Skullmates

Even though both of my Millennial parents hated him, the late Bill Gates was a role model for me. Like him, I never finished college. It took me a little bit longer to become a billionaire, though. I was 32 when my accounting A.I. notified me that my net worth has passed one billion euros.

SolomonWare is an legal arbitration algorithm that I developed. The first version could analyze court documents, evidence, testimony, and precedence, then predict the outcome of a civil court case with 97% accuracy. It was never released for sale. Instead I charged potential plaintiffs and defendants exorbitant fees to help them decide how much their out-of-court settlement should be.

I put a lot of trial lawyers out of work. I got sued a lot, received countless death threats, and one of my interns came down with anthrax after opening a letter addressed to me. But Berkeley Business Daily had declared me Man of the Decade for the 2030's. A lot of people love me, and quite a few hate me. Nobody is ambivalent about me.

My haters must have be very pleased to hear about the inoperable glioblastoma multiforme tumor inside my head. I've had six different surgeries. I'm 42 years old, I have 80 billion euros in liquid assets, and I've had ten different doctors tell me that I won't live to be 45.

I was sitting in my basement office, complete with a cot, a laptop, collectible figurines, Chicago Bears vinyl graphics, empty drink cans, and food containers. This is the office that the press doesn't know about. My household staff is not allowed in here, not even to clean. Sometime I manage to scoop up a bag of trash and let the bot vac run its pattern, but I made it through my AI heuristics courses in a filthy University of Illinois dorm and I made my fortune in my filthy office. I was googling around, looking for Doctor 11, hoping that this would be the guy who knew about some experimental treatment and say “Well, it's a long shot, but…” I was prepared to write as many research grants as I had to.

My wife Lena came into the room. She hates the mess in here, and also hates that I won't let her do anything about it. She only ever comes in here when she has something important to say or yell at me about.

Without looking up, I tried cracking a joke to lighten the mood. “As much as doctors used to hate lawyers, you think they'd be bending over backwards to help me.”

She let out a polite laugh, then said “I talked to an acupuncturist today.”

“That's nice. If you decided you aren't afraid of needles, maybe you can get a flu shot this year.”

“This is serious. He says he'd be willing to try to help you. He could get a team of alternative medicine specialists together and-”

“Charge me an arm and both legs for some organic holistic quackery? No thanks.”

“You can easily afford it. Every doctor that you've been to so far has charged you a consultation fee only just to tell you that you're going to die anyway.”

“I don't blame physicians for billing me for an appointment. Their time is valuable. So is mine, for that matter. I don't want to waste what little time I have with con artists.”

“I just think you should keep an open mind. Western medicine once told Stephan Hawking that he was going to die in his 20's.”

“Western medicine has come a long way since Stephan Hawking was in his 20's.”

“You just have to have your way on everything, don't you?”

“As far as my body and my health is concerned, yes I do.”

Much to my relief, she stormed out of the room, kicking an empty energy drink can on her way out. Lena is an actress, and I've seen of enough of her on stage and screen to know when she's really upset and when she's trying to manipulate me. I have cameras throughout the house and I've seen her practice arguments with me in the mirror before approaching me. The last time I've seen her genuinely angry was when I told her that I don't take medical advice from someone best known for her topless scene in the pilot episode of “Dark Silence: Requiem”.

I got frustrated with finding another doctor and took a break to look over my bucket list. Just about every item I either crossed off or ruled out entirely. I've been to five Superbowls and visited every continent. I sailed to the middle of the South Pacific just to see the comet Ardmore-Samuelson pass in front of the moon. I tried going to every state capital, but I gave that up when Lincoln, Nebraska failed to impress me. I decided not to go to Mt Everest when a friend warned me about the skeletons of dead climbers laying out in the open for decades.

How does one spend their last year on Earth? Football. Because why not? I made a call to my secretary, Jake. “I want Bears season tickets and tickets to all away games for this year. Even the game at Lambeau Field. Make it happen.”

“It's already August, so that Packers game is already sold out. I'll see what I can do.” Jake never makes promises, but he usually delivers anyway.

###

On the day of the season opener, Lena comes with me to the game even though she hates football. We're surrounded by local politicians, minor celebrities, and former players. In between plays, a city alderman who is sitting behind us casually mentions to me that he has a great idea for a new mobile app. I tell him to get with Lena's next husband in about two years.

“Are you getting a divorce?” the idiot asks. Somebody else whispers the bad news in his ear, and he apologizes and leaves me alone.

Lena smiles politely at my dark humor. She keeps biting her lip. I can tell she is working up the courage to talk to me about something that one of us doesn't want to talk about. Frankly, I hope she doesn't find that courage.

At the end of the first quarter, the Bears are beating the LA Jaguars 6-0. Lena gets out her phone and shows me a website: “Dr Adolph Sanjay, Ayurvedic Medicine Specialist”.

“Did this guy's parents name him after Hitler?” I ask.

“No.”

“People in India have been known to do that.”

“I've never heard that.”

“I read somewhere that there are more babies named 'Adolf' than 'Winston' or 'Franklin'. Evil leaves such a larger legacy than good does.”

“Aren't you the picture of optimism?”

“I am who I am.”

“Ok, fine. I don't know who he is named after. Does that matter? I had a video chat with this man. He says he might be able to help you.”

“What is 'ayurvedic medicine' anyway?”

“It is an ancient practice that-”

I hold up my hand. “You lost me at 'ancient practice'. Look, the game is about to start back up. We can talk about this later if you need to.” Both teams formed up at opposite sides of the ball.

“Maybe it could at least a placebo effect or something.”

“Yeah. Placebos don't work on tumors.”

“If you would at least have an open mind-”

The center snaps the ball to the quarterback, and I snap at Lena. “I will transfer 10 billion euros to your account if you promise to just shut up about this.”

“Keep your fucking money.” She grabs her purse and storms off. Halftime comes and goes and she doesn't come back. I send her a text. “Are you ok?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to watch the rest of the game with me?”

“No.”

“Ok, I'll see you at the end of the game.”

“No you won't. I'm leaving.”

I put my phone back in my pocket. She'll be alright. She can stay in a hotel or buy a house of her own if she's going to throw that kind of a tantrum.

Three minutes, 23 seconds to go in the third quarter and a massive headache is brought on by my tumor. I'm in blinding pain, so I self-administer a hypo-spray shot of Opiatex. The pain is still there, but it subsides to a point where it's like an old friend who has shown up to watch the game with me. I'm pretty high right now. A woman sitting next the alderman asks where she can get some of that stuff.

“You pretty much have to be terminally ill,” I tell her, “because Opiatex can shorten your life expectancy by about 50 years.” I hope that scares her straight.

After the Bears finish clobbering the Jaguars 34 to 9, I text Lena that the game is over and go out to the parking lot. I use my phone to tell my self-driving car to pick me up. While I'm waiting, I look up the location of Lena's phone, and it says that she is at Midway International Airport, or at least her phone is. I try calling her, but she doesn't answer. Instead, she blocks me from accessing her location.

I have the car take me back to our house in Oak Park. We have eight other houses around the country, and Lena is probably spending the night in one of them or in a hotel. I won't go out to find her if she won't come home to me. She ought to know that much.

###

A few days later, I'm lonely and horny. I look around on a couple websites, then I pick out a profile that looks interesting: natural blonde in her 20's, likes horses even though she lives in the city, likes zombie movies even though they haven't made a good one in her lifetime. I send her a message, she invites me to video chat, and then she recognizes me. She's starstruck. She tells me her name is Karma Bobbins, that her parents actually put that name down on her birth PDF. She is a barista, a dancer, and an aspiring motion capture actress. We chat for a few minutes about recent pop culture. I let her do most of the talking because I don't know things like who the Inter-dimensional Cadets are (Are they a band or a holoshow?) or which season of “Dark Silence: Requiem” the show finally jumped the shark (I stopped watching eight years ago after they killed off Lena's character). After talking a mile a minute she goes away from her screen to go to the bathroom. When she isn't looking, I have a diamond necklace sent to her apartment. The delivery drone lands in front of her apartment building and she gets a text message that she has a package waiting for her. She goes down stairs to get it, and she brings it back to her computer to confront me with it.

“What is this?”

“It's a gift and nothing more.”

“I can't keep this.” She probably knows what I'm after.

“Sure you can. You don't owe me anything for it.”

“I'm not that kind of woman.”

“Of course not. And normally I'd wait three or four dates before giving away a necklace that cost more than a city block. You read the newsfeeds, don't you? I have work fast to enjoy the time I have left.”

“I really don't know what to say.”

“Why don't you come over for coffee?”

“As long as it's just coffee.”

I sent my car out to pick her up. It wasn't just coffee that we had. I offered Karma a job as a live-in secretary, and she accepted. I had her fill out a W-4 and everything.

Karma and I got along great. When I wanted to be left alone, I sent her over to Jake's office for “training”. I did have to explain to her that Opiatex is for pain, not for partying. She had her own e-joint that she used to help her relax, focus, clear her head, or whatever the moment called for.

I get used to waking up next to her. One morning, one of our phones starts playing “Before I Kill You, I'm Gonna Force You to Lick Your Own Anus” by Fedora Jim and the Hemorrhoids. I can remember when phones didn't play random songs, and it was a lot easier to tell whose phone was “ringing”.

“Are you going to answer that?” asks Karma.

“No, I like this song.”

“Ugh, this sounds like the crap my mom listens to.”

“Your mom has great taste.”

“You should get that. It's your phone and not mine.”

“You should answer it. It's your job. That's what secretaries are for.”

She sticks her tongue out at me, but she answers my phone.

“Hello?”

“Who is this?” I can hear Lena's voice.

I take the phone from Karma. “That was my secretary.”

“Jake is your secretary.”

“Whatever. What do you want, Lena?”

“Another doctor has been trying to get a hold of you.”

“Um, if I don't know the guy then he has to go through Jake.”

“Jake has to wade through a lot of cranks. You know that.”

“Which is why I'm hiring more secretaries.”

“Doctor Wang is a pioneer in experimental brain surgery. He say he can remove the tumor completely. Not 98% or 99%. All of it. So do you want to talk to him or not?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Call him on Monday. I'll be sending for my things.”

###

I put in a video call to Dr Wang's office. Instead of a human face, I had to talk to a cartoon avatar. It was a computer generated triceratops wearig a lab coat and a stethoscope.

"How can I help you, Mr. Reyes?" the digital dino doc asked in a soothing black guy narrator voice.

"Dr. Wang says he can remove my tumor. Can I speak with him?"

"He is not available, but I can answer your questions. Doctor Wang can remove the tumor completely by performing a brain transplant."

"I don't see how that would do me any good. You'd be giving my body to someone else."

"Allow me to explain. You are thinking of a whole body transplant, where the brain of a patient is transfered to the body of a donor. That practice isn't done in this country because we'd prefer to use the body of a donor to save five patients instead of just one. Instead, we are going to transfer your mind and memories into the brain of a donor and put that brain into your body."

"Isn't that murder?"

"Only a donor who is already dead would donate a brain."

"But isn't the brain the only part that counts when it comes to death?"

"Strictly speaking, it is the mind that matters. When a person is pronounced dead, it means that their brain is no longer active. But the brain isn't necessarily dead, just blank like a new flash drive. This is possible in cases where the brain has been deprived of oxygen. In rare cases, the lack of oxygen shuts the brain down, but doesn't destroy it. The mind is gone, but brain and body remain. That scenario would create a candidate donor for our purposes."

A hobby of mine is go off-topic when talking to AI's as a mini-Turing test. “Hey Doc, what's your favorite episode of ‘Dark Silence: Requiem’?”

“The one where Lena Reyes is topless.”

I smile. “Outstanding. That's my wife. Were you an asshole to me on purpose?”

“Did I pass your little test? Can we get back to talking about the surgery that could save your life?”

“Sure. When can we do the surgery?”

“Forward us your medical history, and you'll have to come in for some tests as soon as possible. After that, we'll keep an eye out for a brain donor and let you know if and when we find one.”

Doctor Triceratops sends me links to videos and articles about the brain transplant process. I skim through it to get the gist of it. My brain and the donor's brain would be put into a special tank filled with artificial cerebrospinal fluid that provides oxygen and nutrients. The cranial nerves of both brains are interconnected with neural splice links. Electrodes are attached to the pain center of my brain, and my mind and memories are forced out of the old brain into the new brain. When spontaneous electrical activity is detected in the donated brain, it's removed from the tank and inserted into my skull. The neural splice links are attached to the severed cranial nerves inside my head, and a larger splice link reconnects my spinal cord. Veins and arteries are reconnected, and hopefully I wake up.

###

I wanted to tell Lena the good news: either I was going to make a full recovery, or she was about to receive the largest inheritance in human history. But she had not unblocked me, and her family wouldn't talk to me either. So I purchased ads on every website that I knew she liked, and I bought commercials for every show that she watched. The "Lena, Please Call Me" campaign had set me back about the cost of a stealth bomber, but I still think it was money better spent on love and not war. It served its purpose. She did call me, either because she was touched by the gesture or she just wanted the damn ads to stop.

She goes back to watching Bears games with me. The one perk of dying is that I pretty much get to decide how we spend our together time. I suppose I could see if Lena would go to the strip club with me or have a three-way with Karma, but nah, I'm not that harsh.

###

The rest of the season didn't go so well for my Bears. The Lions won the NFC North Division, and the Bears had to settle for a wild card slot. Lena and I had to fly out to San Francisco to watch the Bears do their best with their 2nd string quarterback, but it wasn't meant to be. But that same day, the city of Chicago and the surrounding area got rocked by Winter Storm Amadeus. The Windy City got 18 inches of snow that I'm glad I didn't have to see up close. Lena and I spent the next three days in the Presidential Suite of the Ritz-Carlton in Nob Hill.

“We should just live here until the preseason starts,” I say with a mouthful of eggs from our continential breakfast.

Lena clears her throat. “My agent wants me to audition for this new sitcom called 'Gold Coast'. Some of it is going to be filmed on location.”

“Oh. You want to start working again? Why haven't you told me?”

She puts down her fork and wipes her chin with her napkin, buying her time to think of a way to put it. “Because I figured you'd be dead before filming started.”

“It's something you want to do, right?”

“I'd rather be making movies but this could be my way back into that.”

My phone cuts the conversation short by playing “Semtex and Latex” by Diarrehea Apocolapse, and I answer.

“Mr Reyes, this is Dr Wang's office. We found your brain.”

###

After flying out to John Hopkins, I'm on the surgery table. Lena holds my hand for what might be the last time as they administer the anesthetic....

I wake up groggy and disoriented.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Luis Reyes," I slur out my own name, like I forgot how to talk.

The nurse grills me on several topics like what year it is and who the president is these days. The technician seems satisfied with the answers that I mutter. Dr Wang brings Lena into the room. She's crying and smiling. This is the happiest she's been since the wedding, but all I want to do is sleep.

“Wanna slep.” It takes monumental effort to even get that out. Dr. Wang translates this for her and takes her out of the room.

I hope I'm going to be ok...

###

I wake up again. I'm hungry now.

It takes me several tries to say “Activate intercom,” but the hospital's central server just can't understand as I try to talk with a mouth full of marbles. I give up and try to press the button to call a nurse. My hand clumsily flops on the button. I'm as sober as the Ayatollah but it's like my hands are drunk.

The nurse's face pops up on the screen on the wall. “Can I help you, Mr Reyes.”

“Wan foo.”

“Excuse me?”

“FOOOOOOD!” That got my point across. A dietary technician brings in a tray with quinoameal, chocolate pudding, and juice. I try to use the spoon, but I make a mess. He spoon feeds me. I have to consciously keep my lips around the spoon to procure the quinoameal into my mouth, then close up and swallow. After I've had enough, I shoo him away and he leaves.

Dr Wang's face pops up on the wall. “Good afternoon, Mr Reyes!”

“Hewwo.” That sounded like I was mocking him for being Asian, but I really did not mean to do that.

“How are you feeling?”

“Gud. Canno tok mush.”

“You should pratice talking as much as you can. Your mind is still learning how to use your brain to control your body. Ever have a new operating system installed in your house? It's going to feel like that for a while.”

“Howr rong?”

“Anywhere from a month to a year. It's hard to tell exactly, since you are the first human patient to undergo this procedure. Call a nurse before trying to get out of bed.”

I sleep off and on for the next day. When I'm awake, I'm bored out of my mind. I bring up the hospital's movie and music library. I set the search filters to remove any songs or albums that made the charts. I'm in the mood to listen to soft rock indie bands. And I don't know why I'm in the mood for soft rock because I have always hated that fluffy sappy garbage, but here I am seeking it out. Maybe I'm just happy to be alive, and I want music that matches my mood. I hit the skip button a lot, but it's giving me something to do. It seems that most indie music doesn't get picked up by a major label because it's absolute crap.

My grandfather once told me that you used to be able to guess what decade a song came out, even if you never heard it before. Each era had it's own sound, he said, and then synthesizers and autotune came around and everything went to hell. Music was better when instruments and recording time were expensive, because then at least the musicians cared about what they were doing.

The next song has a woman singing an acapella intro. There are a few shouts from a live crowd, but they calm down. Then the rest of the band starts playing.

I swear I never heard this song before, but I know the lyrics.

We're here, this day

We love, this way

We tease, and touch

I need you, so much

The song is “This Way” by Thermidor. The track info on the screen says it was recorded on September 23, 2028 at JoJo's Java Joint in Hammond, Indiana, just over the border from Chicago. I would have been in Champaign, busy failing out of college while tinking with AI heuristics. Those were the days...

The singer is off key on a couple parts, and I'm embarassed. And I don't know why I feel that way. If I could sing at all I'd be thrilled to be that good. She's clearly a trained vocalist. I don't know how I can tell that, though.

I look for more tracks by that band. “Sleepless Summer”, “Burnin' on the Beach”, “Flaming Troll”. God do I hate “Flaming Troll”.

Wait a sec, why do I hate that song so much if I never heard it before?

It's because Scott wrote the lyrics for that. He was trying to be funny but Thermidor just wasn't a comedy band.

Who the hell is Scott? And I only heard one Thermidor song, one time. I look up their bio to make sure of this.

“Thermidor was formed in 2027 in Kenosha, Wisconsin. They raised $7000 on Kickstarter for their first album, 'Bronze Bust'. They briefly toured the Midwest and compiled a live album, 'Thermidor in Your Face'. The band broke up in 2029 when the lead singer, Amanda Konig, dropped out to finish law school.

That obviously didn't end well. Shit, should have stayed with the band.

There is no way I heard any of their music before. In the late 2020's, I was only listening to Negative Energy bands like Grandmotherfucker and Platypussy. The teenager version of me would have never voluntarily listened to a Thermidor song.

I listen to “Burnin' on the Beach”. Word for word, I sing the song before Amanda Konig does on the recording.

Rolling around 'cause we just don't care

That fucking sand gets everywhere

You tell me I'm pretty

But down there I feel gritty

Hell, maybe there's still some anesthetic in my system that makes me think I'm having deja vu. If so, these are wonderful drugs that they dispense here.

###

They discharge me the next day. After a few hours of practice and with Lena's help, I'm able to stumble from one end of the room to the other.

“Whose brain was this anyway?” I complain.

“Someone who cared enough to fill out an organ donor card. I bet you've never filled one out, have you?”

“Never got around to it. Look, you're my next of kin. You tell them to take what they need if anything happens.”

“We should have had this talk before you went into surgery.”

“I'll do it right now.” I pick up my tablet computer and I go to the national organ registry website. Autofill puts in my name, address, and Social Security number. A thumb scan shows that I give consent to my organs being used to help those who needs them after I die. It takes less than ten seconds to do it. Lena smiles at me, and I feel stupid. All this time I thought I was too busy to take care of this one important thing, and I could have done it during anyone of the times I made microwave popcorn in college.

I change the subject. “Have you ever heard of a band called Thermidor?”

“Is this a new band?”

“No. It's from like 15 years ago.”

“Huh. If I heard any of their stuff, I don't remember.”

“Let me show you something weird.” I pick my tablet back up. “Tablet, play 'Flaming Troll' by Thermidor. Display the lyrics, and remove the vocals.” My tablet plays the newly created karaoke version of the obscure song. I hand the tablet over to Lena, so that she can see the words and I can't. And then I sing a song that I had never heard before.

Weren't you the one who posted porn on my timeline?

Weren't you the one who told my ex I still liked him?

You screwed me over, you crossed the line

When you stole my guy's account and logged on as him.

“Bravo, but that song sucks. They rhymed 'line' with 'line' and 'him' with 'him'. Why did you pick that one?”

“Lena, I've never been a singer, and I've never heard that song before. But I sung that terrible song pretty well, right?”

“Not really. You don't have the range. That song was meant for a woman to sing. Or at least a tenor. I'm impressed you knew the words though. Did you rehearse that at the hospital?”

“No. I just knew the song.”

“Okay....”

“How the hell do I know a song that I never heard before?”

She shrugs. “Past life experience?”

“Even if reincarnation were real, how can a guy in his 40's have a past life experience from a few years ago?”

She hands me back my tablet. “I'm just thinking out loud, but you probably should call Dr Wang back.”

###

I tell Dr Wang about my new musical talents.

“That's pretty interesting,” he says as he scratches his temple.

“Is it possible that I have some of the brain donor's memories?”

“It could be, but I'm thinking it's more likely that you were a fan of that music, forgot about it, then remembered it again. Moving your mind from one brain to another is like moving from one house to another. You box stuff up, put it on a truck, and haul it from point A to point B. And everything you own gets mixed up, lost, or left behind.”

“Yeah, but I'm going through the attic of this new house and I'm finding a lot of stuff that definitely doesn't belong to me.”

“I don't think so. The donor's brain had no electrical activity. None. It should have been a tabula rasa.”

“A what?”

“A blank slate. Mr. Reyes, I understand that you are going through a lot. You should be consulting with your therapist. I'm merely a brain surgeon.”

“Sure. One more thing. Do you know the name of the donor?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me his name?”

He shook his head. “Privacy laws prevent me from doing so.”

I was going to write this guy several research grants, and he couldn't do me this one favor? If he hadn't saved my life I would be so pissed right now.

“Thanks, anyway.” I turn off the screen.

###

About five days after getting out of the hospital, I'm feeling well enough to be out in public. Lena and I go to Cecil's Steakhouse. I order a New York strip and she orders shrimp.

"Maybe it's the surgery talking, but I can't remember the last time we went out for dinner," I remark.

"It was when we were dating," Lena reminds me.

"Really?"

The last thing I remember clearly was my car sliding off the road. Then it all flashed before my eyes...Playing peek-a-boo with my parents...Learning the piano...Prom night with Brandon...Joining a band and playing gigs...Our first studio album...Quitting the band and going to law school...My first case...Getting laid off after Solomonware made my new career irrelavant...

But I'm awake again. I can see and hear again. It's the ultimate nightmare, trapped in the body of one of the worst men alive. I'm aware of all his perverted thoughts and memories. I know things about him that nobody else could know...

The waitress brings out our food. I starting cutting my steak with a knife with the Cecil Steakhouse logo etched into the blade.

Do I have control of this man's body? If I do, then it's time for a little payback.

Somehow I accidentally drag the knife through my wrist instead of my steak. Blood drips onto the table. Lena shrieks. I drop the knife and grab my wrist.

"Are you ok?" Lena asks.

A woman over at the next table offers to call 911, but I tell her not to bother. The waitress brings out the first aid kit from the kitchen. Lena wraps up my wrist with a bandage and takes me to the nearest clinic so that I can get stitches.

So I do some more digging on Thermidor. Dirk Beasley, the guitarist, now plays for a Maroon 5 tribute band called Maroon 5.1. The keyboardist, Xavier Nielsen, is a substitute music teacher in the Chicago public school system. The drummer, a guy who just goes by the name Harmwound like he's in a Metal-Revival band or something, is now serving a eight year sentence in a Illinois state prison on a charge of unauthorized online account access. Amanda Konig, the vocalist, graduated from law school with honors. She began work with the the firm Yoder, Salvador, and Yamazaki. She lost her job the year after SolomonWare went live. Konig then began teaching Intro to Political Science at Blackfoot Community College in Peoria. She was found unconscious and hypothermic after her car got stuck during Winter Storm Amadeus near Kankakee. She was removed from life support Wednesday morning, the day before my surgery.

Took you long enough to figure it out. For a billionaire, you're pretty dense.

Who just said that?

It's me, Amanda Konig. I've been trying to just hide out and fade away. You just keep making too much noise though.

I'm sorry.

Sorry? You ruined my life and now you are ruining my death. I'm stuck here in this purgatory inside your head. For fuck's sake, I didn't think they'd use my brain of all things when I signed up to be an organ donor.

What do you want me to do? Kill myself so that you can stay dead?

No, of course not. But could you at least try not to think about gross stuff?

That prompts me to have an involuntary fantasy about my two favorite porn actresses engaging in scat play. And Amanda has to experience it with me.

Ugh. I asked you not to do that.

Sorry. You know I can't help that.

You want to know what sorry really is? We had a class action lawsuit against Cramden Foods because over 200 people came down with antibiotic resistant Salmonella poisoning. Sixteen of those people died. Cramden was prepared to settle for 350 million dollars. Then SolomonWare tells Cramden that the jury would find them not at fault because a contractor failed to properly decontaminate some equipment. That contractor conveniently went out of business before we could file a suit against them. The CEO of Cramden sent us a check with “Fuck You” written in the amount box. Nobody talked to lawyers that way before SolomonWare.

Holy cow. People still write checks?

A lot of families didn't get justice and I lost my job. I still owed $75K on my student loan and $150K on my mortgage. After the dollar collapsed, Sallie Mae and the mortgage company demanded to be paid back in euros. My husband and I filed for bankruptcy, and we lost everything.

It's not my fault that Cramden Foods was innocent, and it's not my fault you died.

You failed to anticipate the repercussions of SolomonWare. There are a lot of important decisions that must be made by humans and not computers. What if they replace Congress and the President with machines?

That's actually a great idea for my next project. I'll get started on it right away.

You're a monster.

You're a ghost. And if you don't leave me alone and quit harping at me, I will make an effort to think about smut all the time.

Good. That shut her up.

###

That night I had a dream that I was in a different hospital. My legs are held up in the air. A doctor tells me to “Push...push...just a little bit more.” I feel a slimy mass come out of me, then I hear crying.

“It's a girl, Mrs Konig.”

I wake up.

I saved your life, ok? You owe me a favor and I'll shut up. I need to see my family.

You want me to drop by their house and say “Hi, your mommy is in my head”?

Holy shit, you're an ass.

Give me specific instructions. If I can do them without getting a restraining order filed against me, then I will consider them.

Log into my network profile. My password is ButterKittenWings!462.

There are pictures of her kids. There are memorial posts from friends, family, and fans. I click on one from her daughter, Mikha.

“Mom, I miss you so much. I wanted to drop out of rehearsals because I don't think I can handle being in the show. Dad told me to not quit and hang in there because that's what you would have wanted.”

Mikha got the part of Betty in “Kabul Nights”. She only wanted to be in the chorus but the director convinced her to be the lead. Which is pretty good even though it's just a high school musical. I just made crappy YouTube videos when I was her age. I was so happy for her.

Her eight year-old son just writes, “miss you mom.”

This is harder on them then it is on me. I can't stand this. Just click it off. I'll leave you alone now.

I sit there, bawling. I miss them so much and yet I never met them. I can remember giving birth to them, nursing them, changing diapers, trying to get them to eat their vegetables, and taking them to school. These were all Amanda's memories. I never had any kids of my own.

Lena hears me, and comes into my unsanitary sanctum. She puts her arm around me and I tell her everything.

“So they gave you a woman's brain?”

I nod. My face is still wet with tears.

“Does this mean you'll want to go clothes shopping with me?”

“I'm too fat and hairy to wear anything that looks good on you.”

Lena laughs. I laugh. And I can feel Amanda beaming in the back of my mind even though she's trying to stay hidden.

###

A black sedan pulls up to the front gate of my estate. It actually looks a lot like my Lincoln, but this is a Ford. The window goes down and the vehicle's occupant is wearing an Oak Park PD uniform. My security system confirms that the RFID chip embedded in his badge is authentic. Can't be too careful, this close to Chicago.

“Can I help you?” I ask through the intercom.

“I'm here to see Luis Reyes.”

“What is this about?”

“I just want to ask him some questions.”

“So ask.”

“Mr. Reyes, can I come in?”

My grandpa once told me that the quickest way to get rid of a cop is to give him what he wants. If you stall, he'll think you're flushing evidence down the toilet. I hope he doesn't want to arrest any of my house staff. I open the gate, and he blocks it open with his car. As if I'd try to trap him inside or something. He then walks the rest of the way up my 200 yard driveway even though it's -3 degrees in the middle of January. Lena and I meet him at the front door.

Lena asks him an obvious question. “Did you really have to walk all this way in the cold like that?”

“Standard procedure. Mr. Reyes, the reason why I'm here is because someone at this house illegally accessed the social network profile of a dead woman.”

“Yeah, it was me,” I say. “I did it.”

“Excuse me?” asks the officer.

“Amanda Konig, right? I have her brain in my head. I know her password. I looked at her account.”

“Mr. Reyes, this is serious.” He probably thought he was coming here to arrest my chef Clarence, who had a prior conviction for spitting in a cop's food at a restaurant once. His grandpa was one of my legal consultants, so I hired as a favor. And Clarence really was a great cook.

“Check the news feeds. I had a brain transplant. That's why I did it.”

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Reyes.” The detective walks back to his car.

After he drives off, Lena says in a hushed voice as if he were still here. “You just told that cop you committed a felony.”

I shrug. “It's not that big of a deal. I go to all the mayor's fundraisers.”

“I'm not a lawyer, but her family could still press charges, right? Because Amanda Konig is legally dead, you aren't her next of kin, and therefore you have no business going through her online accounts.”

I look her in the eye. “Are you jealous?”

She shakes her head. “No. If it weren't for her, you wouldn't be here. You should call your lawyer though.”

Privacy laws had gotten a lot stricter after the NSA ruined it for everybody else. A friend of mine lost his seat in Congress and went to prison after he got a hold of his opponent's emails. If there is anything they could send me to prison for, this would be it.

I am so sorry about this.

You realize you'll be behind bars with me, right?

Maybe they'll let us share a cell with Harmwound. He's actually pretty cool for a drummer.

Unlikely, since I'll probably be in a minimum security facility.

That doesn't sound so bad.

I got picked up for public intoxication once. Jail sucks. Here, let me bring up that memory for you.

Ok, try calling my husband and see if you can talk him out of pressing charges. Just tell him the truth.

###

“You single-handedly ruin the US legal system, you buy my wife's brain, and now you're stalking us, you son of a bitch!” Kareem Thorton, Amanda's widower, screams at me from the screen on my wall.

Amanda, help me.

I thought it would work and it didn't.

Can you tell me what to say?

I only know what I would say. But I'm his wife and you are the guy who put my firm out of business, so you don't exactly have that much credibility here.

This was your idea.

Yeah, sorry about that. I'm really trying to help here. What ever you do, don't offer him money. It will just piss him off more.

Thanks, that was going to be my next step.

Just looking out for you.

I could put your kids through college, you know.

Which would be nice, but let's get through this and focus on the matter at hand.

“Kareem, honey-” I put my hand over my mouth.

I just said that out loud, didn't I?

Yeah, you did. It's a habit you picked up from me.

Kareem Thorton's eyes grew wide.

So I think fast. “Kareem, I didn't buy your wife's brain. It's illegal to buy an organ from a cadaver. What happened to your wife was a tragedy. Not even I can bring her back. But a part of her still lives on inside of me. I can tell you that she still loves you. I promise that I will keep her safe inside of me for as long as I live. For as long as we both live.”

Kareem looks away from the monitor on his desk. “Is she really inside of you? Can I talk to her?”

“Yes.”

“Honey, I love you and miss you,” Amanda says with my mouth.

I miss you too. How are you coping?

I say what Amanda wants to say. We chat for several minutes about recent events. He tries to stump me a couple times, but Amanda remembers everything better than he does.

“Look, I'm sorry man,” Kareem says. “Maybe I could get you a beer or something?”

“My doctor says I can't drink for the next six weeks. Hell, I should be buying you beer. I'm alive because of your wife.”

So Kareem and I meet up for drinks at a private club. I get us into the VIP room. And we hit it off well. I already know everything about him. His favorite color is magenta, but he won't wear it. He's a Packers fan (unfortunately) because he grew up around Bears fans who pissed him off a lot. He doesn't let any of his friends know that he secretly roots for the wrong team. He likes fast food over expensive restaurants because he likes to know what he's getting and he thinks rich people eat crap like snails and fish eggs because we think we are better than everybody else (which is probably true). He likes most science fiction but hates space operas because it makes no sense for humans to explore strange planets when they could just send probes like NASA does in real life. I tried telling him it′s about the adventure, not the science, but he stands his ground when it comes to hard sci-fi.

Everything worked out in the end, mostly. Lena did get the part in “Gold Coast”, but the show got pulled after three episodes. Now that she doesn't have anything better to do, she's incredibly jealous and suspicious of all this time that I'm spending with Kareem.

###

There was one more thing I had to do.

″Computer, delete all primary files and backups of Solomonware.″

I click on the ″Confirm″ icon when prompted. Wait, did I really mean to do that?

Guess who′s in charge now....