I was reluctant, but any resistance I put up seemed hypocritical. Clearly, this
game wouldn't lead to the perfect knowledge I longed for (and knew I would never
achieve), but I couldn't deny the possibility that it might be one crude step in
the right direction.
First, we exchanged bodies. I discovered what it was like to have breasts and a
vagina - what it was like for me, that is, not what it had been like for Sian.
True, we stayed swapped long enough for the shock, and even the novelty, to wear
off, but I never felt that I'd gained much insight into her experience of the
body she'd been born with. My jewel was modified only as much as was necessary
to allow me to control this unfamiliar machine, which was scarcely more than
would have been required to work another male body. The menstrual cycle had been
abandoned decades before, and although I could have taken the necessary hormones
to allow myself to have periods, and even to become pregnant (although the
financial disincentives for reproduction had been drastically increased in
recent years), that would have told me absolutely nothing about Sian, who had
done neither.
As for sex, the pleasure of intercourse still felt very much the same - which
was hardly surprising, since nerves from the vagina and clitoris were simply
wired into my jewel as if they'd come from my penis. Even being penetrated made
less difference than I'd expected; unless I made a special effort to remain
aware of our respective geometries, I found it hard to care who was doing what
to whom. Orgasms were better though, I had to admit.
At work, no one raised an eyebrow when I turned up as Sian, since many of my
colleagues had already been through exactly the same thing. The legal definition
of identity had recently been shifted from the DNA fingerprint of the body,
according to a standard set of markers, to the serial number of the jewel. When
even the law can keep up with you, you know you can't be doing anything very
radical or profound.
After three months, Sian had had enough. "I never realised how clumsy you
were," she said. "Or that ejaculation was so dull."
Next, she had a clone of herself made, so we could both be women. Brain-damaged
replacement bodies - Extras - had once been incredibly expensive, when they'd
needed to be grown at virtually the normal rate, and kept constantly active so
they'd be healthy enough to use. However, the physiological effects of the
passage of time, and of exercise, don't happen by magic; at a deep enough level,
there's always a biochemical signal produced, which can ultimately be faked.
Mature Extras, with sturdy bones and perfect muscle tone, could now be produced
from scratch in a year - four months' gestation and eight months' coma - which
also allowed them to be more thoroughly brain-dead than before, soothing the
ethical qualms of those who'd always wondered just how much was going on inside
the heads of the old, active versions.
In our first experiment, the hardest part for me had always been, not looking
in the mirror and seeing Sian, but looking at Sian and seeing myself. I'd missed
her, far more than I'd missed being myself. Now, I was almost happy for my body
to be absent (in storage, kept alive by a jewel based on the minimal brain of an
Extra). The symmetry of being her twin appealed to me; surely now we were closer
than ever. Before, we'd merely swapped our physical differences. Now, we'd
abolished them.
The symmetry was an illusion. I'd changed gender, and she hadn't. I was with
the woman I loved; she lived with a walking parody of herself.
