Equivalent* Exchange - Part One

"Alright" chirps the gravelly and tired voice behind me, likely a once bright and luscious tone slowly brought down by years of smoking and exhaustion. "Let's start with something easy, how about education"

I listen for a moment, the quiet room filling with the sound of typing at a keyboard. Nothing changes for me however, my gaze still largely filled with the sight of a large flat screen showing what I could only assume was brain activity. Blobs of color ebb and flow on the television, a reflection of what was occurring inside my skull as I sat inside the odd-looking device.

It looked more like one of those old-style salon hairdryers than anything else, a chair with a towering column of plastic in which I was to place my head. The whirring as it started had been distracting to say the least, but as the image had started to come through the device had grown whisper quiet.

"Um... Well..." I mutter, struggling to collect my thoughts as I watch the colors shift with each word. "Well I went to Hawthorn High School, but that was over a decade ago at this point. More recently I studied at..." I begin to explain, only to be cut off by the exacerbated technician.

"No love, that's not..." she huffs, her lips smacking as she pauses to try to explain the problem. "We'll do your history later, for now I just need you to talk about... Did you do science at school? What's the Krebs Cycle?" she asks, the globs of color on the screen shifting and lighting up as I process the question.

"Uh... That's to do with ATP or something right?" I respond, watching as a slight trail of bright yellow creeps across one of the lobes on screen.

"Good, good" the out-of-sight woman mutters, the clicking of a mouse soon being heard between her quiet musings. "Keep going, this needs to be properly mapped out before we can even think about your exchange rate."

The first brain transplant, or body transplant depending on who you asked, had been met with more than mixed feelings. While it had been successful by the metrics used by those conducting the procedure, it was more than obvious to the public at large that it had been at some significant cost. Despite the imagery conjured by the idea of a brain transplant, the wholesale removal and replacement of what lay nestled inside someone's skull, the reality had involved far more hacking and butchery than expected.

The brain had been crudely mapped, elements of the donor's personality and memories being identified before begin carved out of their own head. These were then fused to what lay within the donor body, leaving a piece-meal collection of elements resting behind the end result. The procedure itself had also been horrendously expensive, the intense skill and equipment required leaving the process out of reach for most near everyone.

On top of these restrictions the Government had quickly stepped in to further limit the procedure, declaring that the person retained the identity, assets, and liabilities of the body they now inhabited. This had largely been to avoid confusion or fraud, though was implemented under the guise of 'how much of the brain remained behind'.

For years the novelty had fallen to the wayside, with the popular consciousness treating the story much like Dolly the Sheep. However, behind closed doors the technology slowly improved and developed. The wealthy and powerful had seen a way to cheat death, at least for a time, and they weren't going to simply let it do so easily.

Shortcuts were developed, standardizations of how the procedure was to be carried out. Better imaging machines were created solely to identify more aspects of the individual laying within the vas array of neurons to be excised. Even the storage of this matter was improved, allowing it to exist outside the body for longer and longer periods of time.

One thing still elluded the powers that be however, finding a steady source of new bodies that were to their particular tastes. Sure, there were always those looking to make a quick buck or those who had experienced unfortunate accidents, but the pool was still extremely limited. Not only that, but they would have to live out the rest of their days in some new identity without 'easy' access to their former wealth.

It was from this need for the creme de la creme of bodies that the Equivalent Exchange Program was born. Suddenly, as if overnight, the full capabilities of these years of research made themselves available to the public. The program offered to exchange their clients' bodies and lives for another of equal 'value' for a nominal fee.

Of course, this fee was far below the cost required to pay their staff and even perform the procedures. However, this facade of how cheap the procedure had gotten was all that was displayed to the public. Behind the scenes however the company was bankrolled by more wealthy backers, eagerly awaiting their perfect new lives.

While the company promised to only swap people with bodies and lives of 'equivalent value' this was simply a farce. With each swap the clients were slowly downgraded, eventually leaving only the best of the best without a partner and available for purchase for truly exorbitant sums of money. Those who used the service never complained however, how could they seeing as the idea of 'value' was largely subjective and the swaps were still 'relatively' close to where they had been before.

Of course, it was never as simple as walking into a clinic and receiving a new body. Clients were required to have their own brains mapped, tracking where different information was stored prior to the procedure taking place. Those taking over their lives would need certain information and knowledge, the idea of sending someone out into the world with their head full of someone else's banking information was a terrible thought.

It was only after all this the client would get to see their option, a little past the point of no return while their own body was being put up on offer for those being downgraded into it. Different clinics handled this in different ways. Some allowed the client to peruse a list of all the potential lives available to them, others would offer a small list based on 'search results' made from keywords or descriptors, others merely made the selection for the client in the name of efficiency.

It was only after this selection that the procedure would begin, a sometimes rather lengthy affair though with a remarkably quick recovery time. Where the other person was already in a clinic the procedure could take only an hour or two, with both parties walking out soon after ass though it was something akin to a dentist appointment. Others were longer, relying on transporting the shaved-away gray matter across the country or beyond to its new home.

One thing was constant however, despite the rapid recovery time the procedure could not be performed again for a rather extended period. It varied from person to person, with the level of damage needing to be healed differing based on innumerable factors, though it often ranged between five and twenty years. Worse yet, if the damage was too extensive the operation was simply unable to be performed again.

Despite all this, people slowly trickled into these clinics. People bored or dissatisfied with their lives quickly finding a cheap way to experience something new that was, at least according to the copious advertising, of the same degree they would be leaving behind.

This was how I had ended up making my appointment, a lazy and boring day in my tiny little apartment as I languished in a job market that my various degrees had ill-prepared me for. It had been months of living off of savings, of doing through the same routine each day as I searched for academic work. The sight of an offer like this was too much for my exhausted and dreary mind to resist, something new to break this terrible routine.

"Right..." coughs the rough voice, the sound of more keystrokes quickly following. "So you know a bit of science love, how about... Any other languages?"

"I... parlo un po d'italiano" I state, watching as faint slivers of light flare in the language center of my brain as I switch languages. "Same with a bit of Japa... No, actually it's not worth..." I mutter, only really knowing enough Japanese to tell people I don't speak it.

"Alright love, alright" croaks the woman, pausing for a moment as she makes notes and plans the next step. "Interests an' hobbies?"

"Oh... nothing useful" I reply, gritting my teeth a little and shrugging slightly.

"Oh come on" the technician chuckles, "Has to be something you do in your spare..."

"I read?" I respond, watching the image on the screen shift yet again. "I play games? I watch a lot of TV... Oh, I can play guitar!" I muse, chirping excitedly as the various colorful blobs on the screen shift with each answer.

"Good, alright alright" she mutters, the sound of the keystrokes sounding faster than before as she jots down information. "Now we covered what you've learned in the past, the nuts an' bolts of it. Where did you do that?"

"Oh, like I said I went to Hawthorn High. Then I studied Film, Teaching, and English at Lathem College" I explain, watching as the screen lights up in entirely different areas to when I had discussed the content of that education.

"Wonderful" the technician chirps, "Three... tertiary... So can you describe the last time you... you know... did it?"

My heart skips a beat at the question, the sudden shift in subject matter knocking me off-kilter. "Um... sorry, what was the..."

"Sex" the technician murmurs back, obviously slightly uncomfortable about the question as well. "Who with, what you did, any strange..."

"My ex" I barely manage to cough out, wanting to stop the line of questioning. "We... fuck it was a few months back... but we just had... you know... sex?" I respond awkwardly, the brain imaging shifting in an array of colors as my mind races through the events fo that night.

"Uh huh, an' your ex... they were a..." the technician mutters, trying to guide me to answer without outright asking.

"She was a... yeah..." I blurt out, my face burning red as I hear another collection of mouse clicks from out of my sight line.

"Got you, got you..." the technician wheezes, seemingly as uncomfortable with the particular questions as me.

"Um... let's move to a nicer topic" the woman huffs, trying to steer us back from the awkwardness from before. "What sort of life were you looking for?" the older woman asks, clucking her tongue slightly as she continues her unseen work.

"Oh... I... I guess I'd like something quiet and comfortable, I do enjoy my nerdy hobbies but I suppose i won't get to keep those sort of..." I begin to muse, losing myself in thought for a moment before getting cut off by the tired=sounding technician.

"No no love, needs to be a little simpler than that" she huffs, pausing for a moment as if trying to think of something. "Give me...five words I guess, you know... adjectives"

I freeze up for a moment, blinking rapidly as I try to work out what she was asking for. "Wait, sorry I should have asked this first. Do I get to pick my..." I begin to ask, a loud tutting coming from the technician as she shuts down my question.

"Not exactly love, not exactly" she mutters, her keystrokes slowly slightly. "It'll just help us find something you might like, you can pick from a smaller list of bodies or lives that match at least some of those words you pick" she explains, the keystrokes stopping entirely as she pauses. "Sorry, just... Do you really have a... ten-inch..." she begins to blurt out, apparently reading the results of the physical I had undertaken.

"I... Ye..." I croak, shifting uncomfortably in my seat as I try to work out how to respond to either of the questions. "Younger" I manage to blurt out, finding one of the keywords I wanted to hopefully select from.

"Loads of people wanna be younger" she chuckles, the tone of her voice sounding almost dismissive. "Worth a bit that one, though I guess you aren't that old yourself so it'd only..."

"And I guess... Comfortable? No wait, Cozy... No, I mean..." I stammer, trying to pin down the vibe in my head.

"I get it, I get it" the technician muses, a few strokes rattling out from her keyboard. "Basically the same thing in the end, least the words are... I guess the meaning could be different right? I mean, they can mean more than..."

"I suppose Nerdy?" I muse, tilting my head slightly as I bang against the large cylinder resting above me.

"Mind the equipment" the technician calls out, the low gong-like thud carrying to where ever she was standing. "Not the most adventurous type are..." she begins to ask, giggling under her breath as I cut her off.

"No... I mean yeah I can be, but... you know..." I awkwardly huff, trying to justify my choice as anything other than me just shuffling into another bookish life much like the one I lived now. "I know I like this sort of..."

"An' you'd like whatever new stuff you got after all is said an'... never mind, you can pick whatever you..." she muses back, some degree of eye-rolling implicit in her voice.

"Something...Simple... would be good too" I muse, thinking back to the past few years of intense study and work. "Like... something a little... calmer or..." I continue, pausing as I hear the technician tap away at her keyboard.

"And I guess... I dunno..." I groan, my head filling with words and failing to find just one that would perfect this yet unseen life. Suddenly a grin creeps across my face, my eyes going wide and bright as I find what I was looking for. "Fun" I coo, my memory of the past few months living in pure boredom driving my answer.

"Fun?" muses the technician, her voice filled with an odd level of surprise. "Haven't heard that one... This might be a bit of troub..." she mutters, typing away at her computer as if searching for something. "No, wait... I can work... with... that... six foot four... slender... educated... but no job..." she chirps, the sound of a printer kicking into gear soon filling the silent void in the room.

A set of footsteps soon begin to pace towards me, the ruffle of a lab coat and the crumpling of printer paper as it's waved through the air cutting through over the top of the subtle clicking of heels. I move to get out of my seat, ducking down slightly after the last incident with the imaging device.

"No, sorry. Not yet love" croaks the woman from behind me, her voice growing louder with each footfall. "Just got this for you to have a look at" she explains, her pristine and crisp white labcoat soon billowing into my peripheral vision.

The technician was in her mid-forties, her long face gaunt and pale with rather pronounced. Heavy bags rest under her hazel eyes, her long black hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She stands quite a bit above me as I sit in the seat, taller than most women and additionally being aided by a set of black heels.

Her build is exceptionally slender, her rake-thin physique making it seem like she mustn't eat between her long hours of work. A tight black turtle-neck sweater peeks out from the top of the lab coat, the thin warm material appearing painted on her delicate swan-like neck and collarbone. Her bust is entirely unremarkable, both being exceptionally modest and largely hidden beneath her layers of clothes.

A crisp creased set of black suit pants coat her slender legs, the well-maintained outfit leaving me wondering if she wouldn't be better off sleeping more and ironing less.

In one of her boney hands she holds a piece of paper, the text at the top reading

Jordan Hughes: Assigned - Expedite Exchange

My gaze shifts from the paper to the technician as she catches me staring at the paper, a faint smile spreading across her thin pink lips.

"Looks like someone was popular" she weakly chirps, raising her faint and largely drawn-on eyebrows at me. "We gotta get you cleaned up and off to your new life quick."

I look back towards the paper, my eyes locked once more to the words at the top.

"What do you..." I begin to mutter, my words falling flat as the paper is thrust into my hands.

"You got snapped up" she explains, clicking her fingers for emphasis. "Not every day someone like you comes along, Not the best but definitely interestin', some folks may have been waiting for a body like yours to..."

"But I..." I choke out, my gaze shifting back towards her. "What if I don't find a..."

"Don't worry love" she coos, patting her breast pocket for a moment as she fishes out a small crumpled box of cigarettes. "We can store you until something turns up" she explains, fiddling with the packet anxiously as she produces a slightly bent cigarette.

Cold sweat begins to creep down my back, my heart rate spiking as the woman walks around behind my seat once again. I know I had signed up for a change, but the sudden speed of it all along with being forced into making the choice was a little too much.

As if catching my apprehension the technician calls out, the sound of a door opening following soon behind.

"Don't worry love, I managed to track down some available folks that meet at least some of what you asked for" she explains, the sound of her heels clicking growing further away as she speaks. "I'm just going to step out for a smoke, I'll be back in a minute. Just give those a chance love, give a look at those..."