It wasn’t a goodbye. It was just a shuttle ride. Laura and her sister, Joana, had both agreed that was all the trip was.
They never bothered packing any of Joana’s belongings, not a suitcase full of clothes, not even her medicine. It saved them the hassle. Though Laura and her grandmother struggled to get Joana’s wheelchair into the packed shuttle, and later to navigate a city so far from home.
In the weeks to come, they would sell all of Joana’s possessions. The footprint of Laura’s sister would slowly disappear from their home, taking with it the familiar smells of vomit and antiseptic, the clutter of needles and pads, and the bathroom messes.
Laura hated that losing her sister would come as a relief.
The agency was deep inside a mall. They passed a food court on their way.
“Do you want to eat?” Grandma was looking at a food print restaurant.
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to,” Joana said.
“They say it doesn’t matter.”
“What about our appointment?”
“We have fifteen minutes,” Grandma replied. “And it’s just around the corner. So how about it? Do you feel like you could keep food down?”
“I can try.”
No one ordered much, despite Grandma’s insistence.
“It must be getting close,” Joana said. She’d been poking at her food.
“It’s fine, honey. Take your time.”
“But what time is it?”
Grandma didn’t check.
Laura did. “One fifty-five.”
“We should get going,” Joana said.
“Finish your food,” Grandma replied.
“Didn’t the appointment cost money?”
“Don’t worry about that. Enjoy yourself. We’ll have to wait in line anyway. It’s a doctor’s office.” But then she took a few large bites of her own food. “How about I go on ahead and check you in? You two enjoy yourselves. You remember where it is. Right, Laura?”
“Yes.”
“Then eat.” Their grandmother left.
Laura and Joana sat together.
Joana spoke. “What kind of a walk-in clinic takes appointments? Aren’t you supposed to just walk in?”
Laura shrugged.
“Is this costing Grandma any money? Has she talked to you about it?”
“She had to put down a deposit, but she’ll get it back.”
“You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“No. I was there.”
“Am I actually allowed to eat, or did she just say that?”
“I think you’re not supposed to a few hours before, but there’s probably a whole prep stage that’ll take that long.”
Exasperated, Joana dropped her fork.
“I don’t think you ate enough for it to matter,” Laura said.
“But Grandma always does this. She’s bending over backwards like it’s my last day on earth. It’s just an appointment. We shouldn’t be making a thing out of today.”
“It is your birthday,” Laura added.
Joana gave a wan smile.
“Happy Birthday, by the way.”
Afterward, Laura helped her sister up to the third floor where the VirtueLife agency was located. It had a wide storefront, and posters plastered the windows. Laura slowed Joana’s chair as they passed them.
The first showed a massive city against a black sky with impossible architecture in its skyline, lit up like a glamorous downtown with endless nightlife. It was mirrored underneath, as though reflected in a lake, but the mirror had a unique skyline all on its own—two cities, each sprouting from a baseline, one positive, one negative. It said Klein City along the top, but everyone knew that. Thirty million people called that glittering city home, and nearly half of all US corporations were headquartered there these days.
The next poster showed simple straw houses clustered together as a tribal pocket in a vast plane, but that was only the bottom of the image. The sky featured three massive moons, two of which had sprawling civilizations on them as evident by the dots of lights in their shadowed halves like raindrops on a spiderweb. Before those moons, a space station hung in the sky, thousands of miles away, yet its network of orbital scaffolds were still visible as a mesh suspended over the planet. VF-Infinity, the interstellar expanse of endless possibility.
The following posters showed other worlds ranging from space to deep sea. Worlds were pristine or populated. Beasts were fearsome or majestic. Each had the same tagline: Better worlds await.
“Have you thought about where you’ll go?” Laura asked.
“Klein City.”
“Right, but after that?”
“Klein City. You know I’m not going to be free to go wherever I want, right?”
“You’ll still have some time to yourself. They said so.”
“We’ll see.”
Laura pushed her sister into the VirtueLife agency. The waiting room was enormous and packed. Most people were old. A few were nearer to Joana’s age. They all had common reasons—no job, no homes, no family, no tribe.
The old had a simple reason. They were escaping perpetually frailer bodies.
And the sick—same reason. Emaciated patients sat in wheelchairs like Joana’s. Some had medical tags about their wrists, or bandages taped over iodine smears. The waiting area had the same antiseptic smell as Joana’s bedroom.
With no seats available, Grandma had joined many others sitting on the floor. She held a tablet bearing the VirtueLife logo.
“See? I told you we would have to wait anyway,” she said as her granddaughters came up beside her. She handed the tablet to Laura. “You’re the artistic one. Make it look like your sister.”
The tablet showed an image of a girl in her late teens. Sliders and tabs along the sides specified particular parts of the body. Grandma had clearly tried. The girl portrayed had black hair, like Joana used to have, but the similarities ended there.
Kneeling by Joana, Laura pulled out photos of her sister they brought. They huddled together for nearly an hour, flipping through menus. One tab revealed a grid of pictures showing body types with subtle differences. Other tabs showed varying facial features. Joana tried to help, but only Laura could get a face that even remotely resembled her sister.
“Wow,” Joana said. “It’s really good.”
“It’s stupid,” Laura replied. “Those aren’t your eyes. And your lips and nose don’t come together like that. A human face isn’t a combination of features. It’s a… it’s a face. How could anyone make themselves with this?”
“Maybe I don’t want to look like myself.” Joana rubbed her bald head. “I think everyone changes when they go through. It’s part of it.”
“They shouldn’t have to…”
The nurse came for them. She led them into an area packed with rows of hexagonal cubicles like honeycomb. As they struggled to get Joana’s chair down the narrow aisles, Laura peeked in a few. In each, a destitute customer sat alone. A screen before them rendered a company associate who walked them through contracts. Each associate was impossibly attractive, and all conducted their business from exotic venues. One associate worked from a sunny beach. Another from the deck of a space station.
The nurse led them to an empty cubicle and departed. There was hardly room for Joana’s chair, much less for Laura and their grandmother. The screen showed a spinning VirtueLife logo, similar to the ancient Vitruvian man, though simplified. Beneath it was a message: An associate will be with you shortly.
Ten minutes later, the screen flashed, and a young man appeared. His background made him seem as though he were on a terrace of a city suspended high in the clouds. Cascading tiers had gardens overflowing with green life.
“Welcome to VirtueLife walk-in services. Thank you for waiting.” He glanced up from his desk. “Which one of you is Joana Méndez?”
She raised her hand.
“Congratulations on your decision to join the VirtueLife dream. I will walk you through the application to get you signed up.”
“That should already be done,” Grandma said.
The man looked. “I see that. Very good. We’ll move right along.” He scrutinized the glowing windows on his desk screen. “Happy Birthday.” His tone was flat.
“Thanks,” Joana said.
“I’m seeing a note here that you’ve been diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma. Is this right?” As though the man couldn’t look at Joana and see for himself.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“A lot of people come in on their eighteenth birthdays for the same sort of reason. I’m glad to see you made it. By the end of the day, your cancer will be gone, but I need to let you know that there’s always the possibility of complications with cancer. While we’ll perform a full flush of your system, if it’s already spread to your brain, then there won’t be much we can do for you.”
“I know. They told me.”
“Sounds like you’re already set. First and foremost. I need some signatures from the client.” On his side, the associate plucked a window from his desk screen and pressed it to his side of the viewing panel. It attached like a soap bubble onto water, complete with a ripple effect. The text became readable on Joana’s side. “This form is for the National Withdrawal Act,” he said. “At any point up until we put you under, you’re able to opt out of your transition with no fee or penalty. By signing this form, you acknowledge that you’ve been informed of your rights. A handprint signature is fine.”
Beside the document was an attached window with a silhouette palm print. Joana clutched her chair’s handrails to lean forward. Both Laura and Grandma tried to help.
“I’ve got it. I’m fine.” Joana palmed the screen on her own, despite her shaking. She tapped the okay button, and the document popped back to the associate’s side. He pinched and dragged it away.
“The next document confirms that you’re aware of the operation you’re about to undergo, and that you understand that it is irreversible.” He dropped another document on the shared screen. It had pages and pages of minuscule text which Joana scrolled through. She palm-printed the same attached window.
“And this next document is an agreement between you, VirtueLife, and its parent company, Verdios, stating your terms and conditions as a virtualized client. You will be subject to ongoing charges for the duration of your contract in exchange for the services provided.” He dropped a final contract on the screen.
Past the pages of text were prices listed beside expense items: power costs, storage overhead fees, media package contracts, maintenance…
Their grandmother scrutinized the list. “What does this mean living and housing? How does that cost anything?”
“Grandma…” Joana said.
“No, hold on. That price is nearly as much as our apartment. How does that make sense?”
The associate had an answer ready. “The Level Playing Field Act requires that all people who sign on to government-subsidized virtualization be subject to competitive living expenses so that non-virtualized workers can compete against a workforce that could otherwise undercut their living wages.”
“Oh, that’s nonsense.”
“It’s the law, ma’am. She will have a grace period of two months where she will not accrue any charges.”
“Oh, two months? How gracious.”
“Grandma,” Joana said. “Stop. It’s fine.” She pressed her palm to sign the document.
“Yeah? And what happens if she can’t pay her fee?” their grandmother asked. “What do you do to her?”
“Grandma!”
“We have a Debt Reduction Program in place to help clients who find themselves unable to pay.”
“And how does that work?”
“Grandma. Stop!” Joana said. “It doesn’t matter.”
Though uneasy, their grandmother let it go.
“Next, the fun part,” the associate said. “Have you designed your first avatar?”
Joana looked at Laura, who had still been tinkering with the tablet. Laura begrudgingly tapped it to the shared screen. The file transferred, and everyone could see the floating image of Joana’s almost-clone standing on the associate’s desk.
He glanced at it. “That’s pretty good.”
But it wasn’t. That thing would become her sister. Laura could have done better with more time, and better tools.
The man sent the avatar image into his computer with a flick of his hand. He performed a few more operations, and nodded to Joana. “You’re all set. I’ve signaled the nurses that you’re ready to go. Are there any questions I can answer before they arrive?”
The three were silent.
“All right. Thank you for choosing VirtueLife. Your new life will begin shortly.” And he was gone. The company logo appeared once again.
“Goodbye I suppose,” Joana said.
“No. It’s not a goodbye,” Laura replied.
“We’re just parting ways for a while,” Grandma added, “but I am going to give you a hug.” She did so, awkward with the cramped space. Laura hugged her too.
“We made it,” their grandmother said. “We beat the cancer. They said eight months, but you made it. We’ve won. We’re going to see you again in a few days.”
“I’ll call you guys as soon as I’m able,” Joana said.
The nurse appeared behind them. “Joana?”
Joana raised her hand.
The nurse pulled her chair out and began wheeling her away, but their grandmother held on to Joana’s hand.
“This isn’t a goodbye,” Grandma said. “We’re going to see you again.”
“I know. I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetie. So much.”
Joana craned to look at Laura. They said nothing to each other, but both smiled, and waved. No goodbyes though.
Days later, Laura and her grandmother got a call. There she was—jubilant in a new home in the strange world of Klein City. But it was the face Laura had so hastily designed that spoke to them, not her sister’s, and it was forever more behind a pane of glass. In that respect, Laura never saw her sister again.
It had always been goodbye.