Another Diana By The Pacifist Part One -- The Offer Another You. Kind of a strange name, Diana thought, but she'd seen worse. They claimed the ability to change a person's shape, it seemed. Well, she didn't believe it for a second, until a strange, plump lady walked in. "Hello, Diana. Any new stories for me?" She walked right behind the counter of Diana's store. "Excuse me, madam, but I believe you're trespassing." "On my own employer's store? Don't you recognize me?" The voice didn't ring any bells for Diana, that was sure. "I think customers like you should step back in front of the counter before I toss you." Just to drive the point home, she flexed a little to show she could do that, literally. The biceps began to swell. "Oh, come on, Diana, it's Sandra. We shelved the newest Giantess stories two days ago, you know me." Diana still didn't fall for it. "We get a lot of visitors here. And a lot of paying customers." She let her chest push a little further out, widen, show that she meant business. "And do they all know about the third floor expansion we're planning next month?" Diana paused. The short lady continued. "You know, with that new weight-lifting equipment we would put in for show, because..." and she lowered her voice, "people like us wouldn't really need it?"" Only Sandra knew about the gym. Needless to say, Diana was convinced about Sandra. That's how she ended up at my shop. I'm the quantum engineer at Another You, Inc. (A fancy title -- actually, I just play around with lasers and wormholes...) I met Diana (and learned her story) after she'd met our sales rep and manager at the door. That's how it usually happens--no big deal. "And this is Alex," the manager said, introducing me to the short, stocky woman. I was impressed: her handshake was firm, yet I sensed she had a lot more power in that grip than she let on. Her clothes weren't too baggy -- not tight, mind you -- but they merely hinted at her power. "Go ahead and explain to her how this works, Al," the manager then said to me, like he had said a hundred times before. No matter -- I designed the thing, and I knew it inside and out. At least, in this universe... Sure. I pointed to a large contraption, the only attractive part of which was a black cube exactly 47.50 feet on each side... "What this building-sized machine does is it bridges the gap between our universe and the multiverse. Essentially, it opens a door to parallel universes." "Like Sliders?" she asked. I chuckled. "No, no, about the only similarity is that the sci-fi show and this thing both use wormholes. After that, it's a totally different ball game. What we actually do is trade your body for one you want, with someone who wants your body." "Uh-huh. How the hell do you do that?" "Well, the system works a little like our World Wide Web: basically, we put out a four-dimensional image of you out to the Traders and we give them some guidelines on what you want. Then in about four hours, we get a message back from them telling us in 412 dimensions where the closest matches are. We wait for the appointed time, preset the conditions into our supercomputer, verify connection, and Beam Me Up Scotty!" "Sounds like a load of technobull to me." "Did your cousin Sandra seem like a load of technobull to you? That's how effective it is. We can't transfer personalities, and most other universes don't do it when they can. That kind of transition drives most of them insane, and a few of them are dangerously powerful. But for the physical aspects of it -- you want it, you got it. Just costs about 700 dollars per trip, one-way. And most of that goes to the power company. In short, it's a hell of a deal." "I'm still not convinced." "Well, you see him? He's about to go through the process." I pointed to a big and tall guy who just walked in. "He wants to change about thirty pounds of fat into forty pounds of muscle. Can do, and will do in about six minutes! Excuse me." I walked away from her at that moment-- I had a customer to serve. "Sir, would you step into the box, please, onto the black X at the center, and hold still. It'll only take six minutes and forty-three seconds. Thank you," I said as I guided him into the chamber, and then sealed it. "And whatever you do, don't open that door!" To Diana, I said, "The Heisenberg uncertainty principle, a trillion-fold. If he is observed in any way, shape or form while in transit, he's screwed. Because about half of his physical form will complete the transition in a picosecond, and half will revert to his old form in the same amount of time. That kind of mutant, we're sure, would die in seconds. We have never had that happen, and I can't lock the door because of fire codes. But we have an emergency abort procedure that takes fourteen point three seconds, so as long as that door stays shut and the power holds, he'll be okay. We have emergency generators online as we speak, so the power will hold. Seventy percent," I called out to a nearby technician. "Engaging communications link," he replied. A few seconds later, "Online -- he's good!" To Diana, I said, "That means we got the specs he asked for. We never ever trade bodies without 99.999 -- 9 percent assurance of that. We have twelve alternate universes in case we don't meet specs in that one." "Lucky thirteen," she mumbled. I grinned, "Actually, we usually only have about seven. This time, the alignment was fortunate. Eighty percent!" A few seconds later, I yelled, "Ninety percent...Ninety Five! Heads up for abort! All hands, give me go or abort!" Six voices chimed in sequence: "Go!" "Go!" "You're Go." "Ehhh... go!" "Go!" "Go!" "Bubba? What was that ehhh? Talk to me," I shouted without leaving station. "A little flux in the number seven laser beam," the fourth voice, Bubba, said, "but it's below yellow. Just. Needs a retuning." "What's the error margin? Give me the number." "Zero point zero zero four seven, by my readings." "That's really close, but yeah, We're Go. Listen up! I have full power and we are ready to go. Last chance to abort! Last chance! Do we have an abort?" Silence for ten seconds, by the book. "GO GO GO!" That's our code -- means we've crossed that line. "What does all that mean?" Diana asked -- I'd forgotten about her. "Oh, nothing to really worry about. We have many different systems, and the seven of us keep an eye on the entire assembly. Any one thing off by too much, past the red line, and the whole thing's a scrub. If it's not quite there, past the yellow line but not red, we can either switch to an alternate, if the problem's not here, or we abort, if it is. In Bubba's case, it is. But it's below yellow, in our safe range. Transition at thirty percent!" I bellowed. "Confirm," a lady said to my left, about fifteen paces. "Thirty-two percent and rising. Estimated time, three minutes." She was the first voice. "That sort of glitch, like Bubba's, happens all the time. Again, usually it's so minor, we hold on it for a second, think about it, and move on. But we take that moment to think, because again, we're dealing with quantum uncertainties and a life. That's a dangerous combination for the life." "And this thing is safe?" "That's why we have seven technicians. Quadruple redundancy, and a god-damned thorough way of checking ourselves. We don't even want to think about what one mistake would cause... anything from a heart murmur to..." At that moment, I glanced down at my console. "How's that laser, Bubba?" "Hovering at zero point zero zero four seven, give or take zero point zero zero zero three." "Bubba, that's too damned close! Zero point zero zero five -- prepare for emergency abort, people!" I took it from there. "Ready!" "Ready!" "Ready!" "Ready!" "Ready!" "Ready!" "Execute abort on my mark, five, four, three, two, one, mark!" Twenty seconds later, "Arlene, what's your read?" The lady opposite me in the room sounded, "Life signs are stable." "Quantum flux?" "Negative, Alex," came voice number five. "Then let's shut down, people, and you, Bubba, get that damn laser fixed. If it even brushes yellow like you told me it did, you tell me. I don't care what the sales guy says, I review the logs, and I judge your performance on them." "Safety is everything," I added. The words hung heavily in the air, while I walked over to open the chamber door. "Mr. Tannenbaum? I'm sorry, but we had a slight malfunction in the system. It's nothing to worry about -- we just weren't able to complete transformation because of your safety. We can try again in about three hours, sir, because our techs are already working on it. It won't cost you anything extra, sir. If you'll sit in our waiting room, I'm sure the manager will clear up any concerns you have. Right this way, sir." Through all this, I had ignored Diana. I expected that my little tirade might have driven her out, but instead, to my surprise, her face was beaming. "If you have that much concern for anyone's safety, and if you can do what you say you can, you've got yourself another customer." Later, the manager chewed me out. Says that the damn thing was just touching that yellow 0.005. Cost him about four hundred dollars -- we were halfway there -- for nothing. But he knows me, knows that I won't budge because of safety. I lost a good friend to carelessness in the Navy -- I won't let it happen again. Fortunately, he says, Mr. Tannenbaum will return. He does, and we pull it off this time, with that laser online, error margin at 0.0000000068. Right on the money. "Good job, Bubba." The next day, Diana returned to the office, bright and early at 9 a.m. "Good morning. Well, first off, we'll need to scan you a few times, to build that four-dee image. We won't transform you now, but I'll need you in the chamber on the X in the center. This won't hurt a bit -- just a few X-rays. Stand on the X and I can do this myself." Having built the thing, I can imagine what she feels as she enters the room. A pale bluish-white light at the ceiling illuminates the entire cube's interior, grey-metallic walls and floor. A large black X, about four feet to each arm of it, in the exact center. Lasers placed at various points around the room, and a few other devices which are a little ugly themselves, but nothing to worry about. It's just a big box with grey walls and an X. As soon as she's in position, according to my sensors, I start the scans. X-rays focus at various levels of depth within her body, to scan onto film what slices of her look like, horizontal, vertical, you name it. She can see lasers crossing over her, but she probably doesn't understand -- or worry, it seems -- she isn't leaving the X or making any big movements. Good. We'll get a high-resolution scan in two minutes of everything we need. Three minutes later, I open the door. The lasers have stopped. "You can come out now. The supercomputer will take a few minutes to crunch its numbers and compose the animation. What you are about to see is a diagram of yourself, the exterior, anyway, complete with clothing. If you want to look an inch below your skin, we can do that. If you want to see your heart beating, no problem. If you want to see your arm twitch, we can arrange that. We have a complete space-and-time model of your body -- your entire body moving, basically. Ah, here it comes..." Diana's image appears on my console, as we get there. She's breathing on the screen. The whole display lasts about thirty seconds. "We composited five separate scans into this one. It's highly accurate -- the most complete and precise diagram of your inner body that exists." (As a side note, Inotice that her grip is indeed a lot firmer, from my readouts, than she let on -- and so is the rest of her... butI'm already married.) All I hear from her is one word: "Wow." And from her tone, I gather she's not often surprised. "Now for the fun stuff... We can define any specs you want for your new body." "Anything?" "Yeah. I mentioned yesterday about parallel universes. Right now, there are trillions of people, identical to you, in alternate universes. There are trillions of people who are just like you except for one little thing: they bat their eyelash a microsecond later than you just did. The rest of their lives are the same as here." "Each universe is unique from all others in that it follows a specific pattern, one different from any other in one picayune aspect. That's it. But there are a myriad of universes out there, and the little differences add up to completely different people, different histories, different cultures, different lives. And our specialty, different bodies." "Out there is at least one universe where somebody wants your body -- most likely, trillions. And there are countless versions of your body to choose from. The tricky part is finding those that have what you want -- the body that you dream of. Fortunately, we don't deal with that here. There are seven universes we use which are dedicated exclusively to finding the right match. And they don't charge us anything for the service -- what can they take from us that they don't already have? Only what we're willing to give them, and they know that." There's an awkward pause, and then I say, "Well, let's start with the basics. Height?" She thinks for a moment, and says, "Five foot nine." I type it in. "Weight?" "165." Click, click, click. "Hair color?" She frowns. "I don't know. What's out there?" "Well, there's red, brown, black, green, blonde..." "Green?" I smile. "Genetic anomaly of our universe. In most universes, tree green is the dominant color. We just don't have it here." She looked at me kinda funny right then, but said, "I'll stick with my natural blonde." Click. This went on for another half hour, picking out details such as breast size (remember, I'm faithfully married to my beautiful wife, Caroline), shoulder proportion, heart strength, toenail thickness, and so on. Finally she was satisfied. I compiled the specs. Whoa. That was a woman to give most men pause. Tall, but thin. Not muscular at all, I noticed -- she deliberately wanted it that way. "That's what I'm here for. I've been a strong girl all my life. I'd like to know what it's like not to be so powerful." Okay. You want it, you got it. We send out our message, and we get a response in seven hours. Apparently, Diana is a rarity. Some sub-species of human, and rather extreme at that... ah well. I check with her and she doesn't talk about it. "When?" I ask her. "Tomorrow, eight o'clock." "I think we can do that. Let's check with the secretary." He said, "Fine. We have no other appointments the rest of the day." We confirm with the admin universe, and we have three matches. "Slim pickings. It's the time frame, usually. That's earlier than most," I observe. "We'll go with it," she says with resolve. I get her in the chamber. "Just relax and let us handle it. You won't black out, and you won't feel anything." The entire thing goes without a hitch. The system's fully calibrated, and I won't bore you with the technical gibberish again. At the conclusion of the cycle, though, we hear a scream. Of pain. I bolt to the door. Open it. It's Diana. The way she wanted to be. But her left leg is broken.