“Everyone calls me Professor. Professor Faceman, that is. Quite an appropriate name for someone in my present state, don’t you think? Some people go one step further and call me Facemanin-the-Cage. Which is truer still, wouldn’t you say?”
Balot had forgotten about even her own nakedness and was staring at the Faceman-in-the-Cage, as he put it.
“Table!” Faceman ordered. Doing as he was told, Tweedledee interfered with—
Tweedledee placed the birdcage on the table. Then he undressed again, quickly. His role now complete, he jumped straight back into the pool without a moment’s hesitation.
Faceman watched, a serene smile on his lips, and then spun around slowly in his cage to face Balot.
Balot slipped back into the pool without thinking.
“Try
Balot felt Tweedledee splashing about behind her, but her eyes remained fixed on Faceman.
“I’ve taken the liberty of examining your data. Such wonderful aptitude. But if it’s left unchecked, the technology you’ve had implanted in you is likely to have an influence on your maturity, your emotional well-being. Have you noticed yourself becoming overstressed because of this?”
Balot shook her head. Without realizing it, she was touching her throat and the surrounding area on her neck.
She was trying—not very successfully—to imagine what it would be like to have a body that didn’t continue below the neckline.
“Well, it might have made you feel bad, at least. Access to all your battle data stored up inside Oeufcoque-Penteano—those were my terms for your use of the facility.”
“Exactly. Hasn’t Dr. Easter explained all this to you?”
But she wasn’t about to get downhearted because of this. After all, Oeufcoque’s injuries—and everything else—were her fault in the first place. She was determined to do anything to help Oeufcoque recover.
“I wonder if I could have a look at how your transplanted metal fiber is doing?”
Faceman only had to ask, and Balot was out of the pool, showing him her body.
It wasn’t at all like when she used to have to do this when she was on the job. Rather, it was like receiving a medical examination from a doctor.
“You’re still in puberty, I see. And so there are places where the fibers aren’t fully fixed yet, in order to anticipate any future growth spurts. Splendid. A most appropriate measure. It looks like we have no worries on this front.”
Balot stood still, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
“I was most impressed by the results of the analysis of your data—how tough you are. There was a time when we had to put an inordinate stress on military developments, you see. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant period, but even so, we had our targets, something to work toward. Your very existence is a work of art, as far as I’m concerned. Exquisite—and tenacious. You’re unique, a one and only, formed by a happy coincidence of a number of factors all falling into place—or would you rather I didn’t talk about you in such terms?”
In all honesty, no, she didn’t particularly like it. She’d had all sorts of unpleasant experiences since she was first treated like an object.
But then Faceman—still smiling his gentle smile—continued in a different vein, asking, “Oh, but this is rather unfair—a one-sided exchange of data. Is there anything you want to ask about me in return?”
Balot was a little perplexed. She’d never asked anyone why they were only a head before and wasn’t quite sure what the correct etiquette was. In the end, she ended up asking in a roundabout way.
“No, it’s my nickname in the lab. My real name’s Charles Ludwig. But there’s no one who refers to me as such anymore—including myself. As far as I’m concerned, I’m one of my own research subjects. Although that could just be an excuse for my longevity measures, to keep myself alive for as long as possible, I suppose.”
