"Power." "Power isn't real. It's just a word." Mickey ponders silently. Then he shrugs his thin shoulders. "Mankind was always enslaved, they'll say. Free- dom enslaves us to lust, to greed. Take freedom away, and they give me a life of dreaming. They gave you a life of sacri- fice, family, community. And society is stable. There is no famine. No genocide. No great wars. And when the Golds fight, they obey rules. They are ... noble about it when the great houses bicker." "Noble? They lied to me. Said I was a pioneer. "And would you have been happier if you knew you were a slave?" Mickey asks. "No. None of the billion lowReds beneath Mars would be happy if they knew what the highReds knew-that they are slaves. So is it not better to lie?" "It is better to not make slaves." When I am ready, he inserts a force- Generator into my sleeping tube to sim- ulate increased gravity on my frame ľ've never known pain like this. My body aches. My bones and skin and muscles scream against the pressure and the change till I'm on medication that turns the scream into a dull for- ever-moan. I sleep for days. I dream of home and family. Every night I wake after seeing Eo hang yet again. She sways across my mind. I miss her warmth in bed beside me, even though they give me an HC immersion mask for distraction Gradually, I am weaned from the pain medication. My muscles still aren't used to the density of my bones, so my existence becomes a melodic ache. They begin to feed me real food. Mickey sits on the edge of my cot stroking my hair well into the nights. I don't care that his fingers feel like spider legs. I don't care that he thinks I am some piece of art, his art. He gives me some- thing called a hamburger. I love it. Red meats and thick creams and breads and fruits and vegetables make my diet. I have never eaten so well. "You need the calories," Mickey coos. "You have been so strong for me; eat well. You deserve this food." "How am I doing?" I ask. "Oh, the hard parts are over, my darling. You are a brilliant boy, you know. They have shown me the tapes from the other procedures where other Carvers tried this. Oh, how clumsy the other Carvers were, how weak the other subjects. But you are strong and I am brilliant." He taps my chest. "Your heart is like that of a stallion's. I've never glimpsed one like it before. You were bitten by a pitviper when you were young, I assume?" "I was. Yes.' "I thought so. Your heart had to adjust to counteract the effects of the poison." "My uncle sucked most of the poison out when I was bitten," I say.
"No," Mickey laughs. "That's a myth. The poison cannot be sucked out. It still runs through your veins, forcing your heart to be strong if you want to con- tinue to live. You are something special just like me." "Then I will not die in here?" I man-
age. Mickey laughs. "No! No! We are be- yond that now. There will be pain. But we are past the threat of mortality Soon we will have made man into god Red into Gold. Even your wife would not recognize you." That is all I've ever feared. When they take my eyes and give me ones of gold, I feel dead inside. It's a simple matter of reconnecting the optic nerve to the "donor's" eyes, Mickey says. A simple thing he's done a dozen times for cosmetic purposes; the hard part was the frontal lobe surgery, he says. I disagree. There is the pain, yes. But with the new eyes, I see things I once could not. Elements are clearer sharper, and more painful to bear. I hate this process. All it is is a confirma- tion of the superiority of the Golds. It takes all this to make me their physical equal. No wonder we serve them.