The remaining weeks before the implantation surgery flew by instantly, all merging into a blurry picture, the one you see when riding a carousel – the whole world becomes a surreal canvas with multi-colored spots. One spot is the day of the medical tests. Another spot is the injection of the nanites into the bloodstream for unhindered scanning of the state and condition and the ability to react in time to changes in the formula composition or other health indicators. Another spot is the general meeting and the first briefing on the implantation. They were ordered to start a clinical diary, some sort of a mood tracker, where subjects to surgery were to put text, audio, video, graphic, or at the very least a symbolic note describing the last day before going to sleep. Besides, they never get tired of reminding the subjects how important it is to maintain good physical shape, comply with healthy eating principles, starting with now – the first introductory lecture to... well, the extreme far point was not specified, but everyone already understood that now they can't hang out with tonic and chips. Finally, the project supervisors announced that each participant would be assigned a personal mentor. First subjects were to be mentored by top-rank specialists and later on, they will assign the responsibility to those from the graduate students of the seventh building. Further, the task of the subjects is to report all doubts, thoughts, and feelings immediately to their mentors.
The grass that carpeted the forest trail muffled the sounds perfectly, camouflaged the steps' rustle. Chris didn't know how long he had already run, but he stopped perceiving the music pouring into his ears for a long time. Seven kilometers, or ten... probably around that. Gradually emerging from deep thoughts, he began to slow down until completely shifted to a walking pace, steadying his breathing. The blood pulsed a little noisy in the temples, the tension still wandered throughout his body. Usually, Chris did not set himself the goal of speed, and now he felt clear overwork and tremors in the muscles of his legs. Shaking his wrist, he glanced at the screen, estimated the distance. In theory, his current spot is somewhere halfway from the research complex and the largest city on the island – Byron's Bay. If you take the right, you'll go to the cliff, from where an unimaginable view of the bay opens, in which the city is settled. After hesitating, he nevertheless turned around and with a calm pace walked back from where he had arrived, taking out water and plunging into thoughts again.
Warm and humid tropical air filled his lungs. Turning off the music, the young man walked through the woods, winding between the trunks along a somehow distinctive path, where students liked to jog when they got tired of the gym treadmills. It was getting darker, a haze had to fall on the forest; the surrounding area was filled with rustles and buzzes, in addition to those created by parrots arguing in high tree crowns. There was nothing to be afraid of in the forest, the islands were safe and suitable for human habitation, and dangerous species were brought to settle in less populated areas under strict control.
The band vibrated and gave a reminder for dinner. So it's six o'clock already– the deadline to eat one last time before tomorrow's event. Chris prepared for this when he went for a run; he stopped, took a thermo-flask of pureed soup from his backpack, and sat down under a nearby tree.
Eighteen hours to go. Was this enough to get enough sleep and rest, or is he going to have another sleepless night? How can one force them to drop all worries? Chris was amazed at himself because for the first time he was let down by his vaunted calmness and self-control. Yet honestly, why the anxiety? What's the point in fearing for tomorrow? The first implant surgeries went smoothly, led by Erzketau-kri and four more surgeons in the wings. He was responsible for setting up the robotic manipulators performing the operation, scientific advisor Rangira-kaia replaced him in front of the monitors when he was away to check how things were going in the second and third operating rooms, where professor Shirokawa and Dr. Thakur were in the lead. The first was entrusted with three pioneers – after the surgery, he will be their coordinator. Ivan and four other seniors were also allowed to observe, control the temperature regime, get used to the command, and prepare overtime to take postoperative patients under their care. Fourteen days without complications with clearly progressive positive indicators of general condition and return to preoperative state.
The first implantation began at noon and lasted three and a half hours. By about five in the afternoon, all three: Sandro and two guys from other faculties, Ronnie Cooper and Bert Kurtzman, were transferred from intensive care to the regular ward, and a week later they were released to their dorm. Of course, they will now be observed 24/7, but, nevertheless, all three regained consciousness, came to their senses normally after anesthesia, and everything is just as normal for them to this day; since rejection with necrosis did not start in the first days, the coordinators did not worry. Therefore, the second group of subjects, which included Chris, will undergo surgery, as planned.
Above his head, an inspecting drone hovered in the branches, lowered the camera's eyepiece on Chris with a characteristic quiet click, and discharged into the thicket. It seems that someone said that a new flock of either hummingbird flock or not hummingbirds settled here in the forest... probably they want to establish their precise nestling location.
After finishing his early dinner, Chris dusted off his outfit and continued on his way home. On the floor, he met fellow students; they waved their hands with enthusiasm and vied with each other wishing good luck for tomorrow. Chris involuntarily smiled, shouted "thanks" in return, and went into his studio. As soon as the door was back in place, he again felt a slight tremor in his knees. Because of the workout or...? He took a deep breath, exhaled. Stress was strictly contraindicated on the eve of the operation. Decent sleep, healthy eating, exercise, and exemption from any educational obligation. As if, it was enough to calm the nervous tension.
After taking a shower, Chris drank a glass of water and fell onto his bed. Today he will sleep, right now, he will lie down and fall asleep, and he made this auto-training, closing the night blinds. Oddly enough, it worked. Although the morning alarm clock worked because Chris had forgotten to turn off the program for the third day already. Without opening his eyes, Chris muttered two commands to the AI: to postpone the signal for two hours and remove the daily wake-up setting until the circumstances were clarified. Then covered his head with a blanket and dozed off again...
He swam in weightlessness, softly and smoothly, as if swinging on warm waves. It was dark all around, but from one side, slightly to the left and from above, a light came through. It was quiet, but he seemed to be immersed in some kind of noise, something shushed, and sometimes gurgled, and there were no more sounds. He soon realized that he was underwater; the light approached illuminating the bluish surrounding space, twitching as it swayed; a liquid filled with bubbles that curled in front of him and on all sides. He reached out to catch the bubble. The stretched hand was so small, pale, with tiny fingers not yet completely formed. The hand appeared to be more interesting than the bubbles, so he brought it closer to his eyes to inspect. Small, webbed; and how will he be able to use instruments with such a small hand?
"Chris," someone muffled, "My Christie, I love you, I love you so much..." an unfamiliar, melodic voice calming and soothing with every word. Who called him?
Suddenly he saw a different picture – everything is still dim, the water stretches as far as the eye can see; the sea, or a dark pool without a bottom or edges, the sun rays penetrate the surface from above, and in the center – a small creature resembling a mammalian embryo, drifting in a stream of tiny bubbles.
Chris opened his eyes wide as if someone had pulled him out of his sleeping state. It was fifty past eight; the alarm will start playing in ten minutes. He lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what he had dreamed but failed. Although, he felt like it was something he had already seen or felt or was in the place that he had literally just left. Well, if this is something important, then it will come back to Chris either in a dream or in reality. He noted with satisfaction that he felt well slept and rested. On this joyous note, he jumped out of bed and went to the bathroom unit. Having plugged the drain, Chris took some time to soak in a cramped tub, while checking the mail. While he slept, about thirty people contacted him by mail and chats: his friends, fellow students, and dorm neighbors, and even Professor Shirokawa, they all left best wishes for today. The most recent one was from his newly appointed mentor, the notorious Dr. François. In her message, she wished him a pleasant morning and said that she will be expecting him to prepare for the surgery no later than fifteen minutes past eleven at the reception of the seventh building. This means, he only has two hours. Well, maybe even better, less time sulking on a non-existent problem. Thanking everyone who wasn't indifferent to his fate, including his mentor, he became thoughtful, trying to imagine what it would be like to work with her. Either way, the experience will be interesting.
After spending some half an hour in the bathroom, Chris decided that there were ways to spend time usefully. He quickly finished with hygiene procedures, rinsed all down, and went into the living room. Having sat down on the sofa he opened Shirokawa's lectures, reading which he spent the rest of his free hour.
Arriving at the meeting point, that is, at the reception of the seventh building, the young man was glad to see that he was not alone too early; Steve and Carey were already waiting. The guys smiled and waved at him. Chris decided it would be okay to go and sit with them.
"Hi Steve, Carey."
"Hi," the guys replied simultaneously.
"Had a bad dream?" Steve asked.
"No, I wouldn't say so," Chris shrugged.
"You look lethargic," Carey nodded as if confirming Steve's words.
"It's okay," Chris nodded firmly. "And you? I bet you can't wait?" How could they not, Chris thought. Why, otherwise, they were ones of the first applied for the surgery?
"Yes, sure! See, I even have goosebumps!" Steve confirmed Chris's thoughts. "I rushed here half an hour ago!"
Carey and Chris giggled. The guys continued the conversation, which was interrupted by Chris's arrival. Of course, they discussed the implantation, the most vividly discussed topic after the first operations, and the three guys who were the first to go through it became practically local heroes.
"And the mainland is not in a hurry to sign up for it," stated Steve.
"Well, it's one thing to be here, in the center, and keep abreast of all developments, as we do. And the whole different story is when you're living and working outside, having long forgotten that once became the result of an experiment. When suddenly it's all in the news: the Phase-II launch, implantations and all this advertising propaganda of the Coalition," Carey snorted, "Personally, I'd prefer to sit out for a couple of years until I'm sure that the phase is going smoothly."
"Yes. What do you think of this François? We didn't have any subject with her, did we?" Steve thoughtfully scratched his nose. "Does she teach at all, or is she only busy in the scientific department?"
"She is in the medical...," Chris did not finish, because at that very moment Madame François appeared from the main corridor and, looking around the room, exclaimed and moved towards them with a sweeping brisk step.
"Salute, gentlemen!" She walked over to the young men who had jumped to their feet in the very instant and enthusiastically shook everyone's hand. "How glad I am to finally see and greet you! We will have a great time! Follow me!"
All three, quickly exchanging glances, followed Madame into the bowels of the building, to the elevators, then along a wide, bright corridor that branched off into new ones, leading to different laboratories and offices. Even considering how much the average life expectancy of people had increased, for a woman of seventy, Madame Marie was a little too energetic, cheerful, and jumpy. She called out to everyone, whomever they met along the way, and loudly boasted, "Look at my cuties here!"
The three students kept up as best they could, trying not to stare around so as not to attract even more attention to themselves than they received with a nudge from Madame.
"Here we split up," she said gravely, stopping at the wide doors on the fourth level. "Operating room number three – Carey Nixon." She jabbed her finger behind her back at the door, obviously meaning that this is the operating room for Carey. "Come inside, take off your clothes, there the assistant will explain everything, and I will put the guys to their room, start with them, then will return to you to get under your skin, darling."
Carey nodded and disappeared through the door, and a group of three moved down the corridor. After a minute, they parted ways with Steve, who entered the operating room number two.
"You have no clue about how glad I am to meet you, Mr. Newman, have you?" said Dr. François as they walked to the first operating room. Chris looked up inquiringly at her, but had no time to ask; before him, "his" door swung open. "I'm sure there will be incredibly exciting conversations ahead of us, but this will have to be postponed. Come in."
Behind the door there was a preparation room, lined with tables with monitors, cabinets with tools and other inventory, equipment; immediately to the left was a sterilizer booth, and another door in the front.
"Let's get started. Take off your clothes," she commanded; walking up to one of the cabinets and taking out an airtight bag, "put this on, and then go into the booth," she waved her hand in the sterilizer's direction.
The black thing in the bag appeared to be elastic tight briefs.
"Yeah, those are a necessary means of protection when using an exoskeleton by humans, so that nothing gets pinched or sticks out. Zirks doesn't care, they have everything sewn and hidden in the skin folds if non-erect, you know," the doctor commented cheerfully.
Chris, blushing, did what was told, trying to keep up with her enthusiasm and figuring out how to behave with this... this person... so different from all the people he knew, too straight and frank.
"Yes, I'm sure I read something about it," he could only squeeze out of himself, entering the sterilizer, closing his eyes and holding his breath.
"Okay, now get on with your pajamas." Chris caught the object thrown into his hands. "Do you know what to do with this?"
Protective armor converter or exoskeleton as it was usually called on Earth is a development of zirks, originally used in aerospace engineering. Simply put, it was a spacesuit, or rather, a spacesuit for space travel was the prototype of all subsequent converters that zirka and sometimes people developed and used over time. It was assembled and looked like nothing but a polycarbonate rectangular. The device ought to be fixed on the forearm, and after activation, it had to unfold and cover the whole body with a thin shielding armor with various characteristic properties, depending on what purposes it was configured and designed. On Earth, they were most often used in hazardous industries, firefighting, in medicine; Chris dealt with them a couple of times when he was diving.
Upon launch, this armor unfolded, covering Chris just like a second pale green skin from head to toe, leaving only the oval of his face exposed. Madame came up, looked behind Chris's back, probed his armpits, here and there, making sure everything was tight, then tucked the tip of his bangs under the tight "hood", took Chris's hand where the control panel was fixed, lifted it higher and turned the device to face her to complete the armor adjustment.
"Let's see. Mei, PAC settings, full access to the right hand," the armor peeled off from Chris's fingers upwards, exposing the shoulder joint. "Great, this is so that we can stick needles into you." Chris shuddered. "Access to the lower abdomen for the pelvis surgery. Higher, up to the chest. Yes, oh, good heavens, oh, yes!" the doctor sobbed hysterically, biting on a lip and Chris could swear that she blushed so much that he wouldn't be surprised to see the steam running from her ears or at least blood from her nose. "I've been spamming the department with these sketches for thirty years so that they approve the everyday uniform for boys!" She murmured reverently and then burst out laughing. "Mei, cancel the last command, yeah, that's perfect."
Chris took a deep breath, he definitely did not understand this woman, but she was fun. He tried not to look at his "outfit", having understanding without that what he looked like, and feeling utterly grateful to the head of the department for not bending over thirty years. The doctor hung her robe on the back of a chair, remaining under it in a white exoskeleton, went into the booth in it, then took an eardrop from the table, inserted it, and beckoned Chris to follow her into the next room.
They entered a rather small room. Inside there were gurneys, drip stands, defibrillators, but Chris merely registered the appliances, since all his attention was captured by the view through the wide window on the wall opposite the door. Behind the glass were the operating room itself – a huge, bright room filled with people, zirka, and equipment. In the center, there was a table under a surgical lamp, surrounded with the manipulators ready to launch, tightened in protective covers, near which senior surgeons in white exo-armor and assistants in mint ones were scurrying about. In total, there were about eight humanoids in the room. Chris thought that this was a bit too much, given the robotic nature of the process, but it wasn't in a position to decide.
"Okie-Dokie, we're set! Erzketau-kri is in charge, as usual, sets up the manipulators and checks the parameters for the one hundred and thirteenth time," she rolled her eyes as if such meticulousness was something unnecessary, "it's time we proceed... Oh," she smiled widely turning to the window, "Mr. Commander-in-Chief, are we already airing? Ha-ha, whoopsie," obviously, kri told her something that only she heard in a drop. "My bad, we're ready. Chris, get on the gurney now."
(Hmm, this is hardly the person who can be chastised for insubordination..., – he thought, – Mr. Commander-in-Chief... whoopsie?)
Moving his legs with an effort, Chris reached the gurney and sat down on it. The doctor patted his cheek, nodding him to lie down. Moving away from him, she opened a drawer and returned with a mask-respirator in her hands, and rolled up the oxygen supply device.
"Raise your head; I will let you breathe for a while. We'll inject the main anesthesia when you're asleep," Doctor Francois very gently, almost weightlessly, passed the mask through his head and fixed it on the lower part of his face. Clicking on the sensor, she smiled at the young man, tucked his bangs again, stroking his forehead. "Hey, you're kinda chilly! What is it, kid, you're trembling or what?" She put her hand to Chris's cheek, looking into his eyes, while he tried to reassure her without the words that she'd not worry about him. He couldn't say it properly not just because of the mask, but his jaw locked with tension. "Don't fret, our Yoda spent two years training to transplant mice uterus and extract them in thirty seconds at the first ECR jump in the blood!
"Yoda?" Chris could not suppress the urge of asking, which made the sound dull and muffled, but Madame understood him.
"The greenie!" she explained.
Chris chuckled nervously, watching as the doctor, without an ounce of shyness, coquettishly waved her fingers to someone behind the glass, and for some reason, he thought he knew who this gesture was meant for.
"Sleep well, Mr. Newman, I'll see you on the other side."
Chris wanted to go into explanations, to assure Madame that it wasn't a fear of the surgery or of possible complications, inflammation, etc. But basically, that, having made this modification, Chris was most afraid of the fact that he had no idea how this will affect him, no idea whether he will be able to remain what he was before today, and if not, whether he will be able to live on being the one whom he will become. However, before he even had time to think of the phrase to the end, he realized that he was rapidly passing out.