60

The place was called Precision Chaos, and it lived up to its name.

Address in hand, Teresa found the factory not long after daybreak. It had been a long time, and she knew intellectually that her chances were slim, but her heart refused to give up hope. Perhaps soon she would have her own body back, go home, and be herself for the first time in years. She wondered what it would feel like. Despite her hardships and losses, her life had always contained a wellspring of hope. Always hope.

In the city’s high-tech manufacturing district, the buildings were less ornate, more functional. Even the wet freshness of the previous night’s rain could not mask a sharp, sour odor of industrial processes that pushed the limits of the emissions regulations.

Precision Chaos was a high-tech cottage industry, privately owned by a tightly knit group who had invested in their own equipment. They had been in business for only a few years, but seemed to be prospering.

With the ever-increasing demand for services and capabilities, COM was constantly in need of additional resources to incorporate with the new brainpower. The computer/organic matrix redesigned itself, increased its speed and complexity as it adapted to fill the needs of society. Like similar independent groups, Jennika and her business partners cranked out expansion chips and memoryware for installation into the voraciously growing network.

Still early, Teresa wandered into the facility and began looking around tentatively. Since she wore Eduard’s recovered body, no one would recognize her, not even Jennika, if the runaway even remembered anything from her long-ago Sharetaker days.

Precision Chaos was an open working environment; desks and COM terminals and lounge areas shared space with industrial machinery shielded by sound-dampening fields. The chill air smelled of burning metal, etching chemicals, packaging materials. Dozens of workers moved about operating machinery or manning conveyor lines and shipping outlets. Some spoke into COM screens, others logged productivity reports or sales manifests.

Teresa used the awkward moment before anyone noticed her to glance around for her body: the auburn hair, the delicate face, the fascinated eyes. She wished she had brought along the framed sketch Garth had made. It had been so long since she’d seen her own face, her own form, she wondered if she would even recognize it. Most of the employees of Precision Chaos seemed to be women . . . but still not the right woman.

A tall ebony-skinned worker spotted Teresa and approached, pulling red goggles from her eyes. She ran a gloved hand through a black brush of sweaty hair. “What can we do for you, sir?”

Teresa looked at her, looked past her. “I’m trying to find . . . Oh, I hope you can help me. Does someone named Jennika work here?”

The woman’s deep, dark eyes bored into her, assessing her, trying to put a name to Eduard’s face. “Yeah, I’m Jennika.” She offered no other help, waiting to learn what this visitor wanted.

Teresa stared at the powerful black woman with high cheekbones and firm lips, and her heart sank. “Oh. You’ve changed bodies.”

Eyebrows lifted. “We always change bodies. We do a lot of work around here, take shifts.”

Teresa drew a deep breath. “No surprise, I suppose. I’m not in my home-body, either. Not anymore.”

“You want a job?” Jennika narrowed her eyes, critiquing Eduard’s form. “We could probably use you around here, if you’re interested.”

“No . . . no.” She fumbled for words. “I used to be with the Sharetakers—and so were you.”

Jennika flinched as if she had swallowed a thistle whole. “The Sharetakers? Those assholes.”

“You left the enclave—”

“I got smart. Rhys was a parasite.”

“I know,” Teresa said. “Do you remember me? Someone named Teresa?”

“Teresa?” She pursed her lips. “I try not to think about those days. It’s better for my digestion.” Jennika gestured with a gloved hand to the bustling factory. “The Sharetakers had the right theory about working together, but no clue about equitable implementation. Here, my partners and I forged a mutually supportive relationship. This is what the Sharetakers should have been like, if they’d really wanted to work together.”

Teresa drew a deep breath, her heart pounding. “Jennika, when you left the enclave, on the day you went off . . . you, uh, you were wearing my original body.”

Jennika let the red goggles dangle from her neck. “Could be. About the only thing I kept from those days is the habit of hopscotching more than most people. We use whatever physique is most appropriate for our assigned duties. Everybody does the work that’s required, and we share in the profits. Believe me, Precision Chaos has seen plenty of profits already, and we’re still growing.”

Teresa would not allow her hope to flag, not when she was this close. “So, do you know where my home-body is now? I’ve been trying to locate it for a long time.”

Jennika shrugged. “If I did come here in your body—and I honestly don’t remember—then I’ve bounced out of it many times. It’s been years.”

“This is very important.” Teresa tried to control the pleading tone in her voice. “I need to find it. I need to have it back.”

Jennika appraised her skeptically. “If that physique is healthy, we’d be happy to trade. We’ve mostly got female forms around here, and could do with an extra man—and not just for the work itself, if you know what I mean.”

“Is my home-body here, then? Can we find it, do you think?”

Jennika removed her thick gloves and tucked them into the wide pockets of her jumpsuit. “Come on, let’s do some digging.” She marched to an unattended COM terminal and called up the company records. “Refresh my memory on what you looked like.”

Teresa told her every detail she remembered. The ebony-skinned woman scrolled through image after image. “We keep careful track of the people, you understand, but the bodies are pretty much interchangeable.”

“Not to me,” Teresa said. Finally, a familiar image flashed up on the screen, the face she had grown up seeing in the mirror. “There! That’s the one!”

Jennika accessed records, skimming words, then frowned. “Not good.” She double-checked, but got the same answer. “Licia was the last person inside your body.”

“What?” Teresa tried to keep her heart from sinking. “Where is she now? What happened?”

Jennika looked back into the industrial area full of machinery. “Some of our equipment is dangerous. Even with the required safety interlocks, you can’t get rid of all the risks. Licia was operating one of our high-speed pattern imprinters for memory-expansion manufacture, and a seal failed in the containment chamber. She got caught in a cloud of highly corrosive vapor.” Jennika set her face in a grim mask. “It wasn’t pretty.”

“She died? My body—” Teresa stood frozen, then her shoulders—Eduard’s shoulders—slumped. She collapsed into the nearest chair.

The other woman’s voice grew stern. “Hey, I apologize, but we lost Licia in that accident—a valued coworker and our friend. Nobody paid much attention to what body she was in when she died. I’m sorry for you, but we lost more than you did.”

Teresa heard no more of the woman’s explanation. Surrounded by the industrial noises and smells of Precision Chaos, she sagged in the chair. Her senses grew numb, and the world blurred as tears flowed from her eyes.

Everything Arthur had told her, everything that had rung so true, was now lost. Her original form was gone forever. Her soul could never return to its rightful place.