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overlooking the ocean, and on the left, a holo reproduction of
nineteenth-century Key West. An aerial view from before the time of airplanes.
The receptionist looked up, and for a fraction of an instant there was the
familiar I-know-you-You-must-
be-someone-famous expression, which faded immediately and was replaced by
something professional.
"May I help you?"
We established that my name was Morris Niemand and that I wanted to see Dr.
Wolf and I didn't have an appointment. While we were discussing the
impossibility of my seeing her right away, Dr. Wolf buzzed the desk and said
send him in.
The inner office, actually several rooms, was all white and chrome and smelled
faintly of isopropyl alcohol and old-fashioned starched sheets. Uniform white
light radiated from the ceiling and the upper half of the walls.
Dr. Wolf came in, and it was my turn to be surprised. I recognized her from
the Sydney party. I felt very unarmed.
She tried to suppress a smile and failed. "Small world, isn't it? Mr.
Niemand."
"I guess I'd better go somewhere else."
"You could. But anybody you find on the island who's any good is going to be
immortal. It's a profitable enterprise. " She took me by the elbow and walked
me across the room. "Any good or not, they're going to recognize you."
She sat me down on a stool and put a finger under my chin. "Look straight
ahead. Chin up."
"Wait. I'm not sure "
"I keep no records, cash on the barrelhead, very bad long-term memory. I'm
already forgetting what you used to look like. Smile no, naturally."
"What kind of cash?" I said, smiling. A holo camera came down from the ceiling
and circled me silently.
"Permanent change?"
"No."
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"How much cash you have? Now don't smile."
"Forty or fifty thousand." The camera went around again.
"Last of the big-time spenders, eh? Follow me." We went into a low room that
had a row of chairs facing a large holo cube. She took the first chair and
unfolded a keyboard on her lap. An image of my head appeared from floor to
ceiling.
"Where'll you be going?"
"Uh & I don't know."
"Don't be coy. For fifty thousand I can make you black or oriental. That's the
easiest kind of misdirection. But there are places where either might be a
disadvantage." She herself was black. "I
assume you've learned to handle places where being white is a disadvantage."
"I'm not being coy. I haven't had time to plan." I could afford to tell her
something. "There are people after me with guns. They don't want to talk about
it. Rightly or wrongly, they're not afraid of the law."
"Stilemans?"
"At least one of them."
"And you can't go to the law yourself." She was staring thoughtfully at the
image.
"No. Not just like that. Eventually."
She nodded and tapped a few keys on the console. "Here." My face rippled
hugely around chin, cheeks, brow. Then it was somebody else's face.
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"That would do fine."
"Four nonmetallic pressor and tractor inserts. Good for about two years; then
your face starts to sag back to normal. I can take them out or recharge them,
no fee. Course, when you go into rejuvenation, they'll be found. Likewise any
kind of facial surgery."
"That's it for fifty grand?"
"No. I'll throw in new identity papers, change your skin color and hair.
Height and posture. You want a new dick?"
"What?"
"Blade, dork, penis. One-eyed trouser mouse. It's as individual as the face.
You can imagine circumstances where a man might want it disguised." Deadpan.
"Give me a first. Say you want it shortened."
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BUYING TIME - Joe Haldeman
"Yeah, well & not this time. What about the voice?"
"I wouldn't advise it, unless the ones after you have known you a long time.
Most people, it really wears you down, trying to keep a new voice in mind
twenty-four hours a day. It's conspicuous when you slip."
"But I've been on the cube a lot."
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