The Choice: Silver and Gold

The normal situation was that you had the Choice. It was yours; indeed yours as a matter of right.

Roger had not been given much of a choice. Actually he had not been given any choice in the matter at all; there had not been the time. Roger had not known a thing about it, not until he awoke and felt different, actually really quite different. He had been eighteen at the time. Any younger and the Choice would have been made the other way, another few years older and it would have been up to him to choose. Only he would not have had the time to make the Choice. In being only eighteen he was lucky. In every other respect he had been unlucky.

Having to make the Choice at less than your one hundredth birthday is normally rather bad luck.

Of course, that was years ago. Roger had got used to what had happened, had accepted and made the most of it. Yes, he regretted the lost years of life, mourned his birth body, but he was naturally cheerful, resourceful and a person who made the most of a situation. He had got on with life: or what had a strong resemblance to what had been his life.

Roger stood and looked out over the structures and interconnected buildings making up the mining complex. It was not a bad looking place and he had got used to it, which was just as well as it was to be his home for the next ten years at least. His original home was a very long way away.

Roger's job was what could have been called Head of HR for the Complex. It could have been called that, but it would have been inaccurate. Certainly he dealt with resources but they were not really 'human' resources. They had been human once, but that was before they made the Choice. It was similar in many ways to the job that would have been covered by a head of HR in the twenty-first century, but it was different. There were no hirings, firings, very little sick absence (and even that was different - nobody was 'sick' whether that term meant ill or, well ill: but there was damage to be repaired) and actually not too much conduct and discipline. The job did entail promotions, training, remuneration including accommodation and the like. It also included personnel records and control adjustments.

Roger turned back from the window to the girl sitting opposite him. To a twenty-first century eye she looked a normal healthy girl in her twenties, assuming, that is you, accepted the silver colour of her skin. To say she was a robot would not have been completely inaccurate. Equally, to say she was an android and living would not have been totally correct. The distinction between the mechanical and the biological had become an overly simplistic distinction by the twenty-third century. What was undoubtedly true was that she was sentient, a person and had been born of woman. It was just that things had changed rather a lot for her since then.

Mankind in the twentieth and twenty-first century had had great dreams of travelling across the vastness of Space, boldly going where no one had gone before. The technology to travel had proved up to the job: people had not. Maintaining a biological person in a spaceship, and on other planets, had proved extremely difficult, albeit not impossible, just extremely difficult. The basic sanitary requirements were a major problem, both the very personal ones as well as simple washing; even the problem of the dust from skin flaking as it renewed and hair falling out caused major difficulties. Sending machines, robots to the stars, as advocated by some did not have any spirit of adventure or progress. It seemed a sterile activity, a very poor second best to sending people to the Stars. The solution came when it became feasible to map and accurately copy a human brain. It became possible to lift someone out of his or her head and put the memories, personality, everything into a synthetic equivalent. Naturally there were ethical problems, indeed very, very big ethical problems. It was possible in theory to copy people, create any number of clones that would think they were the original person, indeed would in their minds be that person. Who then was the real person?

Tying the ability with the ethics had taken a long, long time. Ultimately the legal position became that such a transfer could only happen if the person elected to change, to make the Choice. The emphasis being on 'change'. It was an irrevocable choice as the original body and brain was destroyed at the same moment the Change occurred. The person changed from being organic to 'different'. The person accepted that he or she would wake up in a different body, or rather a copy would wake up in a different body. That copy would think him or herself the original but the reality was that it was only a copy, albeit a perfect copy. The person in the new body would see himself as a continuation, indeed that person, but nonetheless the original had died. A very big choice to make, suicide really, would you make it?

People usually, often after years of procrastination, finally made the Choice towards the end of their natural lives, but it could not be made too late when the brain had deteriorated too far. Society did not want or need senile brains in new bodies. Indeed it did not want mentally impaired brains in new bodies. The Choice, then, was not open to everyone. In twenty-first century terms it was not a very 'politically correct' matter. That said, by no means everyone chose: well, the vast majority chose but many did not make the Choice to become post-human. If you chose you could not stay on Earth, your new life was in the Stars and there was plenty of work to do, plenty of worlds to travel to. Mankind was on the move in a big way spreading out and colonising. An adventure of colossal proportions and you could be a part of it. Would you make the Choice, would this adventure interest you?

Being post-human had many advantages but it was not the same as when human. Things were different. Essentially it was the same person inside the new body but modifications needed to be made, or just naturally occurred, as a result of the body change. Physically the body units were much improved on the organic prototype. The narrow band of temperature in which humans could comfortably exist were too limiting away from Earth, relying on organic food was too inefficient and complex.

Post-humans did drink, but needed to only occasionally to take in certain required liquids. Energy could be obtained through the skin from sunlight but this was a limited collection and a more direct means was usual (though there was no electric socket hidden under a flap on the arm nor was there a need to plug oneself into the mains by sticking a plug up the rectum at night!). The body appeared as a replica human. There was a wide range of types; post-humans were not facsimiles of an individual's birth body. There was plenty of differentiation, plenty of choice in what the person could look like, post-humans did not all look the same: far from it, a crowd of post-humans did not appear as a sort of 'clones' convention'. Externally they were complete in every way including genitalia. The latter did not serve any reproductive purpose: nor generally a recreational purpose as the sexual function was usually disabled. Provision had been made in the design but the consensus was that it was not needed by post-humans who had been through their human phase; who could now concentrate on developing their minds; experiencing new things and working for the expansion to the stars of Earthkind.

Mentally the person after the Change was the same; the personality was the same even emotions were the same though no longer partly relying on hormonal and chemical changes. Enhancements could be made to memory, processing power and indeed many factors. A person could have modifications to his or her mental capabilities, predilections and emotions. Most people did, they needed to be equipped for a new life. This was undertaken at the start, though changes could be effected later but under strict control.

Post-humans were re-orientated, re-trained and sent out from Earth. It was not that they were chattels or slaves but Mankind had a new role for these ex-people. They had had their time on Earth; the mother planet belonged to new living people now. It was a contract between the living and the ...post-humans.

Roger had been unlucky, an accident had nearly killed him when he was eighteen, he had been nearly dead when the Choice was made for him. There had been no need to kill his body. He was young, his whole 'life' ahead of him, so much to learn and do. Nonetheless his time on Earth had finished. Rather than going to university with his friends he had had to wish them well and move on to his new life. He had been allowed, because of the circumstances of his Choice and age, to stay on Earth for a few weeks.

Usually post-humans were not allowed any time at all, it was a clean break. Because of his girlfriend and his sad story his sexuality had not been turned off at the Choice. The intention had been to do this as he left Earth but it was over-looked. To Roger this had been a very mixed blessing. His short period with his girlfriend had been great, the sex had been fantastic, and they had parted still very much in love. His girlfriend had accepted his perfect silver body even if it had not looked much like the old Roger (not a bad thing in many ways, if truth be told). That had been the plus part, but leaving Earth he had found himself with attractive post-humans of both sexes but he was the only one with the slightest interest in sex. Frustrating? Yes, very.

"How about a date, Mary?"

The silver girl broke into a broad smile, "Roger, you'll kill me. A date. Yes, I remember those! Let's see," she looked away remembering, "The last time I was asked out was eighty-six years ago. So, where shall we go, a picnic in the mountains, a meal tete a tete, shall we hold hands?" She laughed, her mirth made her seem even prettier to Roger, post-humans had fully featured faces, and Mary's seem to laugh all over when she was happy.

"I think, Roger, I think it's great to be past all that really. Nice idea, you really are a joker. My favourite person in the Complex, but I think I'll get on with my fourth Masters instead. See if you can get my rota shifted please, I'm fed up with trying to see in the dust of the day, I've had two sets of eyes replaced already." She was still giggling as she went out the door, it had almost closed when she put her head back around the door and said, "Don't forget the flowers, I like anything in season!" Roger could hear her laughter disappearing as she went down the corridor.

Roger sat, after Mary had left, and pondered his predicament. She had treated his casual suggestion as a joke. If she had thought him serious she would probably have suggested he needed major adjustment. Perhaps that was the answer to his frustration. If he could re-programme his mind, switch his sexuality off, his problem would be gone. As Head of P-HR he had access to the control systems for the base but only limited access and not to such high level functions. His mind turned the idea over.

On the other hand if he could switch his sexuality off, perhaps a better move might be to switch others on...

The systems did not prove to be as hard to crack as he expected. Gaining a greater level of control over the minds on the Complex did not take Roger too long to achieve. Perhaps it was not expected anyone would try. After all no one had any desire to change the settings: until Roger came along.

Roger realised that the option was not to start a romance and lead up to sex in the traditional way, the way he had proceeded when he was seventeen, coming up eighteen. No one was in the slightest bit interested in romance. Of course he could turn everyone's sexuality on but the disruption to the Complex's work would be noticeable and significant. There was reason in the restrictions! And the nightmare scenario occurred to him, what if he did not pair off? If all the girls he was interested in fell for other men.

The other option was to turn just one girl 'on'. Rather than simply turn a girl's sexuality on at full power and jump on her (or more likely vice versa), that would be fun but not something easily explained to anyone, least of all the girl concerned, Roger's plan was rather more subtle. His idea was to get the girl to believe she was malfunctioning and needed his help to sort out the problem. She would indeed be malfunctioning but whether she needed his help was rather more debateable. However, as regards her sexual need, his would be the only fully functioning cock on the base. Of course it was rather important his chosen girl liked, or rather used to like, men otherwise not only was she going to be disappointed but Roger was going to be very fed up as well!

Roger examined his P-HR records very carefully. He knew the model types he preferred. He was down to a choice of six, Mary, Joanne, Fee, Steph, Gerta and Anna. Which to choose?

Anna was the quietest of the six, a little more naturally shy than the others, a private person. Less likely to talk to others if things were a little odd. He called her in to see him. She sat opposite his desk in her shapeless work overalls. Not exactly the epitome of fashion but there was not a lot of interest in fashion on the Complex. Actually there was no interest in fashion whatsoever on the Complex. P-Hs really were not interested in fashion and, in any case, there was no opportunity for fashion, just a standard overall to keep the body unit clean, certainly not to keep it warm. The reason for the overalls was probably habit: there was no real reason for wearing clothes. Post-human bodies washed easily, but humans wore clothes so P-Hs did.

"Anna, I've noted a problem with your Menbal stats."

"Really Roger, what sort of problem?"

"It's in your emotion control. I'm not sure what the problem is, indeed if there actually is a problem at all, have you noticed anything unusual in yourself, in your behaviour?"

"No, same old me."

"Hmm, well perhaps its nothing. Let me know if you do notice anything."

"Sure, Roger."

It was a short interview. Roger expected later ones to be rather longer.

Later that day Roger made some small adjustments, not dramatic, but noticeable to Anna. It was some days later when Anna came to see him.

"Roger, I think I've noticed the problem you mentioned the other day. I've been feeling, feeling things I haven't felt for a long time."

"Yes?"

"I've become aware again of men as, er, men. You know, thinking he looks nice, thinking I like his voice. I've even thought what he'd be like in bed if you see what I mean. I haven't had those thoughts since the Choice. It's very odd."

"Not unknown," said Roger beginning his play, "it does occur, we'll have to monitor it. Is it bothering you, is it a problem?"

"No, it's just odd after this time I suppose."

Roger moved the control up a few more digits that night. He was not surprised to see Anna the next day. Things had moved on a bit from just looking at men.

"Roger it's got worse I'm getting sexual imagery appearing in my head."

"You're thinking erotic thoughts, Anna?"

"Yes that's it, dreaming as well. I woke up; to be frank, wet this morning. Me, a post-human, out here so very far from Earth. That's not meant to happen is it? I know it's possible, why else have these bodies got all the equipment we used to have before the Choice, but surely it's normally simply inoperative. It's odd thinking about sex again after all this time but it's not normal Roger, what am I meant to do? What can you do?"

"I'll do some research Anna, it's not completely unique, I've certainly come across it. I'll come back to you."

Roger left it a few days before increasing the level again. In the meantime he had a day off and on his day off he liked to walk. He'd been a keen walker before the Choice and he tried to keep up with this hobby. Certainly he had had more variety in his walks than he would ever have had back on Earth. Being a P-H did have advantages. He had no need to take a water bottle, lunch, sweater or waterproofs so he was not weighed down, though he could have carried a very full pack of equipment with ease, and did not have the bother of assembling the 'kit'. Sunrise was not for another five hours. He preferred just the moons' light though the dawn would be spectacular and it would be good walking for an hour or so afterwards, then the sun would climb too high and get too bright. The temperature would soar to 65 degrees Celsius, which, whilst bearable, was uncomfortable. He preferred the present -30 degrees. He followed the road out towards the mines passing the odd vehicle coming the other way. He waved at the drivers. After a few miles or kilometres if you prefer (Roger did not use either of these old units) he turned off the road and branched out across the plain towards the mountains.

There were a few crevasses to avoid. He would be located and repaired if he fell but it would be embarrassing to fall in. There was not a lot of life on this planet. Not surprising really with the harsh temperatures. The poor atmosphere did not help. More oxygen was usually needed for life. Roger did not need oxygen. Breath was not necessary for a post-human's speech. A few scraps of lichen showed on the rocks. Interaction was not a problem. Roger was not biological, he could not "catch" alien diseases though he and his kind had to be careful not to act as convenient greenhouses for local flora.

The foothills of the mountains were drawing nearer. Roger's plan was to get in the shadow of a mountain and do some climbing, ensuring he moved around the mountain to stay in the shade whilst the temperature soared. He had not been this way before. Climbing steadily he reached a saddle between two peaks and looked down into the next valley. At its base something shone in the moonlight. Descending in the early dawn he found a frozen lake.

Sitting by the lake throwing pebbles into it he watched the sun rise bringing the beauty of the lake into sharp focus. A harsh beauty. It was not exactly bordered by weeping willows and grassy meadows. Roger skirted the lake. As he walked the sun began to melt the lake and he was soon lost in a fog. He paused and tested the liquid; it did not register as dangerous to him. He had not swum for years, certainly not as a P-H, and the idea was inviting. Removing his boots and overalls Roger let himself into the liquid and swam out. It was a nostalgic experience but equally it was a different experience, swimming totally alone under an alien sky. He dived, the liquid was clear and he could see down to the bottom of the lake, beautiful crystalline formations and, to his surprise some forms of life. To call them fishes would have been misleading but they swam and were interesting if not beautiful.

By the time he surfaced the air temperature was rising and the fog clearing. It was time to move into the shadow of the mountains. It was going to be a long and exhilarating day.

"Roger it's getting worse. I awoke this morning frigging myself. I've not done that for... well... and even though I came I'm still, well why don't you look for yourself." Anna had come to see Roger again. Not so quiet this time. She was flushed, agitated and rather excited.

Roger had been waiting for this for an awfully long time, but the suddenness came as a shock. Anna in one movement unzipped the front of her overalls and dropped it to the floor. There in front of him was an almost perfect shining silver naked girl, cone shaped breasts surmounted by prominent, almost pointing, nipples, hips swelling out from a flat stomach, rounded buttocks and a hairless mons Veneris. Desirable. Anna hopped onto his desk and spread her thighs. Roger was almost totally taken aback.