The last one was standard by the provider. They were also going to do my maintenance, so they had a definite incentive to make me generally compliant when I was doing things explicitly related to my new body. It was easy to sign off on it.
"The perfect synthetic human considers themself no better or worse than a biological human. The perfect synthetic human does not regret their conversion. The perfect synthetic human enjoys their maintenance sessions."
After that it was the legal paperwork. And of course I felt obliged to read everything. It was more paperwork than we signed to buy our house and almost as much as it took to set up my firm. I think I had to initial the form that gave James the authority to reprogram me 40 times.
We waited until a week before I started the upload process to tell the kids. My youngest seemed most concerned about if it meant he had to go to a public university rather than private now. My eldest made a comment of being the 'old lady' of the family, which I think came out less like a joke than she originally wanted. But there were no screaming matches, or declarations that they would never speak to me again. I would have liked some more enthusiastic congratulations, but I'll take apathy.
Work went about like I expected. I told the other two senior partners first. Yves wanted to know if I would still be allowed to appear in court, certify documents, and all the other things I had been doing. Ida was already pondering how to spin it to clients and prospective clients. She had a whole new branch of our firm catering to 'synthetic human' issues built in her mind by the time I was done talking. I negotiated a paid leave of absence, fired off an email to the associates about taking time off for 'personal renewal' and started the process of making sure everything didn't collapse while I was gone.
A month after the forms were signed, it was time to start the passive brain scan. Having a local anaesthetic applied to your scalp is a bizarre feeling, but it's probably better than feeling a nurse permanently remove your hair with a combination of electrolysis and some cream that smelled like someone tried to clean up diarrhea with a lot of bleach and didn't quite finish the job. It was also better than feeling the two dozen tiny cuts she made in my scalp to slide in some pea-width sensors between it and my skull before sealing them back up with superglue.
She wrote numbers on my head next to each sensor, which still had a little bit of wire sticking out through the superglue. Then the brick came out. It was larger than a computer desktop from when I was a kid. It had one covered on-off switch and then spots for 24 wires to connect. The wires were loose at the computer, and at my head, but were thankfully bundled together in between. Each wire was numbered and I sat there quietly as the numbness wore off, letting the nurse clip the end of wire 1 around the protruding part of sensor 1 and wrap a little tape around it. Then it was number 2... number 3...
I almost fell asleep. James followed along so he could detach and reattach the cables when necessary. They wanted me to wear it as much as possible, including while sleeping, but I'd have to take it off to shower. It was going to be a long six weeks.
It was mortifying walking through the office. Even with the knit hat on and the wires fed down the back of my blouse, everyone stared. Carrying around that big brick like a briefcase all day long didn't help. I could rationalize it if people were talking about me being in the process of becoming a gynoid. They were going to find out anyway. I was worried everyone thought I had cancer and this was some ritzy new treatment. When I showed up with my new body, there would be a narrative of pity. I could handle people being jealous of me. I could handle people being impressed by my change. I don't think I could handle people thinking that I only did this because I had no other options. It felt like a bigger lie than walking around with a new face.
But the work got done, my docket got cleared, and the big day came. They had a list of approved supplements to help me sleep without messing with my brain, but they didn't work all that well. James detached the wires from my head one last time and drove me to the medical center bright and early in the morning. None of the kids were interested in coming. They said they would see me when I woke up. Even James had scheduled a few afternoon appointments.
And I get it. There wasn't much to see. I didn't even have to sit down in the waiting room. I gave James one last kiss with my old lips and followed the pretty little nurse to the elevator. I didn't ask if she was a machine. But I did try to figure out if the mechanical sounds were from her or the elevator. It was a good distraction.
The nurse led me to the room where the last of the transfer and programming would be done over the next week. I was supposed to get into the surgical gown and stash my belongings there. I realized then that this facility was not initially built for turning people into robots. It looked very much like an exam room, except there were two pods - horizontal like bunk beds - on one wall instead of a padded table in the middle. It looked like enough space for two sets of pods, but the second set would interfere with the door. A much larger room, or a set of smaller rooms would have been a more efficient use of space.
Or maybe I just wanted to look at anything except my future chassis. It was lying on its stomach, head turned to the side, totally inert on a thin bed extended out from the lower pod. There was a long gash in the skin from the base of the neck to the top of the ass letting a dozen cables connect from the pod wall to the interior of the chassis. I could see the black carbon-fiber spine and some of the grey muscles anchored to it.
I crouched and looked at my new face. The head of the chassis was set to the side, facing outward, thankfully with its eyes closed. They had applied makeup to it already and it looked amazing. I looked over the rest of it. The skin was perfect, the thighs were cellulite-free, and I think they had even done a manicure.
I probably shouldn't have messed with it, but I couldn't help myself. I put a finger between its lips. They were soft, but dry. I guess that made sense, it wasn't doing any eating or talking. I avoided the cables and gave its ass a squeeze. Yup, nice and firm. I checked the door to be sure the nurse wasn't peeking in and nudged the legs apart just enough to get a feel of the pussy. It was dry too, but the labia felt real otherwise. I rushed to get out of my street clothes and into the gown, hoping that the total time would be right when I exited and met the nurse again.
I could have dropped dead right there when the nurse asked me, "Did you get a good feel of your new body?" I almost lied and denied it. Instead I just lowered my head like a child that had stolen a cookie before dinner.
"Don't be embarrassed, Everyone does it. Most people aren't handling them all day like I do."
I mumbled out a response, "Did you touch yours?"
She seemed puzzled for a moment, "OH! No, I'm way too far down the totem pole and way too poor to have a gynoid body. One day though. I'm not sure how it will happen, but I want one eventually."
I felt even more embarrassed. Thankfully she led me to the operating room without any more chatting. While the reading of my old brain and writing of my new brain would be automated and take almost two weeks, it required more probes to be installed. And it required those probes to be in the grey matter itself.
I had never needed major surgery before. I had been under general anesthesia for two dental procedures and a procedure for my knee, but those were outpatient procedures. I was expecting an operating theatre like out of a movie, but it was more like a double-sized version of the dentist office's procedure room. The nurse had me lie on the operating table as she hooked me up to a saline drip.
At first, I thought it was another, younger, bustier, blonder nurse who walked through the doors. "Hello, Mrs. Cochrane. My name is Dr. Britney Ngoepe and I'll be performing your surgery today. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. Nervous, but fine."
I felt a little racist that my first thought was 'how interesting, an African woman chose a caucasian chassis.' I thought about it a little more and 'How nice, she took her husband's name even though it's African' didn't sound any better. I had already guessed wrong about someone being a robot once in the last ten minutes, maybe I was wrong again?
It was enough to keep me quiet rather than accidentally say anything racist or otherwise embarrassing out loud. She ran her tiny hands over my scalp and the sensors that were still beneath the skin.
"Just keep relaxed. That's the best way to improve the quality of the upload. The less adrenaline, the better."
