not qualifications.

I wanted to end my evening with a glass of scotch and a cigar, to think on how to navigate the political landscape and its impact on my business. Removing my bow tie, I settled into a chair in the library, putting my feet up on the ottoman. I was only a couple of puffs into my cigar, when a noise at the French doors leading to the veranda caught my attention. The curtains parted and a woman stepped into the room. She was petite, in her mid-twenties, with close cropped curls, and holding a revolver. The quiet rage rolling off her was frightening. I put down my drink and slowly raised my hands in compliance.

‘What do you want? Money? Drugs? I don’t have any drugs, but there is a couple hundred in the desk drawer.’

Her stare never left me, even though I pointed toward the desk. I didn’t offer the safe contents just yet. I may have to increase the offering to get her to leave. It depended on how desperate she was. Was she a stranger or should I know her? Was she one of my recent dalliances under the impression that it was more than a fling? I wracked my brain trying to remember. Nothing.

‘What do you want?’ I asked again.

She stayed quiet for a long time then said, ‘You don’t recognize me? I’m grown now, but you should still recognize me.’

I slowly shook my head. I didn’t recognize her at all. Was she one of the memories Forgiven warned that I might lose?

‘Do you remember her?’

Her who? The lack of any recollection was starting to worry me. What was I missing? Did I have a child from an affair that I’d forgotten? Wouldn’t that memory have stuck with me? I remembered my driver’s sister’s name, for God’s sake.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you are talking about. Perhaps you could give me more information?’

She looked at me with scorn. ‘You have no memory of her? How you beat her with your fists, then with a hammer? You don’t recall hitting her so many times that her blood was all over the wall, the couch, and her children? Your children.’

Then it sunk in. This wasn’t my life she was talking about, but his. The biovariant’s crimes and life. But how? Forgiven said it was long ago and far enough away not to be remembered. But here she was.

‘Even if you hated her, why did you take her from us? We needed her,’ her sob stuck in her throat, ‘It’s not like you did anything for us. Not like you cared.’

I gently shook my head and replied, ‘That wasn’t me. I’m the person that Forgiven transferred into this body. The person you are looking for has been dead for fifteen years. This was supposed to be explained to his victims and family.’

She wasn’t listening to me. It was clear that she had thought about what she was going to say for a long time and she needed to get it all out, everything that had weighed her down for the last decade and a half.

‘They separated us, Nestor and me. Put us in care. It was a terrible life. Our life with you wasn’t great, but at least we were together,’ she said, her sobs stopping, but tears still rolling down her face, ‘Why didn’t you just leave, if she made you angry? You could have just moved out. Why did you have to kill her? I loved her. Nestor never really got to know her, his own mother. You spoiled everything, Daddy. Everything.’

I let my arms drop and tried a softer tone of voice, ‘I am very sorry, dear. I am not him.’

A calm slowly took over her pained face as she wiped away tears with the back of her hand. She looked at me with tired eyes and said, ‘I don’t care,’ then fired the gun at my chest.