Stepping Stones (14 page)

“Hey, check out this one!”
said
Cameron, tapping the
tabletop screen
.  “The Terry Series.  Red hair, blue eyes, and legs that won’t quit.”

“No redheads.”

“Oh, right, I forgot.  Tiffany has forever ruined you for redheads
, you poor bastard
.  Okay,
you
pick.”

“
No, thanks
.”

“That’s the spirit.”  Shaking his head
sadly
, Cameron continued his search.

Ignoring his friend, Jake stared into the watery remnants of his drink, dejectedly mulling over the turn of events that had derai
led his chance to leave Earth—at least for the moment.  In that regard, he knew Cameron was right.  He would get another chance. 
It might take years, but sooner or later the Company would open up another planet, and with
Jake’s
qualifications—degrees in both hydroponics and animal husbandry, a more than passing knowledge of mining, and the fact that
he had
already completed the Company’s fourteen-month colonization
training—he knew he stood an excellent
shot of being selec
ted again the next time around, assuming he could find a willing partner.

So why am I so depressed?
Jake
wondered.  Is it losing Cam and Megan?  Or is it
that Tiffany
had someone
in the wings
all along
, and I was the last to know?
Or is it that she terminated her
pregnancy without even telling me?

“Here we go,” said Cameron, again tapping the screen.  “The Lara Series.  Just
released
.  Tall, beautiful, and not one red hair
anywhere on their gorgeous nubile bodies.
”

“
Sorry
, Cam,” said Jake
, shaking his head as he saw
his friend
pushing
a button to summon
a
hostess.  “I appreciate the offer
.  I really do.  I know you’re trying to help
, but I’m going home and sleep it off.”

“’Scuse me a sec,” said Cameron, spotting
a
surrogate hostess approaching.
  “Don’t go anywhere.”

Ignoring Jake’s protests,
Cameron
rose and conferred with
the surrogate hostess
, then returned.  “Trust me on this one, pal
,” he said
. 
“
Just follow the hostess
over there
.  The
fee is
already paid, and this is
exactly
what you need.
And Jake?  Try to loosen up
a little.  I
t’s only a cyborg.”

She couldn’t allow h
erself to be captured, for to do so would allow
the inf
ormation she carried
to fall into enemy hands. 
She
also knew she couldn’t outrun them.  There was only
one
hope for escape—to conceal herself and
wait
for
help.  Using
the
precious
seconds earned by the deaths of her offspring, she coiled her fields and
entered
a nearby
bubble of space-time.
Somehow
, she had to survive.

With a dazzling burst of light, she materialized among the stars.  The Dark Ones
would not be
far b
ehind.  In
her present form
she would
stand out like a beacon.  Fighting panic, she searched for
a place
to hide.

A myriad of
galaxies filled the
four-dimensional
bubble
she had
chosen, each
galaxy
containing billions of stars.  In the nearest of these
stellar
swirls she began her search.  Her race had long known that
rudimentary life existed in these lower dimensions
—
usually primitive
molecular assemblies
of nuclear ash from nova stars
.  Her plan
was
to
cloak herself in one of these organic forms
. 
A degrading prospect, but preferable to capture and death.

Now it
was her only hope.

Jake stood in the hallway, watching as the surrogate hostess departed. 
He
hesitated, trying to decide what to do next.  A card
slot and a single
raised panel
broke the otherwise featureless surface of
the door before him.  He’d
originally had no intention of going through,
but
curiosity was beginning to get the better of him. 
Besides,
Cameron had already paid the fee, which was nonrefundable. 
Why not at least check things out?

Although s
uspecting he was making a mistake, Jake withdrew his wallet, inserted his ID card into the slot, and pushed the
panel
.  The door swung smoothly inward.  Again,
he
hesitated.  Then, with a shrug, he entered.  The door
slid
shut
silently
behind him, disappearing into the background.

Jake surveyed his surroundings, grudgingly admitting that the holographic illusion in which he found himself
looked
aut
hentic down to the last detail, giving the impression that
he had
stepped from the plastic and steel of the twenty-second century into
some
long-extinct tropical paradise.  Overhead the sky was
gradually
darkening to the deep purple of dusk; in the west
a crescent moon hung low on the horizon.

Jake shook his head in amazement.
Everything
seemed so
real—
a
soft
touch
of wind on his face, the musky smells of the rain forest, the clean white beach beneath his feet.
 
Resisting the impulse to take off his shoes, he
moved to
a stand of palms bordering a small lagoon
nearby
. 
Upon arriving,
he sensed movement to his right.  He turned, peering into the glade.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Jake
could make out
the outline of a
n elevated
platform,
supported
between two towering mangrove
s
.  The structure appeared to have grown from the
very forest itself—
woven vines and roots composing
its legs
and frame, the latter supporting a
bed
of dried ferns and moss.  And standing beside
it
was the most hauntingly beautiful woman Jake had ever
encountered
.

Eyes lowered, long auburn hair
framing her lovely face and spilling
over her bare shoulders, she made her way toward him.  Her torso was lean and trim, her breasts high and full.  As she neared, Jake realized with a
tinge of surprise
that she was nearly as tall as he.

A moment later she stood before him.  She wore a small pair of gold earrings and a stainless-steel cyborg collar around her neck, nothing else.  Jake found himself at loss for words.  This wasn’t what
he had expected
.  She seemed almost
. . .
human.  There was still the control collar to remind him she wasn’t, of course.  That, and something
absent
in her pale blue eyes—eyes that dilated slightly as she spoke.  “Client:  Sheridan, Jake.  Service billing prepaid by Gilbert, Cameron E.,
credit
card number 17634022714
413220812
.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Jake
grumbled, belatedly realizing that his sarcasm was undoubtedly wasted on a cyborg
.

“What is your desire, and how may I assist you in fulfilling it?” the cyborg asked, her
voice
soothing and melodic.

“My desire? 
Actually
, I’m not even sure what I’m doing here,” Jake replied, not accustomed to speaking with a female whose eyes were nearly on a level with his—
especially
one
showing as much bare skin as this one
, even if she were a cyborg
.  “My buddy thinks . . .”  Jake
stopped
,
suddenly
feeling foolish
to be
explaining himself.  “What’s your name?”

“Lara Series number eight-five-one, or simply Lara if you wish,” the cyborg responded.  “Do you have a particular fantasy in mind?”  When Jake didn’t reply, she continued.  “Are these surroundings to your liking?  I can change them if you want.  It’s possible to simulate a desert oasis, a luxury penthouse, a
mountain cabin with a warm cozy fire
—anything you want.”

Jake ignored her offer. 
He’d had a lot to drink, but he wasn’t
that
drunk. 
“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, trying not to stare.

“Cold?  Oh, I understand. 
You would
like me in something less revealing.”  Lara touched her collar.  An instant later a peach-colored negligee with
high,
V-shaped
cuts
up each side materialized on her body.  The
silky
fabric clung to her seductively, doing little to conceal her figure.  “Better?” she asked with a playful spin that caused the holographic garment to flare around her thighs.

Surprised to find himself attracted, Jake remained silent.  He knew
that
the
cyborg
was no more real than
the other
surroundings
in the holochamber
, and that
he would
probably
regret staying longer.  Still, he made no move to leave.

“I sense your discomfort,” said Lara.  “It’s a common reaction of humans unaccustomed to
the presence of
cyborgs.  Perhaps you would feel more at ease if you knew something about me.”

Again, Jake said nothing.

“Like you, I am composed of flesh and blood,” she continued.  “My body is fully
operational
; I eat, sleep, eliminate waste, and perform all the physiologic
functions
.  Also like you, I am capable of experiencing both pleasure and pain.  The main difference between us is that certain cognitive
centers
in my brain have been replaced with photonic circuitry—neural structures
that are
under the
direct
control of a central processor in this building.  In addition, where you have a spleen, I have a self-contained
energy source
sufficient to power my bioelectric components for the
remainder
of my life.  There are other changes, but they are insignificant.”

Already a
ware of the differences between humans and cyborgs, Jake had listened to her with growing impatience, but toward the end something caught his attention.  “What do you mean, for the rest of your life?  You can die?”
he asked.

“Of course.  My body ages like yours, although at a considerably
slower
rate.”

“How
much slower
?”

“I was cloned and brought to full physical maturity over a period of eighteen months.  I am now three years old.  Barring
accident
, I will remain
physically
unchanged for the next one hundred and ninety-seven years, after which my
body
will rapidly deteriorate.”

“And then?”

“My photonic brain, which has a potentially indefinite life
span
, will be removed.  If deemed appropriate, I will be given another body.  If not, I will be deactivated.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No.  Why should it?”

Su
rprised, Jake thought a moment, then
laughed aloud, struck by the ludicrous situation in which he found himsel
f.  Here he was in a fantastic albeit illusory
paradise with a willing, whiplash-gorg
eous although equally illusory
partner, and somehow
he had
managed to turn the convers
ation to thoughts of mortality.