Uncopied

My name is Rowan Land. I have lived for two hundred and forty-six years. I was the one who discovered the growth of consciousness. I peeked behind the curtain. I wish I hadn’t.

The night is filled with the sound of crickets, wind, and the echoes of distant trickling water. I look out onto the pristine landscaping of my estate. The full moon illuminates the finely manicured foliage. The beautiful cherry blossom trees, the perfectly shaped topiary, the edged garden—all meticulously taken care of. All loved, cherished, and nurtured into their perfect state. A state pleasing to my eyes.

I usually go and enjoy the garden either early in the morning or late at night. It is the only time I will not see one of the unsightly workers. I pay them a fortune to keep this place looking as neat as it is, but sadly it takes an incredible amount of manpower and a tremendous amount of time. So I prioritize the times when they are not working to come and enjoy this expenditure.

I step down off of my dark walnut deck, starting my nightly stroll. The grass feels soft on the skin of my bare feet. I revel in the feeling of the blades tickling between my toes. It makes all the sacrifice for this place worth it.

I waltz about enjoying the sights, smells, and feeling of controlled nature. I work to clear my mind. To move on from the troubles of the day. Usually this works great for me to relieve stress and my frustrations, but it is not working today. My mind keeps working like a door spring, bouncing back and forth between topics, but it keeps returning to the comment Valistar made to me.

We had gone out on a venture to the capital to look at the newest designs of Void Vessels. We had toured one of the luxury ones that had multiple levels and amenities. Luxury spas, art rooms, full three-dimensional planetarium, and it even came with its own Pressman. Though after talking with the attendant and sales staff we understand that most of the new models are including a Pressman. Especially as our reach into the stars gets further and further.

“What if you get injured on your journey?” The sales rep asks, “I knew someone who was traveling to the Jovian region, intending to stop at Callisto, but their navigator miscalculated and they passed through a thick region of the asteroid belt. While they were taking evasive action my client had an accident that caused them to break their leg.”

“Oh no,” Valistar says with his breathy voice, staring at the salesman showing intense focus on each of his words. Valistar’s chosen body lately is tall. His limbs are wiry, his face a piercing beauty with deep-set eyes, a strong jaw, and a pointed nose. He stares down at the sales rep waiting for him to continue his story.

“Yes, she said it was excruciating. She couldn’t walk on it, and she still had months of travel time left,” the salesman continues his story with vigor, seeing Valistar’s intense focus on his every word. I can’t help but smirk at the sales rep’s obliviousness. Valistar treats every conversation like it is the most important he has ever heard. It’s part of his charm.

“Imagine if she had a Pressman on her vessel. Then she could have easily relieved her pain. Just print herself a new body then and there. But no, she has an old vessel and so she had to stay crippled and in pain for the rest of the journey. Worse, she had to arrive at Callisto and be seen with that unsightly wound.” The sales rep finishes his story.

“Oh, that would be awful,” I chime in. Valistar and I share a glance. We excuse ourselves after a few more minutes of the salesman telling us about more and more of the upgrades possible with the vessel. We explain that we are currently just looking but will be in the market sometime next year.

My attention returns to my garden as I continue to wander. I reach the stream near the edge of my estate. It is full this time of year. I was told that to make it, they had to divert a portion of water from a nearby river. I take small hops across the stones in the stream, then I’m on the other side.

I’m amidst a field of flowers. My favorite part of my whole estate. They’re called Night Lilies. Their flowers open at dusk turning toward the moon. The petals range from light pink to midnight purple but they appear to absorb the glow of the moon, shimmering slightly as they wave back and forth in the wind. When the day comes their flowers will close and their beauty will hide from the sun.

My thoughts trail back to my visit to the capital with Valistar.

As we left and walked around admiring the other Void Vessels, I knew we had had too much to drink because I could feel my tongue loosen. We giggled at the look of one of them as it was a bright green and rounded on all the edges. We called it space phlegm. The sales reps no longer approached us; we had taken enough of their time. It didn’t bother us though. Why should we, the Ageless, worry about what these plebeians think about us.

We left the showroom and stumbled through the pristine streets toward our transports. A crowded street felt empty to us. We, with our status, walked down a private sidewalk, one with noise dampeners surrounding the sides. Outside of the cocoon of our walkway we could see the bustling streets. Old vehicles rolling around, haggard and ugly people walking around in torn and ragged clothing. All toiling for their pitiless existence to fulfill some need they have been assigned to accomplish. Something I do not worry myself over thinking about.

We approached our rides: clean, sleek-looking transports. Mine was silver and dark blue, hovering silently off the ground. That was when our conversation went sour.

“Oh, your transport looks sleek. I forgot you purchased a new one just last year.” Valistar purred, “Mine is getting old. Look at its out-of-date hull.” He gave a nod toward his vessel. It had rounder edges and its colors were a vibrant orange with metallic blue accents around its curves.

I nodded. “Aye, it does reflect the colors that were popular a few years ago.”

Valistar turned his deep-set gray eyes toward me, an emotion flashed across his face for one instant. Too fast for me to decipher. “I agree,” he chortled, “But you’d know exactly what is outdated.” He slowly looked me up and down, taking in my whole body.

We said little more from there, both internalizing the other's comments. The doors to our seamless transports molded out from nowhere on their sleek hulls sliding up and out of the way while the vehicles tilted so that we could easily climb in with little to no effort. The doors slid back down, sealing us into the cabin. With no noise, the autopilots rocketed us our separate ways from the capital.

I shake my head as I near a large tree near the corner of my garden, my thoughts returning to the present. How dare Valistar lash out like that. Calling my body out of date! I seethe slightly at the recollection of our conversation. He is the one who commented on his transport. I merely concurred with his observations.

I shake my head angrily and run my hands along the large ancient oak. My fingers scraping against its rough bark. A tree that stood here before my garden. Before my estate. Before modern society.

We have mastered many things when it comes to animal and plant DNA and the growth of living things. We can engineer plants and animals that fit our every need. Ones that glow in the moon, ones that their aromas can take us on a trip in our mind, dogs that have the ability to walk on two legs with ease. We can speed the growth of animals and people, but we have not cracked the code to trees.

I don’t understand it. I never will. That is not in my purview.

I love this tree. I know its value. It was here before me. Trees live long, but they too have an expiration date. A time where they will wither and their light will extinguish.

I do not have such a time.

I make up my mind and return to my house. As I walk to it my mind is no longer drinking in the sights of my garden. I walk the path rather than wander through the foliage. I approach my home. This is one of my favorite homes. I had it designed attempting to blend in with the garden of my estate. The roof has one modern slant that turns into one point. It is covered in windows to let in as much light as possible, and it has a massive walnut-colored deck surrounding the majority of the home. The roof, deck, and walkways all have green plants growing and twirling in all directions.

I walk up the deck and into the home, the lights and doors responding automatically to my presence. Because it is nighttime, the illumination is dim and warm but still bright enough for me to clearly see my path. I make my way to the lower level, moving down floating stairs until I’m in a room where the entire wall is a screen. I sit in a chair and begin my research.

“No,” I grunt, “That one looks too apish.” I have worked for hours now. The artificial intelligence takes in my feedback and generates a new image for me to critique.

On the screen it creates a man. This one is tall, with long black hair, a strong chin, high cheekbones, a pointed nose, and green eyes. But his proportions look too slender for his height. “Can you bulk him up? Give him a bit more muscle?” I ask.

“Of course, no problem, just give me a moment to render those changes,” the feminine voice responds from the computer. It renders the image again. It is perfect. A handsome specimen. His face looks carved from granite; his thick hair falls to his broad shoulders with a slight wave to it, his nose comes to a point, his brows are full, and his green eyes stare blankly. His body is now a perfect athletic form.

“I think we’ve nailed it,” I exclaim in excitement. “Just one last change, make his eyes gold.”

The change is made. The image sits on the large screen. It is perfect. I haven’t taken this long to design my new body in ages. In fact, I’ve been in my current one for a year now. I walk over to the large mirror that adorns the wall near the stairs.

I stand and stare. This is the longest time I have stayed in a body since my youth. I have enjoyed the comfort this one brings. I am tall—I always prefer tall hosts— with short cropped blonde hair. I didn’t focus on a muscular build for this one; I am more slender. My face is round, my nose is sturdy, and my eyes are a kind blue. But it has been a while since I changed, and this body's muscles are beginning to weaken and layers of skin and flab droop over the edges of my pants.

Valistar was right; it is time for me to get a new body. To freshen things up. I know it is a big cost, but it is time. I can’t stay in this body forever.

I am giddy with the excitement of change. The first few days of a new body is always disorienting, but that is an easy price to pay for immortality.

I check the bio cartridge levels. They are getting low but I should have enough for one print in my Pressman. I tell the computer to begin printing the body. It will take a few hours. I have heard that the newer models of the Pressman have cut the print times in half and even use less biomaterials per print, but I am in no rush this evening, even though my beating heart tells me otherwise.

As I wait my mind can’t help but wander. To bounce against memories and scenarios that plague my mind. For some reason, this time I travel to when I first changed my body from my original. It was many years ago. I was in my thirties.

Pressman technology was new then, almost two hundred years ago. I was born to a single mother. We grew up in squalor. I never tell my friends of my upbringing. Many were born after the Pressman was invented and have only known this life, but I knew of life before humans cracked the code to immortality. Before we stretched our greedy fingers into the depths of space and tried our hand at being gods. Before humans began terraforming planets and moons. Before we had mastered the luxury of space travel into the depths.

Don’t get me wrong. I know there is much more for us to accomplish, the universe is big, but we are the gods of our solar system. We are the creators. We have taken the reins of life and control it to our whims. We plant it on the furthest planets; ones our kind used to believe were uninhabitable, but we have spread the disease of life to even the furthest of the frozen rocks.

But when I was a child we had only made it to the moon, and some even doubted that, calling it a conspiracy. I never doubted us.

I had a standard education, a public one. I was nothing special. I didn’t invent anything that changed the world. I didn’t build a business that grew to a giant corporation. I got lucky. I would never say this out loud, but I stumbled across my fortune.

I joined the company that invented the Pressman. I started on the ground level. Doing manual labor around their facilities. When they first started hiring, they couldn’t pay much, so they gave their employees stock in the company and as I stayed, my raises also included stock. I came in near the beginning of when they started. I was there when they weren’t printing bodies but were making bio printers for organs and other medical needs.

They exploded when they discovered the way to transfer consciousness from one body to another. I heard they attempted it with a brain-dead coma patient and with some rich investor whose body was failing them. He paid them everything he had to figure out how to move his mind to another body, and they succeeded.

Once that was discovered, bio printing became the next step. Finding brain-dead patients with bodies still in good shape whose families were okay with them becoming someone different was difficult and rare. So the next step was to create a host for human consciousness. I remember some attempted to move their mind to computers but the human mind couldn’t be reduced to ones and zeros. Humans are not binary; we are much more complex. The only host that could hold a human’s being, their whole consciousness, was another human mind.

Pressman made the leap first. They had already exploded with their discovery of how to transfer human consciousness, but their business growth was limited by hosts willing to accept the human mind. I remember clearly when they mastered growing the human body. The company celebrated. I was head of maintenance by that time. My wealth had already grown exponentially because of the stock I owned and their growth as a company, but as soon as they mastered printing bodies, as soon as they had a product they could sell, no other competition stood a chance.

The rich and powerful flocked to this new invention, to this discovery. Immortality, the only thing those types of people could not conquer was now within their reach.

I became incredibly wealthy. I still own that stock and have used it as leverage to grow to where I am today. Though the market is much different than when I was young. Money doesn’t work how it did in my youth. Everything now is run by status.

Name. Your name runs it all. Name gives you power. My name, Rowan Land, sadly holds little. People research my name and know how I gained my wealth. They know how I gained immortality, and it holds little value to them. They think I just rode on the coattails of giants.

I guess they are right.

It limits me. Limits my growth. I am frustrated. I have worked to try and further my reputation, but I have not been able to rise. The names who hold value in this world are the ones who hold the keys to immortality, to void traveling, to luxuries.

I only invested.

I am a freeloader.

I am still at the bottom, just like when I was a kid. Always the bottom. Always the manual labor. Always the grunt.

My frustration simmers. I look at the status of my new body. Eighty percent.

It has been an emotional day. My quarrel with Valistar has gotten me reminiscing. Something I usually kept myself from doing. It never went to a place that made me happy. Usually when I start down this mental recollection I find some virtual escape or sometimes a chemical one. But today, I’ve let myself simmer in it. Thinking of the past never leads to happiness.

With a muted and mellow dong, my screen lights up. The indication of a completed print. My heart skips a beat with excitement. I’ve transferred bodies over one hundred times, and every time I feel the thrill of change. The stimulation of transition. I move to check on my print.

My Pressman is an older model. It came out twenty years ago. The new models are sleeker, and blend in more with their location, as if people are hiding them. My version is still shaped like a large cuvette taller than me. Its glass is tinted so I cannot see inside. The corners are a translucent burnt orange. The base and the top are teal blue disks which house the printing mechanisms.

I go up and press my hand against the tinted glass. Small controls appear around my fingers. I swirl my pointer finger in a clockwise rotation and the tint on the Pressman lightens. I adjust the tint until the container is completely transparent and I can view the contents. I can view my future body.

Floating in the middle of the Pressman in a clear liquid is a humanoid shape, curled into a fetal shape. I tap with my middle finger and the shape straightens and I can easily see my new body. He looks just as I designed, minus the wire nodes attached to his skull. Those will be removed once I've transferred my consciousness to him. He is perfect!

I tap my ring finger. A green light from the right side of the cuvette illuminates into the tube. Its light shines through the liquid and the body. I can see into it. I can see through the tissue and see organs inside. I make a visual check at the same time as the Pressman scans making sure all vitals are good and healthy. It tells me with a soft chime and a light indicator on the glass that the body is one hundred percent formed. I designed the organs to play an ordinary role. They are all upgraded from standard humanity of course. I can eat what I want, drink as much as I want with little to no effect on my body. But nothing out of its normal purview. No gills added or adjusted skin regeneration.

I tap my ring finger again and the green light turns off and a blue light from the left side of the container switches on. This light shines through all tissue, including the organs, and shows the skeletal structure. This is where I did make some tweaks. I made the bone density three times as strong as my standard settings which I had already increased long ago. I also tweaked some of the flaws the human system typically has, making joints sturdier, tendons and ligaments more stable, and reducing risk for infection and disease.

Everything looks in order. I can feel my excitement rise. It is time for a change. Valistar may have pushed me to make this adjustment with his snarky comment, but I realize now that this adjustment was overdue. I’ve been in this current body for over a year now and I was beginning to notice the wear and tear. Sometimes when I woke up in the morning I had a slight ache in my lower back. Yes, this is going to be a good transition.

I press the button on the transfer case. It is a long tube lying horizontally. The upper half of the tube is a glass lid. That lid slides down parallel to the tube with a hiss giving me space to enter and lay down. The inside is covered in soft padding. I lie down, and with another hiss the lid slides in place over me. A feeling of dread and claustrophobia mix with my excitement, making a concoction that stirs the contents of my stomach.

I clench my jaw.

This happens every time. The mental leap from one body to another has always terrified me. There is a moment during the transfer when you can feel yourself untethered to a body. It feels as if you will float away. Like you will be lost and never find your way back. It is unsettling, especially since the immediate predecessor to this emptiness is the claustrophobic containment in the tube. The thought of the whiplash between extremes makes my head spin and panic begins to bubble inside of me.

I close my eyes and I swallow it down.

A numbing spray spritzes over my head. I feel the electric nodes gently burrow into my skull. Two embed themselves on the front of my forehead, piercing the skin and into a thin layer of bone. Four space themselves evenly on the top of my head. One digs in near the base of the back of my neck. I keep my eyes closed. Without the spray this would be excruciating.

I hear the hum of the machine as it works up the power to move my consciousness. I’ve been told it takes a tremendous amount of power, which is why it used to be unavailable on Void Vessels because they needed all the power for the craft. Seems they’ve solved that power issue. I must look up how they solved it once I am in my new body.

I am ready. Any minute now the machine will pull my essence from me and transfer it to the perfect body.

Any… moment… now…

A beeping noise I have never heard before begins to chirp outside of my tube. I sit still, wondering what it is. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to have them open as my consciousness is removed. I did that once and the image is still imprinted in my mind. But I never feel the pulling emptiness of being bodiless. I just keep hearing that beep. It repeats itself every few seconds.

I do not open my eyes. At least not until I feel the nodes in my skull pull out and retract from the wounds they made. That hurts. Even with the spray I feel them as they yank themselves from my flesh. I feel a warm trickle of blood as it leaks from the seven gouges. I cry out and open my eyes.

The image is distorted slightly through the round glass that is over my head. A red light is flashing outside of my cocoon. I feel panic rise like the tide of an ocean. It comes from the pit that was already in my stomach and wraps itself around my thoughts. My breath quickens into panting. With panicked movements I push up against the glass screaming. It opens with a hiss and I throw myself out, spilling onto the floor, gasping for air.

The beeping is loud now. Timed in harmony with the light, each announcing something, but I’m too busy choking on the ground. Finally I feel the fear begin to settle and push myself off the ground. The holes in my head are bleeding heavily and some of the red liquid is pooled on the floor. It covers my right eye and I try to wipe it out so I can see more clearly but all it does is smear and cover my hands.

I stumble to my feet, the world swirling, my mind racing, hysteria hanging heavy in the air. I squint at my large computer screen with my one good eye. It reads:

TRANSFER INTERRUPTED

ERROR 407: DESTINATION UNAVAILABLE

I’ve never received this error before. I’ve never heard of anyone having this issue. “What do you mean the destination is unavailable?” I yell at the AI interface, frustration mingled with hysteria still coursing through my veins.

“An error in the printed neural structure may be preventing connection. I recommend disposing of this body and printing a replacement before attempting the transfer again,” the sweet feminine voice of my AI assistant responds.

I shake my head angrily and grab a handful of tissues placed on the cabinets in the side of the room. I dab angrily at my eye, trying to clear the blood. My head is still leaking the crimson liquid heavily. I stare at the Pressman. Inside it floats what I thought would be my body. I guess it's now just garbage.

I don’t know what to do. Typically once my transfer of consciousness is complete, I am still in the Pressman. My old body remains in the tube and is siphoned to wherever they dispose, study, or whatever the company does with old remains.

Then the tank with my new body drains the liquid I would be floating in and the front panel opens and I am able to step out of the machine. But the Pressman didn’t drain, the body is still in there. I stare, moving closer to what was going to be my new body, dabbing at my head wounds. I really do love the design. I guess I’ll just figure out how to dispose of this and reprint. I could just throw this body in the tube and see if I can get it to remove the remains like it does with my old body. Something catches my eye. Movement. The body in the Pressman twitches. It was small. Maybe I imagined it? I shake my head, sending red droplets cascading in all directions. My goodness… head wounds bleed a lot. I continue to stare. Nothing. I must have been seeing things. Ok, how do I remove the liquid inside of the Pressman? I touch the glass on the front and the interface lights up. I scan through the settings looking for something that says drain. My focus is pulled into the settings, my eyes reading through the words. It catches me by surprise when the pounding starts. My gaze snaps from the interface looking around for what it could be. The sound of someone beating on glass. I step back from the Pressman, glancing toward the nearest window. All it shows is the brightening horizon outside. The sound isn’t coming from that direction. It is coming from the machine. The Pressman. I stare, mouth agape, heart bruising my ribs, a scream stuck in my throat. The body is moving. Its fists weakly hit against the glass. I back away, not taking my eyes off the scene. It moves, its long black hair flowing in all directions as my beautiful creation progressively hit harder and harder against the glass.

Like the sound of breaking ice, I hear the cracks as they begin to spiderweb across the surface of the Pressman. It hits again and again. It smacks with increasing strength, each hit lengthening the lines on the surface. Each flail becomes more and more panicked.

I step back instinctively, knowing what was coming. I can taste the terror as it hangs heavily in the air. Why is this body moving?

With a loud snap the glass shatters. The liquid inside gushes out, pulling the creature out and spilling it all over the floor. It hits the ground with a loud thump and the biotic fluid splashes and spreads, lapping up against my bare feet. It is warm and makes me shudder, but it doesn’t draw my attention from the humanoid on the ground.

It coughs and groans, spitting up the liquid it was just formed in. It has gouges in its skull identical to mine, and they bleed profusely, mixing in with the glistening bio fluid, pouring down his face and onto the floor.

A scream echoes around the room. It takes me a moment to realize that it is mine. I’m involuntarily backing away toward the floating staircase, trying to create distance between me and my creation. It doesn’t follow; instead it is wiping the thick liquid out of its eyes and mouth, then sticks a finger in its ear, wiggling it around.

I sprint up the staircase. There is no door to close. No way to lock it downstairs. No way to secure it. All I can hear is my blood pumping through my ears as I make it to the main level and run for the exterior door. I still can’t see out of my right eye and don’t notice the coffee table. My knee slams into it and I hear a sickening crack!

I fall sprawling to the floor, yowling in pain. It lances through my body and I lie on the floor, cradling my leg. The only thing keeping me moving is the adrenaline that saturated every cell of my body. I try to stand up but my right leg will not hold my weight. I look down at it and see that below the knee, it just dangles loosely. I collapse to the ground.

I throw up.

I lie on the ground crying, covered in blood, sweat, and now bile. Sobs rack my body and the fear begins to crush me to the floor. That’s when I hear it.

It sounds like loud stomping and dragging. I open my one good eye and look over to the stairs. I see it dragging its body up the stairs. It’s on its hands and knees and moves up like it doesn’t know how its body works. Its back legs are moving but don't seem to be working in conjunction with its upper half, as if it is an uncoordinated baby. It crests the stairs and starts toward me, half crawling, half dragging its body.

I start trying to move but I am immobilized with waves of exhaustion, pain, and dread. I can’t move. I just watch.

It pulls itself over to me. Once it is looming over me I peer up with my one good eye into its face. It is beautiful. Bloody and wet hair clings to its face, streaming down its cheeks. Its strong jaw is clenched and its golden eyes stare wide at me. In those eyes I see complete and utter… terror.

That’s when I notice its hands shaking, its jaw spasming, its legs twitching. It is terrified.

It speaks with a hoarse and quiet voice. “What is happening?”

I feel that last bit of my consciousness fade into black and barely feel as my head thuds into the ground.

I don’t know how long I was asleep… or passed out. I’m not sure what the difference is besides the method of getting to sleep. Either way. It must have been a while because when I awake, the sun streams in through my large windows. I still lie on the floor near the coffee table, blood and vomit smeared on the ground around me.

My body aches and my leg throbs with pain. I groan and glance around. My right eye won’t open, it feels like it is glued shut. My mind is fuzzy. It comes crashing back to me all at once, and my heart begins thudding like a sledge hammer in my chest.

The body… it… talked?

In a panic I scour the room with my one eye, but I do not see it. I notice that the room is torn apart though. The couch cushion is pushed to the side, lamps knocked over, decorations scattered on the floor. It looks like someone got madly drunk and tried to walk through the room, tearing anything apart they ran into.

Where is it?

I push myself to my knees and am painfully reminded of my injury. The throbbing intensifies as I gingerly pull myself to my feet. I can’t put any weight on my right leg. I lean heavily on my left and hop forward.

My mind reels. What do I do? Who do I call? Where is it? I don’t know what to do. Maybe I need to talk to a doctor? Get my leg figured out?

I shake my head. I’ll go and clean up quickly, then on the way to the doctor I can call the authorities and get whatever happened sorted out. I leave the large and luxurious, though torn-apart, living room and go down a back hallway that leads to my bedroom.

I hop in there and move to the bathroom where I voice command the shower to turn on in my favorite setting. The bathroom is large. One of its walls is covered in a large ornate mirror, and the other side is a large glass box. Water begins to pour from the ceiling in the glass box and the steam from it begins to rise and fog the glass.

I gingerly pull myself out of my clothes. I try not to gag at the blood and bile that cover both my pant legs and shirt. This was one of my favorite night shirts and there is no way I am ever going to wear it again. I guess I wouldn’t have either way because of the new body. I wince in pain as I work to remove the soft cotton pants. I thank the heavens that I was wearing my soft sweat pants and not my form-fitting denim. It would be awful trying to peel that off of my busted leg.

I pull myself into the shower and let the water hit my body. I relish the feeling of the warm water and the steam rises, creating a mist in the air that clings to all the smooth surfaces. My leg is throbbing and my mind is starting to spin with anxiety. What am I doing?

I’m hit with the realization of what I just went through and that I am now just sitting in the shower. I’ve got to let someone know. I saw a printed body move on its own. No… It did more than move on its own. It talked!

I need to let someone know. I have no clue who to call. Maybe just the authorities since technically it is an intruder. I turn off the shower and wipe the steam off the glass door.

It… he is standing in the bathroom – staring. He is dressed now, wearing some of my clothes. They don’t fit him. I made that body taller than my current one so the long sleeves of his blue button-up shirt are pulled up tight on his forearms. The buttons won’t close because of his bigger proportions so he leaves the shirt open. He is wearing tan dress shorts but they are much too short and tight against his thighs.

I scream. He jumps, startled at the loud noise. I move back into the shower but he doesn’t pursue me, he just raises his hands in surrender, his golden eyes are wide with fear.

“What do you want?” I question, my voice quivering.

“I don’t want anything,” he answers. His voice is deep and has an accent I can’t place but sounds similar to an old American southern accent.

“Who are you?” I follow up.

He stares at me for a long time then finally answers, “I was hoping you could tell me.” I finally take this moment and observe him. His face is fearful, his eyes showing his terror, his body trembling, his hands shaking, his breath coming in panicked gasps. This isn’t an intruder. This is someone who is lost.

My fear begins to ebb, “Let me get dressed and then we can talk.”

After getting all ready I painfully lead the body… or man… to the kitchen and we sit at the table on opposite sides of each other. I had to hop with my right leg still throbbing intensely. He is walking better now, but still wobbles like a toddler. I know the feeling. Every time I transfer bodies it takes a week or so to get used to the new proportions. Even the new emotions can sometimes throw you through a loop as you try to establish yourself.

He talks clearly though. His accent sounds just like someone from the old American south like the ones we hear in movies. I haven’t heard that accent since my youth, but after talking with him for a while I can confirm that is exactly what it is. Why?

“What do you remember?” I begin questioning.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes wandering around the kitchen as he recalls. “The firs’ thing I recall is waking up in that water. It was mighty terrifying. Sorry for making a mess of it.” he apologizes.

“So you were basically born yesterday?” I ask incredulously. “Then how do you know how to speak?”

The man just shrugs.

I shake my head. “Do you have a name?”

He shakes his head. “I reckon not.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, we’re going to call you…” My mind wanders trying to think of who his accent reminded me of. “Walton.” I settle on that, knowing he was an actor that my father liked. He watched a ton of his movies and shows.

He shrugs again, looking indifferent to the name.

“Do you have a family?”

Another shake of his head. Of course he doesn’t have a family. I printed him.

I rub my face. He’s like a well-spoken toddler. Doesn’t know anything and is no help, but he’s now here and he is now my responsibility. What am I supposed to do with him?

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say to him.

“What do ya mean?” he asks, his eyes still wandering the room. They widen with delight when they settle on something behind me.

I turn around in my seat to see what he is looking at. It is a double chocolate cake I had delivered yesterday. It was a treat I was saving for tonight. “You know what that is?” I ask.

He nods enthusiastically. “Cake,” he declares matter-of-factly.

“You like cake?” I ask.

His beautiful face scrunches as he tries to recall the information. “I don’t know… I think if I tried it I would like it. It's supposed to be good, in’t it?”

I shrug. I don’t have an answer for him. I don’t understand. He appears to have knowledge of things, but is lacking experience. Again the more I talk with him, he seems to just be a very smart, calm, and articulate toddler. He knows things but doesn’t know how to apply it or have an opinion on it.

“No one knows you’re here?” I mumble.

“Huh?” he questions, his eyes still transfixed on the cake.

“I wonder if this has happened to other people…” I muse.

I blink my eyes enabling my Neural Transmitter and connect myself to the link. I had disconnected yesterday, purging myself from the stress after having my outing with Valistar. The connection flares up immediately with almost zero lag and I see the notifications from communications I missed. I notice Valistar’s name but I push the notification to the back of my mind as I begin searching.

I type in the words Pressman and destination unavailable, the error I received last night. Items pop up on the search but none of them describe the circumstances I am in. I keep searching, peering through different articles and different error messages people and news articles have published about the issues with the Pressman.

One talked about how they moved themself to a body and found out it was deaf. Another talked about how they were transferred and their body had hormone issues that caused them to have horrendous food cravings.

Walton taps my shoulder. I jump, yanked out of my research. My eyes now focus on the reality in front of me.

“Where’d ya go?” Walton questions.

I sigh, “I was just looking something up.”

Walton follows the direction my eyes were looking and sees the ornately decorated wall but nothing else. He looks back at me confused.

I tap my head, “It's on my NT.”

Walton scratches his head and drawls out, “Okay… Can I eat yur cake?”

I nod and focus back in on the article I was reading from the Galactic Reader. Someone had experienced the same error and they did not transfer to the body. As I read further, the body did not come to life and have a consciousness in it. It was just an empty husk that they had to dispose of. I get excited to see someone else at least had a hiccup transferring. It is surprising that there aren’t many other stories. I look up the date. It was almost ninety years ago.

Frustration itches at my skin. I keep reading the article seeing how it was settled. I see something. Something that made a light bulb go off in my head.

They settled with Pressman. A settlement that set them up for centuries. My lip curls into a smile. Centuries!

I could finally further my position. With that type of money I could invest into something more prestigious. I could make a name for myself. I wouldn’t have to deal with the sly comments from Valistar. I wouldn’t even be in the same circles as Valistar anymore.

I know what I need to do. I click on my lawyer's contact and send him a quick voicemail forming the sentences in my head and the neural device puts it in my voice. I listen through it, change a few items, send it, and then I close out of my NT and focus back on my kitchen.

There has been a murder.

The chocolate cake was the victim.

Walton had taken it out of its box and had put handfuls in his mouth. Chocolate smeared all across the beautiful marble countertops. The dark brown frosting smushed through his fingers, clung to his chin, and even had streaks on his forehead.

“Walton!” I yell, anger billowing up in me like a torrent.

The printed man looks at me in complete terror. Half a bite hangs out of his mouth and his gold eyes wide in shock. I hop over, taking the remains of the cake and throwing it away. I then tell the AI to send for the help to come and clean up this mess. “Walton, go to the shower and get all cleaned up.”

He nods, and with his head hung low in shame, he trudges over to my bedroom leaving a trail of crumbs. I grumble and go to find my camera, wincing as each hop sends a jolt of pain up my busted leg. I’ll have to get that taken care of… but I can’t leave Walton.

I know my NT and my AI have recorded most of the incident with Walton, but I decided I wanted to get some high-quality photos of this creation.

I am going to be so rich. I’ll handle this quietly. I’ll have my lawyer send the photos and the story to Pressman. Then from there we can quietly settle this hiccup. If they don’t want to settle, then all I have to do is make the information public and I’ll get rich off the lawsuit and off the following I will get. It's a pretty simple plan.

The rest of the evening goes smoothly as I wait for my lawyer to get back with me. I help Walt get clean, and I show him a few things around the home. He loved the garden, even though it had the workers out there maintaining it during the day. I take a lot of photos of him. One with him smiling like a child as he touches the grass and flowers outside, one as his face scrunches when he gets a brain freeze while eating ice cream, and one where he cries after stepping on a roly-poly bug and smushed it flat.

Toddler… but it makes for gold photography. All I could think about was the potential payout. It makes me giddy and it was hard to focus on the moment. I figure by the end of the day I will hear back from my lawyer and we would have a game plan for how to move forward.

The end of the day is here and I still haven’t heard anything. I send a quick follow up to him before I settle and make a bed for Walt. I pull in couch pads from the living room and made a small pad on the ground near my bed. I don’t ever have company so I never planned a place for someone to sleep.

Walt looks at the makeshift pad in confusion as I climb into my king-sized bed. I have one made from cloud technology. I spent a small fortune on it, but when I lay on it, it feels like I was floating in one of the sensation tanks. I settle in with a sigh, ready for my day tomorrow.

Walt climbs in the bed and I click my tongue.

“No, Walt, this is my bed. That”—I gesture to the floor—“is your bed.”

Walt’s chiseled face scrunches in distaste. “Why do ya get the comfy one?”

“Because this is my home,” I state matter of factly.

“Then where is mine?” Walt asks, folding his arms across his muscular chest.

“Your what?” I sigh, finding a remote so I can turn on the news for the evening.

“My home.”

“You don’t have a home,” I state blankly as I cycle through the channels, my wall lighting up with the internal screen showing multiple tabs of entertainment open. I cycle through them looking for the nightly news.

“Is this my home?” he questions.

I shake my head, not even looking at him. I settle on the channel Sky News. It usually shares the more local stories focusing on this planet, not the news from around the whole solar system.

“No, Walt, this is my home. You are just visiting,” I correct, my eyes following the story of some protest happening in the city I had visited to see the void vessels.

“The protest against Pressman started as peaceful but later in the day…”

“Where am I visiting from?” Walt interjects, sitting on my bed and not following my instructions to get into his makeshift pad.

“What?” I ask distractedly.

“...riot forces were brought in to quell the aggravated crowds…”

“Where did I come from?” Walt asks, settling on his stomach with his head perched in his hands, eyes peering at me.

“I made you…” I say my attention split.

“...total of fifteen Groundbound citizens and one Ageless were killed in this riot…”

“You made me?” Walt questions slowly… sitting up, confusion spreading across his face.

“...this is the first Ageless death recorded in thirty years…”

An Ageless? Killed? Oh this is crazy news.

“You made me?” Walt reiterates, his voice gaining volume and pitch.

My attention is ripped from the screen as Walton stands up, pulling anxiously at his hair and pacing around the room.

“What do you mean you made me?” I can hear the panic in his voice.

I turn my full attention to him, my voice heavy with irritation, “I printed you. You didn’t exist before yesterday. I printed your body and here you are now?”

“What? Why?” Walt questions, still walking around the room.

I shake my head scratching at my scalp. “What do you mean why? I needed a new body so I printed you.”

“...perpetrators for these deaths are still at large. If you or anyone you know has any information…”

“A new body? I was your new body?” Walt asks. He stares at me in shock, his childlike reactions slowly becoming more and more fearful.

I look at him trying to understand his fear. Why are his hands shaking? Why is he acting this way?

“Who am I?” he asks again.

“...we believe violence was the intention of the group who started the protest…”

“You’re nobody!” I finally exclaim, my patience worn out. “You did not exist even two days ago. I’ve been alive for multiple centuries. You are a defect. I don’t even know why you are here and you’re not meant to be.”

I see the tears well up in Walt’s eyes. He tries to blink them away, but they don’t leave; instead they spill out and pour down his cheek. He turns and runs out of the room.

“...we believe the Ageless were the target of this group. They call themselves the Unclaimed…”

I feel a twinge of guilt. Something I have not felt for many years. It has been a long time since I have seen the open expression of pain. Years have removed the tenderness of emotion. The vulnerability of being hurt. I cannot name the last time I saw someone cry. I cannot remember the last time I cried. Guilt squirms in my gut, and I stand to go and talk to Walton.

But why should I feel guilty? Why should I feel bad for this being who isn’t even a person? I made him. He is mine and he is not real. He did not exist until I made it so. Why should I apologize? I rub my hand over my face and limp out the door.

I see Walton. He lies on the floor in the kitchen blood pulsing from a bullet hole in his forehead. Shock and awe freezes me midstep. I had not heard anything, not even the sound of him falling to the ground. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. Instead I feel a sharp pain in my neck.

My hand reaches up and pulls a needle from the meat of my throat just to the right of the Adam’s apple. The bottom of the shaft of the needle is a bright red and pompous fletching. My vision instantly goes blurry and my body feels heavy. The world turns sideways… no wait… I am on the ground. Through the haze I see figures in all black moving about. Then my world fades into nothing.

***

My head pounds. My leg throbs. The headache reminds me of a hangover. It's been a long time since I’ve drunk that much. Valistar and I used to drink very heavily at the beginning of our friendship. That is when we were still sorting out our bitterness for our stations. Neither of us has a prestigious name. We used to go around the city at night, stopping at some of the most scandalous locations, getting many drinks and other commodities to distract ourselves. That was years ago. Now my head feels like it was going to split but I don’t remember drinking. I don’t remember much.

I risk opening my eyes. The little bit of light in the dim room sends a wave of pain through my skull. I moan but take in my location. I’m sitting in a small, cold, cement room with one window. It is covered with a torn blanket and small slivers of light pierce into the room. There is one dark gray metal door and an identically colored chair sitting against the wall. On the other wall is a small laptop. I haven’t seen one of those in years. The last time I saw one, I was working my entry-level job at Pressman.

I notice wires coming from the computer and running up to my head. Nodes are protruding from my skull. I can feel them now entering into my skin. My head feels heavy. I also notice a small tube running from my arm and into a machine. A crimson liquid drips through it and the machine whirrs quietly and then another tube exits from the other side of the machine and runs back to my arm.

Is that my blood?

My mind fumbles over the information but before I have time to think through what is going on the door squeaks open and in walks a masked figure. He is a tall man with a skinny frame. He is in a dark suit with a black tie and a pistachio-green dress shirt underneath. A balaclava covers his face.

He drags the metal chair and places it with the back facing towards me. He sits down on it, straddling it backward with his arms resting on the backrest. His black eyes stare at me and he slowly pops each knuckle on his hand. I notice his hands are calloused and hard with dirt under the nails. Nothing like mine which are soft and manicured. These are the hands of a worker. The hands of someone who isn’t afraid to get them dirty.

“Rowan?” When he speaks his voice is warbled. I assume through some type of voice modification. When I hear him speak that is when finally the panic begins to pump through my veins. I am not secured to my seat, my hands are free, but I finally realize that I am not free. I am a prisoner.

I immediately blink to enable my Neural Transmitter. My interface does not come up. I blink again, trying to engage it. I try to focus on turning the chip in my brain on but all that comes in return is a twinge of pain. I wince and the pain runs down the back of my head and down through my spine.

“We’ve removed your NT device,” the man says. His distorted voice sounds like it has been raised an octave and manipulated to sound robotic. It also sounds bored.

I reach up and feel the hole in the base of my neck where the device had been implanted when I had the body printed a while ago.

“Where am I?” I manage to croak out. My mouth is dry and my throat does not cooperate, but the man seems to understand me because he nods without answering. Instead he asks me questions.

“When did you receive error code four-oh-seven?” His black eyes stare eerily.

“What?” I sputter, the world spinning as my heart rate ramps up hammering against my ribs and pulsing through my ears.

“Error code four hundred and seven, when did you see that code on your Pressman?” he repeats.

I blink slowly… “I don’t know what you’re—”

I scream as he reaches over nonchalantly, grabs a hold of my right pinky, and yanks it to the side with a sickening crunch. My little finger stays in the direction he yanks. I feel my whole body cringe and my stomach twists. It's not supposed to bend that way. My mind screams. I reach out and try to pull it back in place but I can’t… I can’t touch it. I look away and now I feel the pain. It mingles with the pulsing agony in my head.

“You have more fingers,” the man’s shrill voice says calmly. “I only have a few questions, but if you do not answer, I have lots of bones I can break.”

I nod my head and for the first time I realize I have tears pouring down my face. They shake off my cheeks like rain splashing off a window. A sob erupts from my throat but I suck it back in and moan out, “I got it the day before you took me.”

The man nods. “Was anyone with you?”

“My friend Valistar,” I lie. My mind races. I need him to think someone will notice if I am missing.

I see his brow furrow.

“Who else did you tell about this besides your lawyer?”

Again I try to think of who else I could tell that would be a layer of protection. I can’t think of anyone. I don’t have anyone. “The workers of my garden,” I state, knowing that they didn’t know about the error but maybe that would make them scared to do anymore harm to me.

The canyon between his eyebrows increases in depth. “Anyone else?”

I shake my head.

He stands up and the chair he was sitting on screeches as he pulls it back to the wall. He starts walking to the door.

“Wait, what are you going to do with me?” I wail, scared for him to leave.

He turns back and looks at me. “You will be searched and studied to understand why this error occurred. Then we will use you for further research to better the Pressman product.”

He works for Pressman?

“You can’t keep me here!” I declare. “They’ll notice I am gone!”

“Who? Who will notice?” he asks.

“Valistar, my workers, all the people I know.” I grasp for the names of people I know but my mind draws a blank.

“No one will notice and you will not be missed,” he states matter of factly. “Besides, we’ve already fashioned your replacement.”

With that last statement, he opens the metal door, and it closes loudly behind him. I hear the door lock.

All I am left with is the whirring of the machine and my thoughts. For some reason my mind wanders to Walt. All I can think of is that he is the reason I am here. He ruined all this.

He is dead.

NOTE FROM AUTHOR:

If you have some questions still after finishing this short story just know… this is one story in this universe. I intend to do a few more. Sign up for my newsletter so you don’t miss the follow up stories. Thanks so much for reading and supporting my work!