I keep hearing people who say that being podded is the simplest thing. That you are like a holo playing on a screen and -switch- then you are the same holo playing on a different screen.
Is it just me, or it feels different?
OK, remember that feeling of confusion when you wake up every morning? Where am I? Why does my head hurt? How many drinks did I have? Where do I have to go today? And after a few blank seconds, remembering what you were up to the day before. Then, the day of the week. And what you are supposed to do today. But, mind you, it's already hazy when you are always you -I mean, when you stay in your own body.
Now your clone, your clone is not you. While you live, breathe, have fun, do things and see places, your clone sits pretty in a vat. For days, weeks, maybe years. If your clone could remember anything, it would be goo. But then you jump. And it does not matter whether you clone-jump or medclone in, either way your scanned-and-canned memories are written on top of your clone and
-switch-
then you wake up. You are you. But your body has not been anywhere, you feel like you have been laying in for days, weeks, maybe years. And it does not match; you remember... so much more than goo, remember living, having fun, going places. After maybe a couple of minutes, things start to make sense. Yes, you get to keep your memories. Yay.
Now, which one out of a zillion memories was playing before you woke up?
Second Chances
Being podded is just like waking up on Monday, only worse.
-Anonymous capsuleer
--
January 110
18:30 YST, Sinq LaisonDan's shift started as usual.
He arrived at the cafeteria an hour in advance to read mail and company news. Thirty minutes before at the ready room for decon procedure and thorough scrub-down. By the time he was ready in his white coveralls he still had a full ten minutes to wait so he sat at Observation, by the window overlooking the briefing room. It helped him get into the rythm of things.
The rythm that day seemed quicker than usual.
--
19:20 YST, Heimatar - Sinq pipe, high-security spaceThe autopilot was programmed but offline. I was on the edge, warping on manual on every single jump, the
Blahnik aligning nimbly, gate after gate after gate, Hek, Outou, Miroitem, Rancer...
I had learned long ago that a Stiletto was not really the perfect racing machine one would expect, for a Republic-built ship. She was very fast but a bit too heavy, which meant slow aligning and lazy cornering... but still, a wonderful ship for my weekly trade run.
Oh, but it was no ordinary trade run... I had bought some
stuff in Rens, that I would try next race. It would be fun.
--
19:25 YST, Sinq LaisonHe had expected far less movement.
Normally, a Therapist would walk to the holodesk and check a patient file out; that day however, he would see two or three queueing up to brief, then swiftly walking away. He pulled the latest killboard and, sure, after a quick scan he found that
the United were camping Rancer. No wonder business was brisk.
Brisk. Fast. Heavy. Not 'good,' for death is never good business.Not in this company. At least not according to the marketing people. Sure, there were many clone companies out there, but this one was different.
At nineteen thirty, exactly, he walked down to the briefing room.
--
19:31 YST, Heimatar - Sinq pipe, low-security spaceJump, align, warp. Next gate, Crielere.
I'm invisible.
I'm unstoppable.
I'm the Speed Fairy!--
19:32 YST, Sinq LaisonDan waited patiently and requested a file when it was his turn at the desk. As the holo faded in, he wondered if the desk would skillset-match him a patient - he had been doing this for years, it was always better and safer to get a match than whomever came first. He reviewed the details carefully: female, gallentean, A2 positive, no allergies, no mental illness and no record of violence. He made notes as he perused over an image only he could see, expanding, tagging, reminders, ideas, treatment options or red flags. Clone grade gamma, skillpoints below, infomorph five, good. No previous medcloning.
A first-timer? Chances were she would be upset.
He quickly skimmed to the custom section and began checking items off for delivery, arranging things for the new arrival. Raising an eyebrow, he wondered how much money were these people willing to throw away. On the other hand, as long as it was thrown his way...
As he started down the corridor he decided to make sure and opened a chat window. "Walt, I've just sent a requisition in. Everything in order?"
"Danny, copy that, iso fluid, ORS, implants five, skillbook one, clothing sixteen items, personal thirty-six, coffee, croissants, etc, etc, lemon pie? -she having breakfast or sumthin'?- The automatic is working most of the stuff and it'll send you status. Already have a negative on... what the hell is a rosetta?"
"You better find out and fast," Dan chuckled, "it's what she would have wanted. Ask catering."
Trailing the reanimation crew, he entered the room. People in green coveralls acknowledged his white Therapist robe. He was in charge now.
"OK people, let's bring her back. Gently."
--
My eyes were puffy and I felt weak, so weak. Everything was behind some sort of haze, a slow haze like when you have a bad cold. My feet were cold too, and I was feeling so slow.
Slow. They slowly stepped back from me, quietly too. I think I tried to thank them for helping me on the reclining seat, but the green ones would just smile and take their attention somewhere else. So it was some sort of rest facility.
I shifted and found myself wearing a robe, warm and soft. Maybe I would buy one on the way out. And a pair of slippers. Sleep. I wanted to go back to sleep, badly, and wondered if it was anywhere close to check-out time. Assuming there was a check out time. Spa? Hotel? Doh, did I remember checking in? It would surely come back to me. Clone jumping always messed my mind up.
Ex. haus. ted.
I rubbed my eyes and opened them again. On to the guessing game. One of them, in white across the room, was keeping an eye on me but not intruding. Kind of cute but no clues. I looked up and saw a greenish, organic but otherwise unrecognisable ceiling. Gallic building? Nothing there either. In front of me a desk was blinking for attention. Medical facility?
White.
Black.
Oh well, here was my guess: medical or rescue, after having blacked out, in my pod, alone. I must have been very lucky for them to pick me and my ship up.
Wait, was I flying? Where is my ship, should I worry?--
The red-headed woman on the reclining chair looked disoriented. She looked at her standard-issue robe, then around, then at Dan before lowering her gaze with a confused expression. She was blinking furiously, someplace between feeling completely lost and having an urgent thought to remember.
Disorientation was good. It indicated a healthy, working cognitive process. Working as opposed to, say, vegetative. Or wetgraved.
Many people believe that reanimation is a straightforward thing but Dan had conducted enough of them to know better. Suffice to say, if the human mind worked anything like a holoset then it would be easy to fix and even easier to replace. But... it wasn't.
The woman tried to speak.
--
"... am I..." I coughed, startled at the raspy sound of my own voice, and tried again. "... Where am I?"
Ah, my ship. I frowned. I wondered if the... what was I flying? I could not remember. Maybe this was a mental asylum, ha, ha, fitting. But seriously, what was I... ah, was it the
Blahnik? I...
I was definitely flying... could it have been five ago? A year ago? It felt a bit unreal, like a dream fresh in my mind -funny that, I seldom do remember my own dreams. And how had I gotten from there to here after blacking out, yes, maybe I did black out because I was going straight for the gate and the targeting alarms were ringing and the Rokh, there was no time to fly around the Rohk but it started to explode...Oh, crap.
I reached for my ear and found what I already knew: no earrings, no piercings.
As they say, it's just like Monday, only worse. I felt this sudden urge to vomit.
"WHAT the FUCK? *cough* You've got to be KIDDING *cough* ME! A SMARTBOMB? *coughcoughcough* Can they even DO THAT? *coughcough* is it not supposed to be ILLEGAL?"
On further thought... that is what pirates do to people.
"Doh -should have *cough* taken the stupid HISEC *coughcough* route, IDIOT!"
Cold, wet and miserable, check, now also angry -I really needed something breakable close by. There was not, so I vomited again.
I did not just feel slow, I was slow. I had trouble remembering and felt unfocused, clumsy, stupid. No implants, no hard-wired skills, I was the exact same as the people around me.
Normal.The man walked up to me, a look of cool professional concern in his face, carelessly placing a glass of water on the little table at my left. I felt a pang of guilt a moment later, as it shattered against the wall with a loud crash and a million pieces scattering on the floor. The man calmly looked back at me and slowly produced another glass from an unseen drawer, filled it with water and
carelessly deliberately placed it within my lethal reach. The corner of his mouth lifted into half a complicit smile.
I could not help but... smirk.
He spoke concisely, losing no time conveying safe-competent-friendly. "Miss Delorois, you are safe and among friends, I am Dr. Houniet but please call me Daniel. I will be your Infomorph Therapist and am here to support you," he said in a warm, reassuring tone.
"Welcome to
Second Chances. I am sorry to say there has been an... event and your contract was activated. You do seem to be making a good recovery. How do you feel?"
Wow. I was dead. Still, that bright, gorgeous, frank smile made my day better.
We went through some simple questions like naming my parents and remembering some numbers, then he helped me work the small holo desk built into the chair, did some basic orientation and finally stepped back to give me some personal space. I thanked him and turned back to the desk. Once I felt awake enough I pulled some more information up. The report said it had been a smartbomb, fifteen minutes before; the pod had been finished off with railguns. The pilot had not survived.
So this is what being podded felt like.
"You have gone through a rough experience," he said, placing a steaming cup of coffee topped with a perfectly poured rosetta in front of me. "Please do not hesitate to ask for anything you need."
Oh well. The recloning I could take, having done so many clonejumps before. The set of +4 implants... that would hurt but I would get those back in time, it was just money. But if my
cargo manifest ever made it into the public killboards and someone saw it, well, maybe I would have an awkward moment. Fingers crossed.
The worst part was that sick feeling in the back of my mind, that something really awful had happened while I was not looking. Like a death in the family or a really close friend.
I held back the urge to throw up yet again.
I took another sip of the coffee I had pre-selected for myself, back in another life, and pulled a holo with the menu with options to begin the next one. Shiatsu massage, perhaps. Anma I had never tried, maybe some other day.
Yessir, I died. But I was feeling much better now, thanks.
--
Maybe some of you guys spring right back to life after dying. Podded, dizzy, cold, wet and miserable... and off you go, just wake up and fly straight into action with guns blazing. Who knows, maybe you rent with a fast-serve clone company, pay some extra under the table to get the vat that is closest to the exit, and have it turned facing the door out. Well, good for you.
There are so many different clone companies out there.
Now what about wanting to wake-up nicely? Now picture that, a clone company with a gentle awakening, with something to eat, a quiet place to gather one's thoughts and pull back together. And someone to talk to, to help and guide one back to the world of the living and -why not?- scents in the air, or stones on skin, maybe kneading oil on legs and arms and back, and please don't forget the back of the head...
Me? If there is an afterlife, I want a spa in it. That is why I have my clone contract with this small shop called 'Second Chances'. They will pamper you like a Queen for as long as it takes, or serve you a meal fit for a King.
So, just in case you pod me and then see me logging off? It is not emo rage. It's not a hissy fit.
I may just be getting a foot massage. 
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Topic: Second Chances (Read 1500 times)