"We have," said Khorat with uncharacteristic succinctness. Before either of us could manage a response, he pressed on. "As soon as we became aware that humans were involved in this affair, we commenced the needful work, against some such contingency as this one."

"But . . . how?" Chloe sounded bewildered.

"We were able to obtain the necessary data on your species through our Tonkuztra contacts. And the technique is a well-established one." Khorat looked uncomfortable. "Our organization has always been, at best, highly ambivalent about this type of biological manipulation. Its benefits-the 'editing out' of genetic defects-are undeniable. But we have made it our business to restrict its use to those benign uses, subverting all investigation of dangerous applications by subtly deflecting them into dead ends. At

the same time, as I explained to you before, we preserved the knowledge ourselves even as we suppressed it. Nafayum is our leading expert in the field."

Nafayum spoke up, and the translator conveyed the patronizing enthusiasm of the fanatical specialist.

"Given your culture's unfamiliarity with this form of genetic engineering, I should perhaps explain that the changes it makes are quite undetectable, for they are determined by your genetic code-your rewritten genetic code. For the same reason, they are permanent, unless you should at later time have them reversed by the same technique. Thus, for example, if we change your hair color, the hair will continue to grow in the new color. Likewise-"

"Yes, we understand," Chloe cut in testily . . . though just barely accurately, in my case. "But what youdon't seem to understand is that Novak knows us very well. You could give me flaming red hair and she'd still recognize me."

"We have taken that into account," said Khorat, with a smugness which didn't last, for his tone grew troubled. "Earlier, I spoke of dangerous ramifications of this technique, the knowledge of which the we Medjavar have preserved while suppressing them. Let me be more specific. An extremely advanced, sophisticated form of nanovirus can actively alter and rearrange existing cells, and induce new ones to grow, so as to produce gross changes in the subject's anatomy-not merely modifications of body chemistry, or cosmetic alterations of such things as coloring. Taken to extremes, an organism can actually be metamorphosed into a member of a different species. The potential for abuse is so obvious that the Medjavar's task has been relatively easy, for on this point galactic society agrees with us, and bans all uses of the technique except officially sanctioned, rigorously controlled ones. Its enormous expense simplifies the problem of enforcement. Misuse of it is encountered only among the most decadent Delkasu circles, producing grotesque s.e.xual playthings and exotic servants for the superrich."I tried to imagine the possibilities. Outr genetic tampering hadn't yet become a staple of science fiction in those days. But I recalled a line from the cla.s.sic film Bride of Frankenstein: "G.o.ds and monsters . . ."

Nafayum took up the thread. "The technique has limits, of course. For example, total body ma.s.s cannot be increased significantly. I could not, for example, transform you into an Ekhemar-"

"Aw, phooey!" I deadpanned.

"-however great an improvement it would represent," Nafayum finished without a break, confirming my opinion that the Ekhemasu sense of humor was either nonexistent or very, very dry. "I could-given a great deal of preparatory work-turn you into a Delkar, with a residue of excess cells left over in a rather unappetizing form."

"Uh, that's okay," I said hastily. "Don't put yourself out on my account."

"What I am prepared to do now, however, is modify your bone structure so as to alter your facial

features and, within limits, your body size and build. I can guarantee that your own parents would not recognize you."

Chloe looked from one Ekhemar to the other and back. "So you're asking us to submit to this . . .

treatment?" Her voice held the same reservations I was feeling at the thought of letting aliens futz with

my genetic code.

"We should perhaps explain," said Khorat, evidently taking our a.s.sent for granted, "that there are certain complications."

"Surprise, surprise," I muttered.

"First of all, after the single injection that is required, it takes time for the biological nanomachines to replicate and perform their tasks. Even for the more elementary forms of genetic surgery, this takes a period of days. For the type of metamorphosis we are contemplating, which places a great strain on the subject's metabolism, it takes still longer, and requires rest under medical supervision-in this case, that

of Nafayum, who is not accompanying us to Earth. So we would have to remain here beyond the 'window of opportunity' of which I spoke."

"Well, then, if the whole thing is impractical, why are we even discussing it?" I was starting to get

annoyed.

"It is possible, with great difficulty, to produce a fast-acting version of the nanovirus, which reduces the time required by a factor of at least twenty. Nafayum has done so. We have, as you can see, spared no expense."

"And what's the catch?" Chloe asked point-blank.

"Yeah," I chimed in. "Didn't you say something about a 'great strain on the metabolism'?"

Khorat's self-satisfaction began to show a certain strain itself. "Well, you must remember that the cells

are having to keep the body alive at the same time they are doing the work of the metamorphosis. This is why rest and close observation are required. And . . . I believe I forgot to mention that there are certain side effects, including cramps, fatigue, ravenous hunger, chills, sweats and fever, culminating in a comatose state which is accompanied by unpleasant secretions from the various bodily orifices."

"Yes, you did forget to mention that," said Chloe pointedly. I contented myself with an eloquent glare.

"When the process is accelerated, these phenomena are unavoidably intensified," Khorat continued.

"However, the chances of survival are, we believe, within acceptable parameters."

"Survival?" and "Acceptable parameters?" Chloe and I echoed respectively.

"Well, it is possible for such an accelerated process to run out of control, so to speak. Various

possibilities then arise. The overworked cells may overheat, so that the subject is, in effect, cooked from the inside. A more serious problem is the randomization of the nanomachines' directing of cell growth, to produce effects a.n.a.logous to cancer but affecting all cells in the-"

"All right! That's it!" I surged to my feet. "You want to kill us, Khorat? Fine. Shove us out the airlock without vac suits. But when we volunteered to help you, we were not volunteering to become seething, shapeless blobs of cancer cells! You can take your 'acceptable parameters' and-"

"Fortunately, there is a way around these problems," Khorat said hastily.

"We're listening," said Chloe, before I could erupt.

Nafayum took over. "The difficulties Khorat has described can be avoided if we place you into

biological stasis, with full life support including intravenous nourishment. Under these conditions, you are being kept alive externally and your own body cells, under the 'supervision' of the nanomachines, can do their work of transformation without endangering your lives."

"Hmm . . ." I thought about it. "Suspended animation, in other words? So we'd be unconscious and

totally helpless."

"And totally at your mercy for the entire procedure," Chloe added. Looking back, I can see how one might argue that we had been at their mercy ever since coming to Khemava. But d.a.m.n it, there's a difference!

Nafayum leaned forward, visibly perplexed. "But have I not explained-?"

Khorat motioned her to silence. "It is your option of course," he said suavely. "Ethics forbids us to

compel you." Then, as an afterthought: "A pity, though, that our secondary preparations must go to waste."

I held out a couple of seconds before the primate curiosity on which Khorat was counting triumphed.

"Uh . . . 'secondary preparations'?"

"Yes. You see, since we were planning a moderately radical metamorphosis, we naturally looked into certain relatively trivial modifications that could be made in the course of the procedure."

"Such as?" queried Chloe, also hooked.

"Oh, this and that. Things that almost all galactic cultures use as a matter of course-things not even the Medjavar find objectionable. For example, permanently correcting any genetic defects. And . . . oh, yes, life span extension. What were you telling me you thought you could achieve, Nafayum?"

"Starting at their age? Oh, probably a total life expectancy of about a hundred and thirty of their years, plus or minus five. Of course, you know how these things work. They would start exhibiting their species' superficial indica of aging at only about twenty years later than normal. But they would retain full physical and mental vigor well past the century mark. Still, as you say, it's their option." Nafayum was a bit too casual. She really wasn't as good at this as Khorat. But by that point, she didn't need to be.

Chloe wasn't very good at it either. "Khorat . . . you did say you could reverse the changes in our appearance later if we don't like them, didn't you?"I'm sure I don't need to recount the rest of the conversation.

* * * The things they put us into had obviously been custom-built for humans. They resembled high-tech coffins-a resemblance I didn't permit myself to dwell on.

They were set up in the interstellar ship's sick bay, which could just barely hold them and their accessory equipment. We got into them under Nafayum's fussy supervision, on opposite sides of a curtain the Ekhemasu had rigged up lest they violate any human nudity taboos. After we were settled in, the curtain was removed and each of us was fitted with various IV ports and other kinds of connections, for we would in effect be cyborgs for the duration.

Chloe raised herself up and spoke to Nafayum. "Are you going to make us unconscious before you close the lids of these things?"

"Why, yes. That is part of the standard procedure.

"Good," said Chloe, and our eyes met. She, clearly, had been thinking the same thing I had about coffins. For a long moment we looked at each other, each memorizing the other's face. Then we settled back down.

An IV tube was inserted in one of the ports. I heard a humming, chugging sound. . . .

I blinked a few times. Then I noticed that the overhead I was staring at wasn't the overhead of the sickbay. Then I noticed I was lying in a bed, in a small, featureless cabin. Then I noticed Khorat.

"There is no sensation of the pa.s.sage of time," he explained.

I tried to speak, but my mouth was very dry. I swallowed and tried again. "You mean-?"

"The procedure was a success. Nafayum has already departed for Khemava with her equipment. We will

soon be getting under way for Earth."

I started to sit up, but I was very stiff. I raised my right arm, so that it came into my field of vision.

It wasn't my right arm. The wrist was longer, the hand narrower, the hairs darker, the skin tone sallower.

Khorat read my expression correctly. Without being asked, he handed me a mirror. I stared into it for a

long time.