The Conversion Read online

sense to me; I’m here to give my life away, hence, I’m a Dator. Why do doctors always use fancy Latin terms, when nobody knows what they mean?

  “Anyhow, Alina, let’s start by going over your medical portfolio and then we can set up the date for your conversion to take place as soon as possible.”

  “Sure.”

  Excitement and fear of the unknown combined to cause my throat to constrict and the voice comes squeakily, high pitched. Conversion is the day when my life is taken away from me, and given to a person who has paid for it.

  Dr. Kismen considers my reaction intensely as if expecting me to back out of the arrangement then continues. “Let’s start at the beginning. First, I need to take you through a basic questionnaire.” She reads quickly down the first page in my file. “Can you please confirm your date of birth?” Dr. Kismen asks.

  “Um…September 15...” Dr. Kismen interrupts me, saying “Oh! Today is your birthday! Happy birthday, Alina.”

  “Thank you.” It is the first birthday wish I’ve received today.

  “I’m eighteen today,” I say.

  Legally, you have to be eighteen years old to sign a LifeTrans contract to sell your life.

  “Great. Let’s continue.” She pauses “Eye color, green, hair color, brown, height, 5 feet 4 inches, and weight, 110 pounds. Is that correct?” Dr. Kismen looks up from my file, and I notice that she has beautiful brown eyes flexed with traces of gold. Tilting her head slightly Dr. Kismen studies me as if reading my body language. As she focuses her attention on me, I am struck by the fact that she is classically beautiful. Her flawless skin glows with just a touch of makeup. Dr. Kismen is perfect, just like a golden-eyed goddess.

  “Yes, yes, and yes,” I answer, struggling to find my thoughts and put them into words, distracted and perhaps even mesmerized by Dr. Kismen’s perfection.

  She turns the first page of my file.

  “Excellent, I have your physiological and genetic test results here as well. Your results were excellent, so there is no need to go over them, though,” she says.

  “I see you’ve chosen option number two. Your preparation procedures will all take place as part of the day-program at Ultima, which means you will come to the Centre each day, is this correct?” She asks, looking up from my file.

  “How many days will the preparation process take?” I ask. I thought the Conversion was a one-day thing, but perhaps I was mistaken.

  Ignoring my question, she says, “I need to let you know that you have another option. You can stay at Ultima full-time for the complete preparation process and the Conversion. We can provide a room with a private bathroom. All meals are included.”

  Given the prevailing sense of sadness, I’m not too keen on staying at the Centre besides I want to spend as much time as I can with my little brother.

  “Thanks for the offer, Dr. Kismen,” I say, “but I rather not stay here,”

  “Well, you still have until tomorrow to change your mind.” Dr. Kismen pushes back.

  I remain quiet.

  “On to the important stuff now: have you set up your trust fund?” Dr. Kismen asks.

  “Yes, I have. I set it up under my brother’s name: Micah Bruhler.” Saying Micah’s name makes me smile. Thoughts of my brother always do. Even though only 9 years old, he’s extremely smart.

  “As you know Alina, the Conversion is a pilot project and hasn’t been fully tested. As you signed-off on the Terms and Conditions section of the contract at this stage we just need you to verbally confirm that you fully understand all the risks involved?” she asks me with the somber face.

  I find this an interesting question at this late stage in the process. What could be worse than death for most humans?

  “I don’t know if I do. Can you please clarify what happens with the Trust funds if anything goes wrong?” I ask.

  “Well, if the Conversion is successful, your trustee gets the full amount of the trust funding.”

  “What if it’s not successful and I die?” I say, starting to feel anxious and concerned.

  “In that case, your brother would receive half of the trust funds, and the other half would be used to reimburse the person who paid for your life.” Dr. Kismen once again studies me closely, to gauge my reaction.

  “And, what if I live?” I ask timidly.

  “In that case, you would not receive any payment,” Dr. Kismen answers simply, and then lowers her head.

  “Listen Alina, the Conversion will be successful.”

  Her eyes drift to the side, and she’s clearly trying to avoid an eye contact with me. I can hear the doubt in her voice. At this point, however, I have no choice but to believe her.

  We are quiet for a few moments. So many things are going through my mind right now. I’m startled as Dr. Kismen breaks the silence.

  “Your conversion date is set for October 16, which is 31 days from today. I’m going to take you through a couple of details regarding the preparation process for the Conversion—the time period before the Conversion we call the ‘preparation process,’” she clarifies, typing something into her computer.

  “What?” I ask, disappointed. “Is there any way to have it done sooner? I had no idea this would take so long, and I’m not sure I will be able to wait. I must get it done as soon as possible.”

  “I understand how dreadful waiting can be, but, unfortunately, at this stage, the Conversion takes 30 days. Your neurological, physiological and emotional systems need this time to go through all the stages of the preparation process so that your life can be successfully transferred to the Receiver.” Dr. Kismen responds firmly, clearly wanting to close the discussion.

  “Fine,” I reluctantly reply.

  Dr. Kismen raises a finely defined eyebrow and waits for me to ask her another question.

  “So, what is the preparation process all about?” I ask, slightly irritated after the recent snub. I open my eyes wide in an attempt to concentrate on Dr. Kismen’s explanation. “And, can you explain it to me as simply as possible?” I really want to understand, and if she starts using medical terms, I’m more than likely to get lost and miss something important.

  “Certainly, that’s not a problem,” Dr. Kismen says. “In a nutshell, the Conversion happens through a virtual system called ‘Mentior,' which makes it possible to transfer the life energy from one person to another.” She pauses. “In order for the Conversion to happen, ‘Mentior’ first needs to gather all your memories into a single virtual space called the Memory Shelf.”

  Dr. Kismen watches me closely to make sure I’m still following what she is explaining.

  “I don’t get it,” I admit. I never did well at school, and it’s hard for me to comprehend things sometimes.

  “Have you ever heard the expression, “I saw my life flash before my eyes?”Dr. Kismen inquires.

  “Sure.”

  “There is a term for that: it’s called a ‘life review,’ and that’s what the preparation process is.”

  “OK…”

  I try to process the information.

  “Essentially, the preparation process is a life review,” says Dr. Kismen, repeating herself, clearly for my benefit. “A life review is a phenomenon that occurs during near-death experiences in which a person rapidly sees much or the totality of their life history.”

  I try to gather my thoughts and get my head around what she is saying.

  “So, you’re telling me I’ll be seeing my memories before the Conversion happens?” I ask, hoping that she’ll say no.

  “That’s almost right!”

  Dr. Kismen sounds pleased at my progress. “Simply put, Mentior needs to access your brain to collect all your memories, which then get put into one shelf in your brain that we call Memory Shelf. After that, on the day of the Conversion, your memories get destroyed—or, perhaps, ‘erased’ is a better term—and then your life gets transferred to the Receiver.”

  “Will the person who gets my life have access to my memories?” I ask with ca
ution.

  “No, no,” Dr. Kismen replies. “Your memories are erased completely on the Conversion day.”

  Dr. Kismen bites her lip and then continues. “In order to make this whole process happen, you will be connected to Mentior and begin reliving your memories. Currently, the procedure takes 30 days, but we are working on reducing the time of the preparation process. Very soon, we hope, it will only take a day—or even better an hour—to complete the preparation.”

  “Well, I’ll be dead by then!” I say sarcastically and grinning.

  Frankly, I would love to forget all my memories. Reliving them will be torture for me. My dumb luck! Why does everything in my life have to involve pain? I can’t even die without it.

  But, then again: what do I have to lose at this point?

  Dr. Kismen can see my frustration and discouragement.

  “The preparation process will probably be one of the most challenging times of your life,” she concedes, “but it’s necessary. Listen Alina, I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

  “So I will be reliving my memories as they are happening again?” I ask.

  Dr. Kismen nods.

  I remain quiet for few minutes, staring at the blank wall behind the desk. I am petrified and sickened to the point of nausea at the mere thought of experiencing all the humiliations and pain again.

  “I understand it can be difficult…”

  Dr. Kismen senses my distress.

  “No, I’m good. I’m fine,” I finally say.

  I have to remember Micah. I have to give him a better life. He deserves to be happy.

  “I want to do it.”

  I can feel my