extra hour in bed but today he despised the pathetic image of a naked legless cripple lying there helplessly. He decided against the struggle of showering, taped the pads to his stumps, strapped on the prosthetics and pulled on a pair of baggy trousers.
It was intolerably muggy, so he threw economy aside and switched on the airco. While his coffee was heating, he unwrapped the latest
ASM Journal
and set it with a thick pad of paper and a pencil next to the chair that sat under the air-conditioning duct. The microwave cooker buzzed; he got his coffee and sat down with the first article.
The doorbell rang when he was on the second article and second cup of coffee. He almost didn’t answer it. It wasnever good news. It rang again, insistently, so he got up and opened the door.
It was a small, bland-looking black man with a leather portfolio under his arm. Salesman, Leonard thought tiredly.
“Leonard Shays?” Leonard just looked at him.
“How do you do. I’m Dr. Felix Verden, you may—”
He pushed the button but Verden had a foot against the door jamb. The door slid halfway closed, then opened again.
“Mrs. Dorothy Scott Shays is your next of kin.”
“Not any more, she isn’t.”
“I sympathize with your feelings, Dr. Shays, but legally she
is
still your closest relative. May I come in?”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
He opened the portfolio. “I have a court order here authorizing me—”
Leonard teetered forward and grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt. A man in uniform stepped from where he’d been hidden, next to the wall beside the door, and showed Leonard his stunner wand.
“All right. Let me get my book.”
Dr. Verden’s office was comfortable and a few decades out of date. Pale oak panelling and furniture crafted of a similar wood, combined with blued steel and fake black leather. A slight hospital odor seeped in.
“You know the therapy will be much more effective if you cooperate.”
“I don’t want it to be effective. I’ll go along with the court and surrender my body to you for treatment. Just my body. The rest is going to fight you all the way.”
“You may wind up even worse than before.”
“By your lights. Maybe better, by mine.”
He ignored that by rustling papers loudly. “You’re familiar with the process.”
“More familiar than I want to be. It’s like a skill transfer, but instead of subtracting or adding a certain ability, you work on a more basic level. Personality.”
“That’s correct. We excise or graft certain basic behavioral traits, give the patient a better set of responses to life problems.”
“A
different
set of responses.”
“All right.”
“It’s ghoulish.”
“No it isn’t. It’s just an accelerated growing-up process.”
“It’s playing God, making a man over in your own image. Or whatever image is stylish or rec—”
“You think I haven’t heard all this before, Leonard?”
“I’m sure you have. I’m sure you ignore it. You must be able to see that it’s different, being on the receiving end, rather than—”
“I’ve been on the receiving end, Leonard, you should know that. I had to go through a complete overlay before I could get licensed. I’m glad I did.”
“You’re a better person for it.”
“Of course.”
“That could be just part of the overlay, you know. They could have turned you into a slavering idiot and at the same time convinced you that it was an improvement.”
“They wouldn’t be allowed to. Overlay therapy is even more closely monitored than skill transfer. And you should know how many controls there are on that.”
“You’re not going to convince me and I’m not going to convince you. Why don’t we just get on with it?”
“Excellent idea.” He stood. “Come this way.”
Dr. Verden led him into a small white room that smelled of antiseptic. It held a complicated-looking bed on wheels and a plain-featured young female nurse who stood up when they came in.
“Will
It was intolerably muggy, so he threw economy aside and switched on the airco. While his coffee was heating, he unwrapped the latest
ASM Journal
and set it with a thick pad of paper and a pencil next to the chair that sat under the air-conditioning duct. The microwave cooker buzzed; he got his coffee and sat down with the first article.
The doorbell rang when he was on the second article and second cup of coffee. He almost didn’t answer it. It wasnever good news. It rang again, insistently, so he got up and opened the door.
It was a small, bland-looking black man with a leather portfolio under his arm. Salesman, Leonard thought tiredly.
“Leonard Shays?” Leonard just looked at him.
“How do you do. I’m Dr. Felix Verden, you may—”
He pushed the button but Verden had a foot against the door jamb. The door slid halfway closed, then opened again.
“Mrs. Dorothy Scott Shays is your next of kin.”
“Not any more, she isn’t.”
“I sympathize with your feelings, Dr. Shays, but legally she
is
still your closest relative. May I come in?”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
He opened the portfolio. “I have a court order here authorizing me—”
Leonard teetered forward and grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt. A man in uniform stepped from where he’d been hidden, next to the wall beside the door, and showed Leonard his stunner wand.
“All right. Let me get my book.”
Dr. Verden’s office was comfortable and a few decades out of date. Pale oak panelling and furniture crafted of a similar wood, combined with blued steel and fake black leather. A slight hospital odor seeped in.
“You know the therapy will be much more effective if you cooperate.”
“I don’t want it to be effective. I’ll go along with the court and surrender my body to you for treatment. Just my body. The rest is going to fight you all the way.”
“You may wind up even worse than before.”
“By your lights. Maybe better, by mine.”
He ignored that by rustling papers loudly. “You’re familiar with the process.”
“More familiar than I want to be. It’s like a skill transfer, but instead of subtracting or adding a certain ability, you work on a more basic level. Personality.”
“That’s correct. We excise or graft certain basic behavioral traits, give the patient a better set of responses to life problems.”
“A
different
set of responses.”
“All right.”
“It’s ghoulish.”
“No it isn’t. It’s just an accelerated growing-up process.”
“It’s playing God, making a man over in your own image. Or whatever image is stylish or rec—”
“You think I haven’t heard all this before, Leonard?”
“I’m sure you have. I’m sure you ignore it. You must be able to see that it’s different, being on the receiving end, rather than—”
“I’ve been on the receiving end, Leonard, you should know that. I had to go through a complete overlay before I could get licensed. I’m glad I did.”
“You’re a better person for it.”
“Of course.”
“That could be just part of the overlay, you know. They could have turned you into a slavering idiot and at the same time convinced you that it was an improvement.”
“They wouldn’t be allowed to. Overlay therapy is even more closely monitored than skill transfer. And you should know how many controls there are on that.”
“You’re not going to convince me and I’m not going to convince you. Why don’t we just get on with it?”
“Excellent idea.” He stood. “Come this way.”
Dr. Verden led him into a small white room that smelled of antiseptic. It held a complicated-looking bed on wheels and a plain-featured young female nurse who stood up when they came in.
“Will
Similar Books
