Laura Tirey woke up slowly, Nila's tear-stained little face shimmering behind her closed eyelids. Who was Nila? Laura's head swirled with snatches of conversations, faces, and places, until the most important one had finally settled: Doctor Yoland's announcement.

"We have a donor body for you. The perfect match."

Unable to turn her head, Laura lifted her hand to investigate. Her fingers stumbled upon a cold metallic band circling her forehead. She froze, suddenly realizing what she had done. She could move. The body swap had worked!

Laura stretched her arm all the way up. Her fingers were thin and long. Sleek muscles flexed beneath the pale skin. Her mouth stretched into a goofy grin. Sweeping her other hand under the hospital sheet, she shivered at the unaccustomed friction of skin and fabric.

Should she explore further? Holding her breath, Laura jerked her legs. The blue sheet, obedient to her motion, slipped to the foot of the bed. Her legs could move too. A strange lump expanded in her throat, and her lips quivered. After four decades of slow disintegration inside the withered, paralyzed shell of her old body, she had a new functional body. Foreign sensations assaulted her like sensory fireworks. Was it an ache in her butt? Was her knee itching?

An unwelcome memory intruded: that girl Nila again, sobbing, stretching her hands in entreaty. Laura frowned. She didn't know anyone named Nila. She didn't know any children either. She had probably been watching a movie when the doctor phoned about the transplant. When she returned home, she would finish the movie and learn who Nila was and what she wanted.

"Experimenting already?" Doctor Yoland strode into the room.

Laura's lips crimped in a smile. "Yes, sir."

"How is your head?" His eyes were riveted to the monitors on the wall.

"Fine. Can you remove the restraints?"

"Of course." He bent to the controls on the headboard. The metallic band around her forehead clicked, releasing her.

Pushing herself up on her elbows, Laura looked down at her new body. It was young, smooth, and naked. Laura's face grew hot. "I'm blushing," she breathed, delight bubbling inside her. She had never blushed before. She pulled her palm over her right breast, round and tight, unlike her previous ones that hung like rags. The nipple obediently sprang up. She shivered.

Yoland grinned faintly and pointed at a full-sized mirror in the corner. "Do you want to look at yourself?"

"Yes!"

He extended his hands. "You did very well, Laura. Stand up." His old, wise eyes crinkled. "Don't think. Let the body do the job."

Bracing herself, Laura reached for his hands. She had a working body now. Her legs would know how to stand, even if she didn't. The room started spinning, and she hastily shut her eyes, relying on Yoland's steadying hands. When the dizziness subsided, she risked peeking out. She was standing.

"Now, come to the mirror."

Laura made the first few steps of her life. A strange young woman in the mirror didn't look like her at all. She had brown eyes and short dark hair, covering her head in a tight, curly cap. Small symmetrical bruises darkened both temples, where the transplanting electrodes connected during the procedure. The full breasts stuck out. The long legs seemed endless.

"I like her." Laura was unable to keep her smile at bay. "I want to stand by myself." The voice was also unfamiliar: lower, deeper, stronger.

"That's not her. That's the new you." The doctor removed his supporting hands.

"Feels like a masquerade costume. I keep waiting for this disguise to wear off."

"It won't," Yoland said with conviction.

She stood swaying in front of the mirror, strength flowing into her. Touching a finger to the small belly button, she sucked a salted drop off her lip. The body was perfect. It was so perfect it didn't make sense.

"Why is it a donor body?" she asked, unable to tear her eyes away from the beautiful reflection in the mirror. "It's not damaged. Why did she die?"

Yoland cleared his throat. "The body was anonymous. She was a criminal executed for her crimes, her personality wiped out, and the body donated for medical research."

"A criminal?" Laura gulped. Her new skin grew cold.

"Don't worry, Laura," the doctor said. "The wipe was complete. I've checked."

"Thank you." She felt lightheaded again. "What if someone recognizes her? Me?"

"The body came from off-planet. There's practically no risk anyone would recognize her here. Anyway, the hospital will issue the official certificate that you've undergone a personality transplant into an unnamed female body."

****

A week later, still in her living disguise, Laura returned home. She stopped her taxi a few blocks from the house and walked the remaining distance, inhaling the zesty smells of violet buds and newborn green leaves of spring. Touching a branch here and a petal there, she reveled in the tactile sensations that had been denied to her before. By the time she ascended the ramp to her house on foot for the first time in her life, her fingertips tingled from the spring sap.

She lingered on the threshold. What if her disguise would come off despite Yoland's reassurance? What if she only had a few more days? It didn't matter. Basking in the sunlight, Laura felt indecently grateful to the unnamed criminal for her donation. Nila would be so happy here.

Blast! Shedding off her trance, Laura shook her head. It was ridiculous to think of Nila as a real person. She was not. Nila was pure fiction, the daughter of Denise, the main heroine of a thriller movie Laura had watched before going to the hospital.

The young actress had played her role exceptionally well, especially in the scene of her mother's arrest. The girl's huge brown eyes, brimming with tears, flashed in Laura's mind, and she felt like crying herself. She longed to hug Nila, to kiss away her hurts, to braid the girl's thick dark hair and put a finger inside a little plump ringlet at the end of each braid. Her hands itched to pull at the braids and hear Nila's indignant squealing.

She dismissed her blues. Really, she should find that movie crystal and learn the conclusion of the story. How had Denise found the bad guys who framed her for murder? Laura didn't remember anything after the trial that ended with Denise's conviction. But it couldn't have been the end of the movie. Movies didn't end that way. Denise should triumph and reunite with her little Nila. Laura wished to see Nila laughing. She wished it so much, she ached. What a folly!

Admiring her reflection in a dark comm-link screen, Laura rummaged through her collection of movie crystals. The Denise movie wasn't there. Strange. Nobody entered her home after she had left for the hospital. She turned the comm-link on and browsed through the folder of movie files. Still nothing. Where was the darn movie? Had the transplant scrambled her memory?

She jumped up and sauntered from room to room, scanning every surface. Tables, shelves, even her old flying chair. No movie crystal. Perhaps it was still on the net. She set up a movie search by the name Denise Krill.

The comm-link spit out a message almost immediately. 'Not found!'

Double blast. Laura's hand wandered over the keyboard without touching the keys. The action of that movie took place on Simel. Perhaps, the movie was produced there. She set up the new search with the key words Denise Krill and Simel and went to the kitchen. The interplanetary searches took time, and she was hungry.

When the bell chimed the positive results of her inquiry, she almost scalded her tongue with the tea as she sprinted back to the comm-link. She could sprint! Grinning like a dolt, she dropped in the chair and suddenly shivered: the face looking at her from the screen was the same one that reflected in the dark glass doors of her bookcase. Only on the screen it didn't smile.

Laura's smile faded too. The same eyes, the same hair, even the same birthmark on her left cheek. Unable to suppress the tremors that shook her body, Laura touched the birthmark. Then she began reading.

It wasn't a movie after all. Denise Krill was a real woman, executed for a murder she didn't commit. Laura knew it for certain—she remembered.

Bunching her fists so tight her palms hurt, she stared at the screen. She felt cold—a pretender, wearing a beautiful disguise she didn't deserve. She couldn't discard her pliant, hot-blooded new body, but it didn't belong to her all the same. It belonged to Denise. The memories that should've been destroyed during the execution overflowed her.

Denise's mother. Denise's favorite anatomy teacher in college, Carl Breole. She had had a huge crush on him. Denise's cellmate in jail—a real murderer that had killed her abusive husband. And Nila—laughing, crying, sleeping. Thankfully, Laura didn't remember the execution.

Frantically, she scrolled the comm-link screen until her eyes burned. She needed to learn all the details of Denise's life and all the aspects of the murder trial. Added to her memories that shouldn't have existed, they had made a clear picture from the separate pieces of the puzzle. Horrified at the implications, she jumped up and headed for the door. She had to see Yoland again.

****

"I can't reverse the transplant," Yoland said quietly. They sat together in his office, light-blue and faceless like many other medical offices, except for Yoland's diplomas and certificates. "I can't do it to you the second time either," he added. "Your personality matrix won't survive another transplant, and Denise would still be just as dead. I can't do anything, Laura. I'm sorry."

Obviously even Yoland, the genius doctor who had created the personality transplant procedure, wasn't omnipotent. Clenching the handles of her purse, Laura let out her breath. "Thank you," she said. She had just gotten this new and wonderful body. No matter how immoral it might seem, she was immensely glad Yoland could do nothing. She didn't want to give up this marvelous young skin, this fantastic disguise. She wanted to ski, to swim, to dance. She didn't wish to die. She just wished ... what?

"She was innocent, doctor," she said. "I know. I remember. I feel responsible in some way. I have to help her."

"Tell me what you remember," Yoland replied softly.

"I went to see Carl Breole, my former teacher."

"Not you. It was Denise who went to see her teacher."

"Right," Laura said. "But it feels like me. The borderline is blurry. Anyway, we chatted a while. When I left, he was fine. At the door, I met this other guy. No, Denise met him. I remember him now. He was the head of the police investigators assigned to Denise's case. Captain Pilch. But Denise didn't know him. He pointed a box at her, like a portable comm-link, and it blinked."

"Blinked?"

"I don't have any other explanation. Like a light flash."

"Okay. And then what?"

"I stood at the door. No, she stood." Laura frowned, sorting through the alien memories intertwined with her own. "Some time later, I kind-of woke up and left. No, Denise left. I think she blocked out for a while. I remember looking at my watch." Laura grimaced. "No, Denise's watch. Drat! I feel like her. I once watched this old movie about a mask that took over a man. It feels like this body is coming alive and taking over me, like a disguise pushing its personality over mine." She bit her lip and sniffed. "I think I want it to. I want to be her."

"No, you don't. Keep those memories separate, Laura. They'll consume you otherwise."

"The memories belong with this body. I'm her. And she is me. We're together."

Shaking his gray head, Yoland sighed. "What happened to the watch?"

"The watch? Oh, yeah. It stopped. The battery was dead. The police said Carl died at that exact time, but I was at the door, I swear. Captain Pilch was with Carl. Denise didn't remember that. She didn't remember the policeman at all, as if he didn't exist. She couldn't explain what happened. But I can."

"Perhaps that blinking box instigated a short-term memory block, like a brain freeze," Yoland mused. He held his old, wrinkled hands clasped together on his desk, like a steeple. His eyes squinted at something beyond Laura's shoulder. "During the execution, those blocked out memories popped up, triggering a backfire domino reaction." He glanced at her, excitement lighting his lined face. His eyes sparkled. "That's why the wipe had failed."

"You look like a triumphant treasure hunter," Laura said in disgust.

"There is this technology, but I thought it was only used by the military. It's illegal on Earth."

"Maybe it's legal on Simel." Laura looked at Yoland with the question in her eyes.

He lifted his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Then why the executioners didn't notice? They should've."

"Yes, they should've. Maybe there was a time delay. Yes, that's it!" Enchanted by his discovery, Yoland jumped up and began pacing his office, from the window to the door. His articulate hands moved like a conductor's baton, as he thought furiously. "I guess the time delay equaled the time Denise was blocked out at the door." He pointed his long finger at Laura. "Do you remember how much time she had lost that day?"

Laura swiveled her head right and left but couldn't do it fast enough to follow his progress. "Stop pacing," she snapped. "My head hurts."

"Sorry." Smiling unrepentantly, he halted, leaning on his desk. "How much time?"

"I don't remember." Laura shuffled her confusing memories like cards, separating Denise's from her own. It was becoming harder and harder to do. "Not more than fifteen minutes," she offered finally. "The policeman came in, flashed at me, went to Carl's study, probably killed him, and came out. Very soon after, I woke up. Gosh. I hate it!" She enclosed her face in her hands. "She woke up," she amended through her hands. "What can I do? I must clear her name!"

"Why? It can't change anything, neither for you, nor for her."

"Denise had a daughter." Laura lifted her troubled eyes at Yoland. "Nila. I want to adopt the girl. She's been haunting me ever since I woke up after the transplant. Nila doesn't deserve this hell: living in a foster home, thinking her mother was a murderer." The thoughts of Nila rammed into Laura with a sharp wedge of guilt. She felt like a vampire, a blood-sucking parasite, blithely disguising as the girl's mother, feasting viciously on Denise's flesh. "They might cut off Nila's braids," she whispered. "I'd hate it if they do."

"I see," Yoland said. "Perhaps you should travel to Simel? But it might put you in danger."

Laura perked up. "Of course! I'll go there and talk to Jemi Breole, Carl's widow."

"Risky," Yoland murmured. He settled back at the desk, watching Laura. "That corrupt policeman might try to eliminate you again. Why did he kill that professor?"

"I don't know." Laura shrugged. "He knows about the personality wipe. He would probably think I don't remember, even if he meets me. Besides, I won't talk to him. I'll talk to Jemi."

"Be prepared that the widow could refuse to talk to you. She thinks Denise was a murderer. Do you know her well?"

"We met a couple of times, exchanged a few of words. She knew I was Carl's student." Laura's spirit dropped. "She was a witness for the prosecution."

"Ah. Don't forget, Laura, Denise was Breole's student. Not you."

"Damn. I'm such a chucklehead. I'll make Jemi talk to me."

"In all the time I've known you, Laura, you've never cussed before," Yoland remarked. "Must be Denise's influence."

****

Simel met Laura with a cold, drizzly rain. Contrary to the pictures in the tourist guide, the brown clouds leaked intermittently, not allowing even a glimpse of the huge pink sun. All the bubble cars flew with their lights on. From the fifth floor of Laura's hotel, the flying traffic resembled a dense, sparkling soup, stirred constantly by a giant ladle of traffic control.

Laura watched the transportation brewery from a glassed-off balcony, wrapped up in her white mohair shawl against the chill. Behind her back, the visitors of the hotel strode in both directions past the common lounge. A couple of old men played chess in the corner. A woman sat under an artificial palm tree, reading on her hand-held comm-link. Humans took their culture everywhere they went, Laura mused, even to another planet.

She examined her feeling. Did she feel at home on Simel? No. Her home was on Earth, not here. She tried to recall some emotional attitude Denise might've felt towards her home planet, its weather, its flowers, but those memories were not there. Obviously, they didn't survive the wipe. Mostly, she remembered a sequence of events, dry like a comm-link code. The sole memories saturated with emotions were those concerning her daughter. Where was Nila? Did that foster family treat her well?

"Mama, let's go to the mall," chimed a young voice, interrupting Laura's introspection. She turned.

A preschooler girl in a checkered cream-and-lilac dress hopped in front of a young woman in a green sports suite. "Mama, you promised." The girl's dark hair, tied with a lilac ribbon, swished back and forth like a tail of a playful puppy. She tugged at the woman's sleeve.

Laura's heart thumped painfully. Nila's hair had been longer. She didn't remember Nila's voice or any other sound, she realized, only pictures, but they pulled at her soul with all the insistence of the real girl with the dark ponytail.

"Sure, honey." The mother followed her daughter out of the lounge.

A new memory blossomed in their wake: Nila at a kindergarten masquerade, dressed up as a clown. She had been such a serious little clown, making all the tricks with the intent, unsmiling face. Laura ached to touch that precious face, to ensure the girl was real. No funking off, she told herself sternly. She couldn't leave Nila in the foster care for one minute longer than necessary. She would go see Jemi Breole right now.

An hour later, a bubble car deposited her in front of Breole's residence. It was the same house Denise had visited. Fighting her sense of déjà vu that threatened to consume her, Laura pressed the buzzer. Instead of sliding inside the wall, like in her own house, the door swung open, almost knocking her off her feet. Jemi Breole, her ashen face lined with wrinkles Denise didn't remember, stood on the threshold.

"You!" the woman whispered, fear and hatred widening her blue eyes.

As if slapped, Laura hastily stepped back.

"Murderer!" Jemi pointed a shaking finger at Laura. "You should be dead!" She backed up inside and slammed the door.

Laura flinched. "Denise is dead," she whispered to the closed door, the staccato of her heartbeats deafening all the other sounds. Her guts churned. What could she do? How could she make Jemi listen? Numb, she shuffled back to the car.

By the time she reached the hotel, she recovered her courage. She would try again. She had to deliver her explanations tonight. No funking off, she repeated to herself like a mantra, as she punched Jemi Breole's number in the hotel's holo comm network.

Jemi's face appeared in the holo image above the comm plate. The woman didn't allow Laura even a chance to open her mouth. "You filthy bitch!" the widow spat. Then the display went dark. Jemi broke the connection.

"Sapskull!" Laura stared at the empty shimmering hologram. How could she clear Denise's name, if Jemi refused to listen. What if the stubborn widow complained to the police? The notion was suddenly so terrifying, Laura could hardly breathe. She shook. Goosebumps sprang up all over her body. To fend off the chill, she rubbed her arms. That murderous Captain Pilch could kill her all over again. She had disregarded Yoland's warning earlier, but what if the doctor was right? What if she was in danger? She had to act quickly. Perhaps Jemi would read a written message if it was signed by someone other than Denise. Jemi loathed Denise, her husband's murderer. But she didn't know Laura Tirey.

Hurriedly, Laura opened the local planetary mailing program and began typing. "Dear Mrs. Jemi Breole. My name is Laura Tirey. I traveled all the way from Earth to speak to you. You might be surprised to learn ..." She didn't dare write about Captain Pilch and his blinking box, afraid to commit any such details to the electronic mail. The murderer might be checking Jemi's communications. Laura would explain it all in person when they met. If Jemi agreed to a meeting. Laura only committed the information about the transplant procedure to the letter. By the time she sent her letter, it was dark.

What should she do now? She wasn't sleepy. She went to the window and peeked down at the hotel's entrance. Brightly lit, it buzzed with people going in or out. The bubble cars of all colors bobbed up and down in front of the large doors of the hotel. A woman in a crimson fur boa laughed. Laura shivered in her room. She didn't want to be alone. She grabbed her shawl and headed to the bar downstairs. She had never drunk alcohol before. She wanted to try. According to Denise's memory, drinking was a distracting experience, and she needed a distraction badly.

"Soon I'll take you home, my little dove," she mouthed to Nila's pouting face in her mind. "I promise."

In the morning, Laura had hardly opened her eyes, when a message board above the comm-link monitor flashed blue, accompanied by melodious tinkling. 'You have a visitor!' In surprise, Laura stared at the message. Then she pressed the acknowledgement button. Perhaps it was that handsome businessman from the bar yesterday. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still too short and didn't require much combing. Two red lines from a pillow were indented into her left cheek under the birthmark. Other than that, she looked presentable. She grinned into the mirror. She was getting used to her unusual disguise. Pulling on her tight black pants and a rainbow jumper, she grabbed her purse and waltzed towards the lounge.

Jemi Breole, clad in a formal gray suite, stood up from her seat beneath the fronds of the artificial palm tree, her eyes drilling holes in Laura's hide. "Laura Tirey, I presume."

Laura swallowed. Her letter had worked after all. "Yes, ma'am." She took a deep breath. "As I told you in the letter, I've undergone a personality transplant into Denise's body. I have a document from the hospital to prove it." She dug out her personal comm-link from her purse.

Jemi glared at the device before snatching it from Laura's fingers, reading rapidly. "What do you want?" she asked, returning the gadget. "How did you find me?" She seemed calm and controlled, and the color of her face was much better now than the ghastly gray it had been when she first spotted Laura on her doorstep. "What's a personality transplant?"

"It's an experimental procedure, Mrs. Breole. During the execution, they wiped out Denise's personality. Then my doctor transplanted me inside her body. Only, there was a fluke, and I retained Denise's memories. It wasn't supposed to happen. That's how I found you: I remembered."

"You remember everything?" Jemi frowned. "It must be terrible. You don't sound like that foul-mouthed nurse."

"The memories are uncomfortable." Laura wetted her lips. "Fortunately, they're remote like a book or a movie. And only video, no sound. Would you step into my room? I'd like to talk to you in private."

Jemi looked around at the people buzzing to and fro. "All right," she said reluctantly and followed Laura into the room. "So why did you come here? Did you want to apologize? It wasn't really your fault. It was that awful nurse." Absently, Jemi glanced into the mirror of Laura's dresser, adjusting her silver coiffure. Her eyes met Laura's in the mirror. "It's so queer to see you. Sorry, I didn't talk to you when you came to my house yesterday. It was a shock."

"It's okay, I understand." Laura dropped down into the bright burgundy armchair and gestured Jemi to sit on a matching loveseat. "Please, Mrs. Breole." She didn't know how to start. Averting her eyes, she peered out the window, where the bubble cars darted through the sunless gray air.

"I don't blame you," Jemi said quietly.

Coughing to clear her voice, Laura rushed her confession. "You shouldn't blame Denise either. That's why I came. She didn't kill your husband. I know—I remember. She was innocent, and her conviction and execution unjust. I'd like to clear her name."

Here, she said it. Ready to argue her point, she turned back to Jemi.

Mutely, Jemi stared at Laura. Her skin seemed suddenly bleached of color. Even her lips turned white.

"Mrs. Breole? Are you alright?"

Jemi didn't answer and didn't move. Only her horrified eyes lived in the blank face.

Laura jumped up from her seat and knelt beside­ her guest. "Can I get you anything? Call a doctor?" She shouldn't have unleashed her information on Jemi like that. Jemi wasn't ready. "Talk to me," Laura pleaded desperately.

"She did ... didn't ... didn't kill him? She didn't ... lie?" Jemi's voice hiccupped like a scratched audio crystal.

"No, ma'am." Laura shook her head.

"I thought she did," Jemi whispered.

"I know."

"She died?"

"Yes. Would you help me?"

"I killed her! I sent her to her death. I insisted. Oh, God!" The older woman covered her face with her hands.

Laura kept silent. There was nothing to say.

Finally, Jemi looked at Laura again. "Yes, I'll help you," she said without inflection, her eyes now lifeless. "Do you know who killed him?"

"I think so. But I have no proof." Laura told Jemi about Captain Pilch with his blinking box and about Yoland's brain freeze theory. "Denise didn't remember all that, but I do," she finished her story. Unable to witness the anguish twisting the other woman's face any longer, she stood up and went to the window. Outside, the rain started falling, drawing thin gray lines across the glass.

"Why would Captain Pilch do that?" Jemi came to stand beside Laura.

"I don't know," Laura said. "I don't think Denise knew either."

"I'm sorry," Jemi said. "Does it feel strange to be in another body?"

"Yes, weird," Laura acknowledged. "Like a disguise. At first, I was waiting for it to peel off, but now I'm kind of fusing with it. Sometimes, I can't distinguish which memories are mine and which are Denise's. And I started swearing. I never swore before; didn't know the words."

For the first time since Jemi entered the room, something lively sparkled in her eyes. "Oh," she said. "Should I call the police?"

"No!" Laura whirled to face her.

"Not Pilch but the second investigator, Lieutenant Corus," Jemi said. "He was inclined to believe you. He argued with me and with his boss." Jemi's liveliness gave way to dread again. "I'm so sorry, Laura," she repeated. "Now I understand why that bastard wouldn't allow you an appeal. He was afraid his blinking box would lose its potency or something. I'll nail him!" She lifted her hand to touch Laura's arm. "But why did he do it?"

"Maybe Carl was consulting for the police? Maybe he uncovered something Pilch wanted concealed."

"Maybe. Carl did consult for the police. Occasionally. Would you forgive me?"

"You didn't know," Laura said. "You acted out of your conviction. I suppose you can call Lieutenant Corus. I remember him. He was very polite." Her voice dropped to a whisper, as another snippet of memory resurfaced. "He promised me to take care of Nila."

"Who?"

"My daughter." Laura stared into the window. The rain continued falling, but now she could also glimpse the huge Simel's sun. Reflected in every raindrop and every bubble car window, it turned the entire world pink and shining. A rainbow sprang up across the street from the hotel—a gigantic polychromatic picture frame.

"A rainbow!" Jemi's voice was tinted with awe. "I've never seen a rainbow. I only heard about them. They almost never happen on Simel. Do you have them on Earth often?"

"Sometimes." Laura smiled. Under her gaze, the rainbow seemed to move, traveling majestically towards her and her window. Finally, it disappeared somewhere behind the hotel. "We've sailed under the rainbow," she said. "We should be so lucky."

"I'll clear Denise's name, I swear," Jemi said solemnly.

"I'll take Denise's name," Laura echoed. "Nila should never know I'm not her mother." Her disguise was seizing control, and she breathed deeply, reveling in its sweet power. Tears began flowing down her cheeks. Smiling, she licked the salt off her lips and turned to face Jemi. "Call me Denise. I'm Denise."

"You would give up all you were for that girl?"

"I love Nila," Denise said.