anything to have him myself,” he said in a low voice. “I’m the one best qualified to have him. Paul and I were a superb team, these last few years. Think how much better we’d be, working together in one mind!”
“I hope you’re joking, Mark.”
“Not really. Paul and I belong together. I know, I know, it’s against the law to transplant a persona to so close a relative.”
“Don’t forget that your uncle directly requested in his will that he not be transplanted to any member of his own family.”
“As though he didn’t know about the law,” said Kaufmann.
“Or as though he expected that someone like you would circumvent it.”
Kaufmann flushed. “But what are you going to do with him? Give him to Roditis? Put those two together and they’ll steal the universe!”
“Roditis can handle your uncle’s persona,” said Santoliquido. “He’s got the strong personality that’s necessary. What we must guard against is giving Paul to someone who’ll be overwhelmed. The host must always remain in command. Roditis would.”
“But he’s got no scruples. He’s nothing but an unprincipled buccaneer. And Paul was a principled buccaneer. Bring them into harmony and—”
“No decision has been taken,” Santoliquido said brusquely. “Do you wish to inspect the three potential personae your daughter has selected?”
“Yes,” Kaufmann murmured. “I might as well.”
Santoliquido opened an information line and uttered a request. Moments later three persona caskets clattered out of a delivery slot. Santoliquido inserted Paul Kaufmann’s casket in the same slot and sent it on its way back to storage. Then, turning, he said, “All these three young women died violently before the age of thirty. All three were quite beautiful, I understand. Risa had certain very specific anatomical and sexual qualifications, which of course we were able to meet, since the range of available personae is so great. To preserve the privacy of the dead, I’ll call these three simply X, Y, and Z. Thirty seconds of each should be enough to gratify your curiosity. Have you ever sampled a female persona before, Mark?”
“You know I’ve never done anything like that.”
“Of course. Of course. Well, it’s an amusing novelty. I often think our prejudice against transsexual transplants is foolish. If a man could incorporate at least one female persona, or a woman at least one male one, there’d be far less anguish in this world. But I suppose we’re not yet ready for that radical a step. And I suppose few people are really eager to allow their personae to come to life in a body of alien sex. Oh, they’d like to try it for a few days, but as for making it permanent—” As he spoke, Santoliquido was deftly inserting one of Risa’s choices into the scanning equipment. Once more the electrodes touched Kaufmann’s skull. He felt vaguely uncertain about doing this, but then he reflected that his exhibitionistic daughter would certainly not mind his peeking into her personae, and also that he had already spied on his daughter in many matters nearly as intimate.
The apparatus hummed.
“This is X,” said Santoliquido. “Killed last year in a power-ski accident at St. Moritz, age twenty-four.”
In the thirty seconds that followed, Mark Kaufmann learned a great many surprising things. He discovered what it was like to have breasts; he sampled the sensations of the penetrated instead of those of the penetrator; he felt the ebb and flow of feminine biology impinge on him; he scented a new perfume of flesh; he experienced the texture of his own smooth female body. He also generated an instant and electric dislike for the personality of the unknown X.
Giving him no pause for evaluation, Santoliquido said, “And now Y. Drowned off Macao last summer, age twenty-eight.”
More of the same: the slow throb of the flesh, the lazy tremor of vaginality. In his brief contact with the mind of the dead girl, Kaufmann ran imaginary
“I hope you’re joking, Mark.”
“Not really. Paul and I belong together. I know, I know, it’s against the law to transplant a persona to so close a relative.”
“Don’t forget that your uncle directly requested in his will that he not be transplanted to any member of his own family.”
“As though he didn’t know about the law,” said Kaufmann.
“Or as though he expected that someone like you would circumvent it.”
Kaufmann flushed. “But what are you going to do with him? Give him to Roditis? Put those two together and they’ll steal the universe!”
“Roditis can handle your uncle’s persona,” said Santoliquido. “He’s got the strong personality that’s necessary. What we must guard against is giving Paul to someone who’ll be overwhelmed. The host must always remain in command. Roditis would.”
“But he’s got no scruples. He’s nothing but an unprincipled buccaneer. And Paul was a principled buccaneer. Bring them into harmony and—”
“No decision has been taken,” Santoliquido said brusquely. “Do you wish to inspect the three potential personae your daughter has selected?”
“Yes,” Kaufmann murmured. “I might as well.”
Santoliquido opened an information line and uttered a request. Moments later three persona caskets clattered out of a delivery slot. Santoliquido inserted Paul Kaufmann’s casket in the same slot and sent it on its way back to storage. Then, turning, he said, “All these three young women died violently before the age of thirty. All three were quite beautiful, I understand. Risa had certain very specific anatomical and sexual qualifications, which of course we were able to meet, since the range of available personae is so great. To preserve the privacy of the dead, I’ll call these three simply X, Y, and Z. Thirty seconds of each should be enough to gratify your curiosity. Have you ever sampled a female persona before, Mark?”
“You know I’ve never done anything like that.”
“Of course. Of course. Well, it’s an amusing novelty. I often think our prejudice against transsexual transplants is foolish. If a man could incorporate at least one female persona, or a woman at least one male one, there’d be far less anguish in this world. But I suppose we’re not yet ready for that radical a step. And I suppose few people are really eager to allow their personae to come to life in a body of alien sex. Oh, they’d like to try it for a few days, but as for making it permanent—” As he spoke, Santoliquido was deftly inserting one of Risa’s choices into the scanning equipment. Once more the electrodes touched Kaufmann’s skull. He felt vaguely uncertain about doing this, but then he reflected that his exhibitionistic daughter would certainly not mind his peeking into her personae, and also that he had already spied on his daughter in many matters nearly as intimate.
The apparatus hummed.
“This is X,” said Santoliquido. “Killed last year in a power-ski accident at St. Moritz, age twenty-four.”
In the thirty seconds that followed, Mark Kaufmann learned a great many surprising things. He discovered what it was like to have breasts; he sampled the sensations of the penetrated instead of those of the penetrator; he felt the ebb and flow of feminine biology impinge on him; he scented a new perfume of flesh; he experienced the texture of his own smooth female body. He also generated an instant and electric dislike for the personality of the unknown X.
Giving him no pause for evaluation, Santoliquido said, “And now Y. Drowned off Macao last summer, age twenty-eight.”
More of the same: the slow throb of the flesh, the lazy tremor of vaginality. In his brief contact with the mind of the dead girl, Kaufmann ran imaginary
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