Read Online Counting Heads by David Marusek - Free Book Online Page B

boiled away on the robe in little puffs of steam.
    “Eleanor feels it best to tell you everything now,” said the chief of staff. “It’s not pretty, so sit back and prepare yourself for more bad news.”
    I did as she suggested.
    “They weren’t about to let you go, you know. You had forfeited all of your civil rights. If you weren’t the spouse of a Tri-Discipline Governor, you’d have simply disappeared. As it was, they proceeded to eradicate all traces of your DNA from the environment. They confiscated all records of your genome from the National Registry, clinics, rejuvenation spas, etc. They flooded this apartment, removed every microscopic bit of hair, phlegm, mucus, skin, fingernail, toenail, blood, smegma—you name it—every breath you took since you moved in. They sent probes down the plumbing for trapped hair. They even invaded Eleanor’s body to retrieve your semen. They scoured the halls, elevators, lobby, dining room, linen stores, laundry. They were most thorough. They have likewise visited the National Orphanage, your townhouse in Connecticut, the bungalow in Cozumel, the juve clinic, your hotel room on the Moon, the shuttle, and all your and Eleanor’s domiciles all over the USNA. They are systematically following your trail backward for a period of thirty years.”
    “My Chicago studio?”
    “Of course.”
    “Henry?”
    “Gone.”
    “You mean in isolation, right? They’re interrogating him, right?”
    The security chief said, “No, eradicated. He resisted. Gave ’em quite a fight too. But no civilian job can withstand the weight of the Command. Not even us.”
    I didn’t believe Henry was gone. He had so many secret backups. At this moment he was probably lying low in a half-dozen parking loops all over the solar system.
    But another thought occurred to me. “Our son!”
    The chief of staff said, “When your accident occurred, the chassis had not yet been infected with your and Eleanor’s recombinant. Had it been, the HomCom would have disassembled it too. Eleanor prevented the procedure at the last moment and turned over all genetic records and material.”
    I tried sifting through this. My son was dead, or rather never started. But at least Eleanor had saved the chassis. We could always try—or could we? I was seared! My cells were locked, and the HomCom had confiscated all records of my genome.
    The attorney general said, “The chassis, however, had already been brought out of stasis and was considered viable. To allow it to develop with its original genetic complement, or to place it back into stasis, would have exposed it to legal claims by its progenitors—its original parents. So Eleanor had it infected. It’s undergoing conversion at this time.”
    “Infected? Infected with what? Did she clone herself?”
    The chief of staff shook her head. “Heavens, no. She had it infected with the recombination of her genes and those of a simulated partner—a composite of several of her past partners.”
    “Without my agreement?”
    “You were deceased at the time. She was your surviving spouse.”
    “I was deceased for only three minutes! I was retrievably dead. Obviously, retrievable!”
    “Alive you would have been a terrorist, and the fertility permit would have been annulled.”
    I closed my eyes and leaned back into the chair. “Right,” I said, “what else?” When no one answered, I said, “To sum up, then, I have been seared, which means my cells are booby-trapped. Which means I’m incapable of reproducing? or even of being rejuvenated?” They said nothing. “So my life expectancy has been reduced to—what?—another forty years or so? Right. My son is dead. Pulled apart before he was even started. Henry is gone, probably forever. My wife—no, my widow—is having a child by another man—men.”
    “Men and women actually,” said the chief of staff.
    “Whatever. Not by me. How long did all of this take?”
    “About twenty minutes.”
    “A hell of a busy