Jamila 2

Part Two - Jedediah Ahpay, Master Sergeant, Imperial Star Ship Marines

"Good afternoon madam," I say pleasantly, "single espresso to stay please," as I pass over the $1. The counterwoman gives me a filthy look. Lemme guess. Obvious dyke, hates all men. Or white who hates Natives. Or atheist who takes umbrage at the tiny cross tattoo on my wrist. Or civvy who hates mils. Or all of the above.
"Don't you ever get tired of playing with toys like a little boy? Most men do one hitch, get out. You gotta be a 20 year man."
"Twenty four actually and I'd rather die on some forsaken planet that live like a civvy."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Your concrete and plastic cities are boring, sterile and toxic. Your jobs, mind-numbing drivel. Better to live and die for real."
I pick a window seat, stare out, lost in thought. It's true, leaves get worse as you get older. So, how'd it all start?
First difficulty is simply being born a boy. 200 years ago the World Wide Nuclear War altered the genetics, 4 times as many boys born as girls. For atheists, no problem, homosex is all the rage. For fundamentalist Christians - 9/10 of Natives now - bigtime verboten.
Now the whites claim we're racist - will pick up a white chick, but never dream of pre-marital sex with a Native woman. They misunderstand nuance - we don't pick up anyone with strong religious beliefs - white, brown or black. Atheists - fair ball - and that's 98% of whites now.
Prostitution only exists in history books. Any woman caught at it is packed off to prison for 4 years, emerges with strong job skills as pharmacist or electronic tech or such. Home rentboys, different story, $10 bylaw fine.
My leave ends tomorrow and I ain't scored even once. After all, cougars prefer young marines, not old. Can't even go to bars, drinking forbidden, so that leaves coffee house only.
A Whispering Willow scooter comes to a halt outside. Parking warden, overweight fortyish woman, enters, orders latte. The counterwoman shamelessly hits on her.
Whispering Willow uses rechargable electric battery, max speed 15 k per hour. Military uses them lots, perfect runabout for minor repair work, paperwork, attending meetings. Difference is a mil one is never illegally altered. Slang term is "White Rabbit", a souped bike that can do 45 k. Lots of civvies alter, but very unstable, wheels too tiny for that speed.
Souping is strictly internal, not visible. Up to 15 k, they sound identical. It's only above, you hear the difference.
Warden sits next to me, "so sailor, y'on leave?"
"Yes."
"When you go back?"
"Tomorrow."
"Time's a-wasting. Let's go screw."
"Is that a White Rabbit?"
"Oh, don't be such a chickensh**. We all die sooner or later. Now climb on, I'm horny."
Well, you guessed it. Rain-slick pave, a White Rabbit is even more unstable with two.

I wake in a hospital ward. Two days later, I put down the handheld in disgust, remark to my next-bed neighbor, "garbage. High-school computer games. No email or news. Why do they treat us like prisoners?"
He is a young black Lieutenant, also with cross tattoo on his wrist, "mon, is just they don't want you to cause trouble. Serious injury, get depressed, send your mother a depressing email."
"Fair enough, why no news access?"
"Mon, they want you to relax."
"So what is this wing Lt?"
"Call me Norbert. My friend, this is the wing of new beginnings. Some of these people got enough mobility to retrain on computers. You and me, only one way out."
"What's that, Norbert?"
"Jed, they gonna recycle us."
"As in kill?"
"Of a sort. You spin back in time, just before a person dies of suicide. They get to leave peaceful, you get a decent body to start over."
"News to me, must be top secret."
"Mon, tis that. Only they don't send you til they're sure you're sane."
I laugh, "Norbert, I could have a problem there. Maybe I wasn't too sane before. What would the Bible say about this?"
"Look at the bright side Jed. See you are stopping someone from the terrible sin of suicide, so God would sure like that. But it's an awful risk. Could be man or woman, rich or poor, slave in the old days, sweatshop worker in the Industrial Revolution. You don't even get to choose religion."
"You take over their memories? Or figger it all from scratch?"
"You get alla their memories, their technical skills. But it's your personality, not theirs. Also, you keep alla your memories."
"Sounds messy."
"Jed my friend, you say 40 now. Medically nothing wrong - other than the paralysis - you could lie there another century playing those stupid computer games."
"So how come you're still here Norbert?"
"Mon, I try to explain to them, is immoral, disgusting. They should guarantee I stay a man and a Christian."
"And they're ah less than cooperative?"
"All women doctors. What do you expect?" He snorts in derision, "women, more problems than they is worth. How'd I end up here? Not anything heroic, like being shot on a faraway planet. No, argument with my girlfriend. She done whipped out a pistol, shot me several times. Never even knew she owned one. So, you, was it a big battle on Zeltar Five?"
I blush, "nah, on leave, parking warden picked me up. Turned out her Whispering Willow was really a White Rabbit. Rain slick pave, you can guess the rest."
"But Jed, you see the doctors got all the power in the world. Just wear you down. Sooner or late, you's so deathly bored, you just give up."
"Norbert, I'm already there."

My bed is propped up, wheeled into the meeting room. The three doctors make their pitch, pretty much exactly what Norbert said. They open it to questions.
"Ok, let's clarify. Are you saying it is technically impossible to give me a choice?"
Head doctor plays with her computer, "let's set parameters. Male, age 40 - 45, 20 - 25 years military, North American First Nations Native, lifelong single, Christian." Smile, "118 hits, we could give you anything you want. It's just we won't."
"Why not?"
"Early years, we did, spend days with each person reviewing files. After they had been there a few years, always problems, invariably unhappy."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Master Sergeant, who decided you'd be Native? Or male? Surely if you were white and female, career prospects would be better."
"God decided."
"There you go. As of the point the choice is God or gods or fate or karma or kismet, people accept, live with it, either solve problems or learn to live with them." Pause for effect. "But let's say, before this life, you'd actually chosen this yourself, and you knew it. Wouldn't you blame yourself when any problem, big or small, arises?"
"I see your point. But aren't you then playing God?"
"We aren't, the computer is. Random generator, every documented suicide case in history where the body is healthy. Would be pointless to give you an AIDS-stricken body."
"But then you are condemning people to psychological problems. People only kill themselves for mostly 2 reasons, incurable disease or psy problems."
"Of course we are, but you are still better off with different problems than the same?"
"Why is that?"
"Every person on this planet has quirks, blind spots, prejudices, black holes in their thinking. So if you end up exactly the same, you perpetuate the problems. But let's say you end up a nun in 1700's New France. Problems are so novel, so different, you are open-minded, willng to try different tactics. Even problems you can't solve, they have novelty value, easier to cope with. It's a lot better to blame a random generator than to blame yourself."
"And if I go over your head?"
She grins, "read this. From General Strasser, in charge of this program."
I read it twice, "ok, let's do business. How does it work?"
"Once you've signed, irrevocable, you live with the draw results. We don't just dump you. You get time to read up on the history and we help. We'd far rather that you are semi-happy than miserable. See followup questionnaires 5, 10 and 15 years after you inherit. Program produces too many unhappy people, funding tap will be turned off."
My bed is wheeled back next to Norbert.
"You moron, that Gen Strasser is one of those feminazi nutbars, determined to turn us all into women, told you so."