The board went down deep a few times, then snapped up as Owl launched himself into the air, tucked into a ball, and spun above the pool. At the last moment he uncurled and sliced into the water.

In a moment, a fuzzy black head popped up next to Phantom.

"God, this is wonderful," Owl said, shaking the water from his head.

Phantom chuckled. "Almost as good as the original, eh?"

Owl's smile faded. "No."

"It never is," Phantom said softly.

It was a sunny day in Paradise. But then, this close to the equator, the weather was usually warm and often sunny. They paid for the weather, like they paid for the olympic-size swimming pool, the tennis courts, the world-class chefs, and the razor wire atop the high walls.

It was all part of the Paradise package, and the package cost. But then, three months in a young, handsome athletic body was bound to be pricey. Three months of relief while someone else took over the rehab of your broken body. It didn't come cheap.

"This your first time?" Phantom asked Owl.

Owl nodded. "And you?"

"I was here last year."

"Huh." Owl was obviously impressed. Body swaps were limited to one a year, if you could afford it.

The year limit was for the same reason that the swap started to deteriorate after three months; too much of having another consciousness mapped onto your brain, and the brain started to abandon connections. Phantom knew about it; his company had pursued its own research and he had seen the tests on monkeys. By five months, the monkeys were unable to feed themselves, and when attempts were made to transfer the original consciousness back, the monkeys threw themselves at the bars of the cages until they smashed their heads into bloody unconsciousness.

The fact was that a single trip to Paradise cost more than most people would see in a lifetime. Wealth alone was not enough to get you in; Paradise provided transfers only to those who would medically benefit, and whose original bodies were likely to survive the three months.

"So," Owl said, drawing out the question with a wave of his hand, "what brings you to Paradise?"

"Chemotherapy," Phantom said, smiling hard into Owl's questioning face.

"Ah," Owl said, looking down.

"Probably be my last visit," Phantom added, still smiling. "Too bad it's only three months, eh?"

Owl gave Phantom a quick, sharp glance, which Phantom pointedly ignored.

"There." Phantom pointed at two women. In a single swift movement that he could never have done in his own body, even when he was this young, Phantom put his hands on the edge of the pool and lifted himself out. Owl followed him up and they stood together like a couple of dripping Adonises.

The two women had just stepped out of the offices. They stood on the tiled path, blinking in the hot sun.

"New," Phantom said softly to Owl.

The women walked down the path, each carrying a suitcase with the Paradise logo, which would be filled with the clothes the host had picked out before the body swap.

"New," Owl echoed with a sly grin. "You thinking of making a friend or two, Phantom?"

The women were exquisite, of course. With the wealth that came through Paradise, Paradise hosts had to be the best. That, after all, was part of the draw.

The first woman was dark-haired, and dark-eyed, an olive-green silk dress flattering her slender figure. She had an exotic look, probably due to an Asian grandparent. She walked lightly, as though she was afraid she might break. Probably recovering from an accident. The second woman was small and compact, muscled like a swimmer. She had large blue eyes and a mane of hair the color of orange flame that fell past the shoulders of her yellow sundress.

Phantom chuckled. "Carrot Top's a fatty."

There were a lot of reasons to come to Paradise, but basically it was about having someone else do your dirty work for you. You hired a host to do rehab after an accident, or take the painful chemo treatments that were your last stab at life. Or maybe you hired someone to repair the damage you had done to yourself.

"You mean she's here to lose weight?" Owl laughed. "How can you tell?"

"I'm a businessman, Owl. You don't build a successful business on products, you build it on people. I've spent a lot of years watching people. And my business is very successful."

The two women had probably gone through the transfer process last night. They would have already slept in their new bodies one evening, and this morning white-clad angels—the Paradise staff—would lead them through two hours of "get acquainted" exercises. The new body would have none of the problems of the old, so it didn't take long to get comfortable enough in the new body, enough so it felt as if you belonged there.

Going back, of course, was a bitch.

First Publication: Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, Dec 1996

An Afterword: Seeking the Singularity

Sonia of the Singularity who is perhaps the most original, the most gnomic and the most sheer representative of those writers who in this age of Virtual Reality have come to dominate the shrinking cavern in which the true science fiction writers, the descendants and inheritors of John Campbell's Golden age have come to shuddering perch. Her work is as extraordinary and ungiving in its flourishes and template...the stories here jingle and jangle and set off rockets which fall back to burn the page...

Barry N. Malzberg
June 2022/New Jersey