Re-Coil - J.T. Nicholas Page 0,11

were gender-adaptive. Their behaviors changed fluidly along with their biology, and they could find happiness regardless of the plumbing. Others were more gender-adamant. They had a firm mental image of who and what they were, and when they ended up in the wrong bio-shell, they suffered from mental and physical distress. Many of those folks had clauses in their policies requesting to stay archived until a bio-sex appropriate coil became available. The thought of volunteering to be archived made me shiver.

“Where are you?”

I tried to focus my mind back on the present, remembering the medtech trying to make sure that all my mental faculties were functioning. I nodded.

“Prospect station, in the medical facility. Do you know where that is?”

Stupid question. And still that edge. Not much to do but answer though, since my limbs still weren’t responding. “Near Venus.”

“And do you know who you are?”

Of course I knew who I was. What kind of question was that? “What… is… going… on?” I forced the words out, a low breath on each.

“Please answer the question. I’ll explain everything once I’m sure you are undamaged.”

Undamaged? I was in a brand-new coil, my old body, my old mind, dead and gone in a way that was, quite literally, unfathomable to the new me. What kind of damage could I possibly have suffered? Had something gone wrong during the re-coiling? I wanted to sit up, to pace, to express the frustration I was feeling with action. But my body still refused to respond to the signals from my brain, so instead, I grated, “Carter Langston.”

“Good, Mr. Langston. That’s very, very good.” His voice nearly sang with relief. “One final question, Mr. Langston, I promise, and then we’ll answer some of yours. Do you remember coming in here for backup?”

“Yeah.” I coughed, and it seemed to loosen something in my throat, since words began to flow easier. “More than two months ago, according to my agent. We were going out on a salvage run, so I made sure to back up. Now, what the hell happened? I should have been back in action after thirty days, max. It was in my policy, after all. And why all the questions? And where is my crew?” I tried to shout the last few words, but the muscle control failed me, and instead they came out as a strangled gasp.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any information on your shipmates, Mr. Langston. I’m sure if they are here for re-coiling, your agent will be able to assist you in that.” Too right, she could. I sent Sarah a mental command to track down Chan, Miller, and Harper if they were on station. “My name is Dr. Johnathan Parsons. I was assigned your case only a week or so ago, when the technicians had repaired as much of the damage as possible.”

“Damage to what?” I spat out. “I died, right? Isn’t that why I’m here?” Prospect had been the last station I’d backed up on, before venturing out with the Persephone. It was theoretically possible for a person to be re-coiled anywhere, regardless of where their last backup had taken place, but no one wanted to risk any kind of data loss in blasting petabytes of information across the cosmos.

“Forgive me, Mr. Langston,” Parsons said, and he actually sounded contrite. “I work in biology and genetics, but I do not do software well. Perhaps I chose my words poorly. When I say damage, I mean corruption.”

That word sent a spike of fear straight into the pit of my belly, and icy tendrils of it coursed up my spine. “Corruption? Are you telling me my fucking backup was corrupted?” A jolt of adrenaline dumped into my system and I sat bolt upright, throwing my legs over the edge of the table and bracing my arms against it, getting ready to push myself to my feet.

“Slowly, Mr. Langston, slowly,” Parsons said. He placed one long-fingered hand against my chest. There was barely any resistance, but it was enough to stop me from standing. “You haven’t yet adapted to your new coil. If you insist on throwing yourself about, you might cause yourself injury.”

“I don’t care about the damned coil. What went wrong with my backup?” Saying the words, even thinking them, twisted the insides of my new body, and I had to choke back the urge to vomit. People were supposed to be immortal. Even the poorest, uninsured saps were guaranteed backup and re-coiling. Sure, if you couldn’t pay your premiums, the