Welcome to Body of Work: "City of Dreams" The first book in my new short story series.

Everyone wants a New Tomorrow...

Jan 17, 2025

Hello Substack readers, this preview offers a glimpse into Body of Work: City of Dreams a science fiction story of human identity, power, resilience, and survival. If you enjoy what you read, I invite you to continue the journey by purchasing the full book from Amazon or other retailers. If the story resonates with you, your review would mean the world to me. It helps others discover the Body of Work series and supports my passion for storytelling. Thank you for reading and for being part of this journey. Your support makes all the difference.

City Of Dreams

My name is Tara Akin. When I was a little girl, I learned about the founders that came to our planet Neoterra over five hundred years ago. The technology used to build our capital, the city of Avalon was lost when we cut ourselves off from the Old Empire worlds of Earth and Mars during the Fever Dream plague. All hyperspace travel to and from the origin worlds ended. “The Tragic Necessity,” as it came to be known in our history, was required to preserve what was left of humanity in our region of the galaxy, or so the story goes at least. The plague wiped out Earth, Mars and everything else humankind had ever known; billions perished. After centuries of silence, rumors stirred about the possibility of survivors, other colonies, other worlds, but the founders assured us that the nine planets within our Union of Worlds was all that remained. The truth is, our ancestors simply abandoned the Old Empire worlds, and left them to their inevitable fates. In time, our scientists discovered a trove of ancient artifacts left behind millions of years ago by the Progenitors, a highly advanced and now extinct alien race. The Founders reverse engineered their technology. It was their knowledge that made our modern Consciousness Transfer technology possible, giving us the ability to transfer ourselves into an entirely new body we call a Persona. The first time you transfer, all of your thoughts, memories, and experiences, everything that you are, slips from one Persona into another, through a process we call the MindStream. This was my first time. As I awoke from the transfer, a woman’s voice spoke to me through the haze.

“Tara, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Miriam, it’s time to wake up, little bird.”

The process of Consciousness Transfer can be psychologically overwhelming. First there is a rush of euphoria, then, when you open your eyes in a new body, it’s like waking up from a dreamless sleep and everything in the world feels brand new.

“I can feel my legs.” I said. “I can move, I need to move, I want to stand, I want to walk.”

“Easy now.” Miriam said. “There will be plenty of time for all that, I promise you. For now, it is best to take things slow, ok?”

My legs, once lifeless, now trembling with new sensations. I could feel every fiber of the bed, the sheets against my skin, a strange sensation of textures. As my knees bend, muscles awakening with newfound strength, it was an eruption of feelings I never even knew existed. Every movement is a revelation, every sensation a burst of joy, it is overwhelming; like being reborn into a world that was now all mine to explore. A transfer technician scanned me with his instruments. He looked into my eyes as he checked the functionality of my MindsEye implant.

“Your first time went very well.” He said. “We have transferred you into a Genetically Identical Simulacrum. It is a gene accurate copy of your original birth body, minus the Ivar Syndrome, of course. For first timers, we have found that it reduces some of the cognitive side effects of CT. How do you feel?”

“Is this real, or a simulation?” I asked, as Miriam took my hand in hers.

“I can assure you.” Miriam said. “This is quite real.”

“I will give the two of you a moment alone.” The technician said as he stepped away.

“Look Tara.” Miriam said.

The white opaque wall of my room became reflective like a mirror. Seeing myself with my own eyes was still not enough to convince me that what I was seeing was real. I watched my feet as I made circles with my ankles. I raised and lowered my arms, I placed my hands on my thighs, touched my knees and dangled my legs just to see if the reflection did the same.

“Is that really me?” I asked, pointing at the mirrored wall, turning my head from left to right.

“Yes, that’s you.” Miriam said. “See, you’re all better now.”

I looked across the room at my birth body, expecting it to move, but it just sat there motionless, not dead, just empty of me. That is not who I am. I am here now, inside this Persona, now I am me.

“Please stay with me.” I asked, taking hold of Miriam’s arm. “Will you stay?”

“I am your Okāsan.” Miriam said. “Of course, I will, for as long as you need me to.”

Being in a new Persona was nothing like a virtual experience, yet to me it felt like a dream. After nineteen years, I was now finally free. Things weren’t always like this for me, growing up out in the Neoterran Wildlands was far different from my new life here in Avalon. My family immigrated to Neoterra from Bergheim, a harsh, underdeveloped mining planet in the un-incorporated territories that offered limited opportunities for new families. Back in those days, an immigrant couple with ambition and determination could make a life for themselves on the right world. For my parents, Neoterra offered an opportunity to take over the management of the protein farm my great-grandfather founded. My mother was exposed to drive core radiation during the journey to Neoterra. As a result, I was born with Ivar Syndrome, a rare spinal condition that causes paralysis if left uncorrected. They could not afford the modification necessary to address problems in my genome prior to birth. Back in those days, Med-Techs rarely performed such invasive procedures and instead opted for the more cost-effective CT option for newborns. Unfortunately for me, my parents couldn’t afford that either, so I spent the first nineteen years of my life confined to a mobility chair.

Out in the Wildlands, life moves at a different pace. If you needed something, you made it. If you wanted something, you had to either build it, grow it, or work to earn it. Individuals had limited access to advanced technology, restricted to what was necessary for survival, self-defense, and making a living, nothing more, nothing less. My family and I created genetically enhanced animals. We modified their genomes to express certain qualities the market demanded. Once properly tweaked, we harvested their cells for meat production. We produced prime cuts for the Avalon wholesale marketplace. Our brand specialized in bespoke cell cultures of beef, chicken, pork, and lamb. I worked hard, studied for hours in virtual and earned advanced certifications in genetic design and bio-fabrication. My only goal in life was to be free of the chair, my birth body, and my family. I spent years dreaming about Avalon and what it would be like to live there. By the time I was sixteen, I saved up enough to pay for my first life-changing transfer, but just when I thought I had my shot at a new Persona and a whole new life, my mother took my savings away from me and used it to send my brother to a rehabilitation clinic in Avalon. He stayed clean for a while, but within just three months, he was right back on the “Juice.” The savings that had taken years to earn was now long gone. I felt devastated and furious. I knew if I were ever going to have a life, a real-life, I would have to find some other way to get to Avalon. Becoming an agency companion, for me, at least, was the only way out, the absolute bottom-of-the-barrel option for folks from outside the city. In this world, obtaining a Persona is possible even without currency, but the price is steep, paid in both time and flesh. My contract with Sublime Realms required a ten-year duration of indentured service for whatever the Agency clients wanted, and they wanted everything. I admit, it wasn’t an ideal choice, but the fact is, if you want to make it in this world, you do whatever you have to do. I made the choice to become a Companion, a professional in this industry and since then I have lived with the consequences of that choice. If only I had known back then what I know now. This city, despite its splendor, wealth, and beauty, has another side, a dark side that grinds folks down into dust. A side that takes everything from you until there is nothing left of you.

At The Agency Business Is Business

Within the Union of Worlds, Consciousness Transfer technology or CT rests at the very heart of our thriving interplanetary economy, without it, the Agencies and their supportive industries wouldn’t exist, neither would the companies or genetic artists and AI agents that design Persona models. With Personas, anything and everything is possible, and you would not believe the things people do to customize their Personas. Most choose an Idealized Self. Think of it as an upgraded version of you, the same look and feel you have now just, better, thinner, taller, darker, or whatever else you are looking for. If you cannot decide on what you want, you can always transfer to a temporary spare. Spares are low-cost Personas; they are cheaply made, and don’t last very long. There are an endless number of Persona models for nearly every preference, and occupation. Most professional Companions burn out in their eighth year while others eventually suffer from the symptoms of Transfer Nostalgia, a debilitating dissociative psychological disorder that can manifest anywhere from one month to one year after a successful transfer. Over the years I have seen Companions from other Agencies frantically swapping thirty to forty different Personas a week to serve clients’ demands. It takes a toll on a person’s mind and soul if you believe in that kind of thing. At my agency, Sublime Realms, our clientele comprised Avalon’s finest, the wealthy, the influential and the powerful. The indelicate legal classification for what we do is called “Private Analytical Solicitation.” A highly regulated, legally recognized, and respected profession. Contrary to popular opinion, Agency Companions are not modern-day prostitutes, as many choose to believe. Companions are highly trained elite professionals; our entire business is data driven. We are part psychologist, performance artist, therapist, and data analyst. Intimate erotic experiences are just one of many services we offer to clients. Our clients, despite all their vast wealth and power, have swapped Personas so many times throughout their lives they don’t know who the hell they really are anymore. They use the Agency’s services to explore their ever-shifting identities, endless wants and darkest desires. As Companions, we endure their demands; we coddle their obsessions, and submit to their strange fantasies as they each attempt to feel something genuine. Our boss Miriam recorded it all, not just visual records of our encounters with clients, but the entire suite of neurochemical, hormonal, psychological, and physical responses to external stimuli. Each data-point is meticulously logged, indexed, categorized, and analyzed before, during, and after services rendered. Client data capture allows the Agencies AIs to create new and more exciting scenarios based on the client’s unique psychological profile. We targeted their genuine desires, not just the ones they profess. Similar services were available in virtual, but those who could afford it preferred the real thing. I guess what they say is true after all, given a choice between flesh and code, flesh wins every time. Such methods kept customers coming back for more and every experience is guaranteed to be more engaging, intense, and expensive than the last. After a few years, some clients burn out, becoming completely desensitized to any external stimuli real, chemical, or virtual. Burnouts get frustrated and angry, that’s when the work can get dangerous. As a matter of policy, once burned, they can no longer receive Agency services. However, some clients may receive a waiver if their profile indicates they were sentenced to Consciousness Transfer Reintegration Therapy, an alternative form of capital punishment considered by many to be a more humane option than death. If you ask me, it’s a fate worse than that. The person is mind-wiped, transferred into a new Persona with synthetic memories, and a neurochemically redrafted personality based on their original personality type. You are basically unmade and turned into whatever the state wants you to be. Under industry regulations, the Agency could grant access to its services to such individuals, assuming nothing went sideways during the encounter. When things went badly, that’s what the Agency’s enforcers were for. At Sublime Realms, ours were ex-military, former elite forces personnel. As Companions, we are each equipped with baseline self-defense skill sets for our personal safety. We were protected both on and off the job; Miriam made sure of it. At the end of the day, we slip off our high-end working Personas and MindStream back into an Agency provided off hours spare. With the change of Personas, you leave behind what you did and who you did it with because in this line of work, that is how you stay sane. In this business, psychological dissociation is a valuable and necessary skill one would be advised to master. One day I will be done with this business. Until then, I have work to attend to and people to settle up with before I can put both Avalon and Neoterra behind me.

Today I have a new Persona and a whole new life. I make good currency, and I have a nice mid-tier unit overlooking Tannhäuser harbor. It’s a decent life but, to be honest, I despise the system that made who I am now possible. No one should ever have to endure what I have just to have a normal life, CT should be affordable and available to those that need it. As I walk the elevated terraces of Avalon today, I look into the eyes and faces of those around me. It seems our world is haunted by a sense that there is something very strange and terribly wrong about it all. Each of us living out our days, remaking ourselves over and over from Persona to Persona, this is not how folks were meant to live. When I am on the job, I tell myself it is the Persona, working with the client, not me. I used to believe I could separate the work from who I was, but in reality you just can’t. It took a full year in this business before I realized I did not know who the hell I was either. Under the CT system, I don’t think anyone does anymore. Consciousness Transfer technology transformed every aspect of life on Neoterra. In a world where anyone can become whoever and whatever they want, how can anyone ever know who they truly are? When I look in the mirror now, I no longer see the girl in the chair that I once was, nor the Companion I became, instead, I see me, the real me. I mean, it is still “me” in there, right?

Tara’s Homecoming

Looking down from the transport on approach, I could see the old Akin family farm. It had been six long years since I left home and returning to it now was like taking a trip back in time. The transport touched down in the front yard across from an old apple tree my great-grandfather planted when he was just a boy. I stepped out, holding the hood of my long coat against the turbulence of the lifter engines as the transport departed. Since colonial times, my family has owned this property, passed down from generation to generation, it exists as a silent witness to our family’s collective history of joys and sorrows. During the first Corsican war, my grandfather turned our land into a sanctuary for soldiers returning from combat. He created a place where the men and women that fought during that conflict could find peace before returning to society. For him, this farm wasn’t just a piece of land; it was a haven amid chaotic times. As with all things, time moves on. After the war ended, the soldiers left, and the farm returned to its original purpose. After I left for the Agency, my father tried to keep the farm alive himself. He worked tirelessly to do so, but by then the market had shifted, the world had changed, and with it, so went the fate of our farm. Staying here was never an option for me, but I can’t help but feel the weight of all that has been lost. I decided to look over the place to see how things had fared in my absence. My ancestors once tilled and nurtured the soil here, but today it lies fallow. The animals we made were gone, the lab where my father and I cultured meat had fallen into complete disarray. The roof of our old lab looks like it collapsed some time ago, the protein vats and bioreactors that once served as our family’s primary source of income was now filled with algae, stale rainwater, and dead flies. Streaks of windblown dirt and spiderwebs covered my old molecular design station, while the cherished archives of cell culture we engineered were long gone. The gene patents we once held expired years ago, all our work was now in the public domain and there were no more royalties to be salvaged from them. The bots that once tended to me, our livestock, and the fields around our property stopped working and had rusted out years ago. Their dilapidated human-like forms stood motionless as scarecrows in the overgrown fields. Seeing my old friends in this state makes me wish I could have taken them all with me when I left for the Agency, but I had different priorities back then and with me gone, my father could use all the help he could get, so I left them here to help ease his burden. My brother was of no use and my mother gave up bench work years ago. I walked over to each bot and removed their cores. Who knows, I may find a recovery tech in the city that can spin them back up for me one day. As I ascended the staircase of my family’s farmhouse, I placed one foot on the bottom step and waited for it. My father always complained about how that first step creaked whenever someone came to visit. No matter how many times he tried to fix it, it always made that same sound. When I was young, it was how I could tell someone was approaching our front door. I marveled at how everything looked so much smaller and lower than how I remembered it. The ramps I once used to enter and exit the house had been removed, but the old, dry, rotted nail holes where they were once attached remained. Even after all these years, I still remember every moment of my old life on this farm. Our never-ending work in the lab, my meticulous perfectionist father, my troubled NeuroStem addicted brother, and, of course, my mother. I remembered what it was like to be confined to that chair. Spending quiet evenings alone after work, gazing at the beauty and wonder of Avalon through our screened-in porch. I remember watching the transport navigation lights as they moved into and out of the city. They reminded me of the stories of fireflies my grandfather told me about that once existed in abundance on our world. They are long gone now, unable to find a proper niche in Neoterra’s post-terraformed environment. Most of all, I remembered what it was like to live just within sight of my dream. I wanted so much to just reach out and touch that city. To me, it was everything. I could almost feel Avalon calling out to me with the promise of a New Tomorrow. I remember raising my hand against Avalon’s glittering skyline, tracing the transport travel paths with my fingers as they flew about, adrift in their algorithmic perfection. Most of all, I remembered the promise I made to myself.

“One day, I will become more than what I am,

because I am more than what I appear to be.

Someday, I will overcome my limitations and

be free. One day, I will become me.”

This I recited to myself every day and every night, like a prayer to my City of Dreams. It was that hope that got me through those dark years. Today though, I want to talk to that young girl sitting on the porch. I want to tell her that city is not what you think it is. I want her to know that there is more to this life than Avalon. I want to tell her she matters, that she is not broken, I want to tell her she deserves to be loved. I miss her so much, that young girl I once was. My old chair was still parked on the front porch, right where I left it when the Agency staff came for me. It was the last thing I remember seeing as they took me away. Now it served as a perch for the family dog, Kel. He sat up and looked me straight in the eyes, then leaped forward, wagging his tail to greet me as I reached the top of the stairs. “Hey Kel, such a good boy. You know me, don’t cha? You miss me?” Kel sniffed and licked my hand. Even with my new Persona, new voice, customized eyes, and perfect skin, somehow Kel still recognized me, so strange how dogs can do that. I leaned over, peering through the glass door past the stained and brittle lace curtains. I pushed, and the door clicked open as I stepped inside, closing it behind me. Not much had really changed since I left. The mantle displayed a projection of my late father and brother. It was a volumetric rendering captured years ago, some fishing trip of theirs up near Whitestone River. They recorded it back when things were simpler before folks started to leave town. If you were poor, there were only two choices if you wanted to make a real life for yourself. You could either move out toward the city or up to the colonies. I called out to my mother.

“Mama? Mama, it’s me,” I said as I removed my coat, draping it over the back of the couch.

“Tara? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me mama, it’s really me.”

“Humph. Well, you finally got what you always wanted, I see,” she said.

“Look at me, mama,” I said, standing with my arms spread apart at my sides. “I can walk now, hell I can run too. You should see me run.” I smiled. Mama just smirked and shuffled towards the couch. “Hmmm humm” she said, unimpressed.

“I know I’ve been gone a long while.” I said. “Did you get the currency I sent you?”

Mama’s eyes shifted toward me, looking at my shoes, then my face as she raised her hand in protest. “I never asked you for that.”

“I know Mama. It’s good to see you again.”

“I never thought I would ever lay eyes on you again.” Mama said. “Now that you have got your big city life. Why’d you come back here, Tara?”

“Well, to see you.” I said.

“Really now?” Mama said. “Don’t bullshit me, girl. This life was never good enough for you. Hell, even as a little child, all you ever talked about was going to the city and getting a new body. The city, bunch of shit, if you ask me. People swapping bodies like changing their damned clothes. It ain’t natural, and it ain’t right! Hell, nothing is anymore.”

Mama sat on the couch, letting her weight carry her down. She was twice as large as I remembered; she looked at me with a mix of astonishment and disdain. Mama was sick. Nanoparticles from an accident years ago had wedged in her lungs, limiting her breathing. She could have transferred to a new Persona, but she couldn’t afford it. Besides, she despised the procedure, and those that used it. I sat on the overstuffed chair across from her and tried to smile occasionally, looking for her to reciprocate the gesture, but she just stared at me with dead eyes.

“I have a better life now.” I said. “Look at me, mama.”

Mama shifted, sinking herself deeper into the couch.

“You look like them.” She said, motioning with her chin toward Avalon. “All dolled up like that. Like a god dammed city whore.”

“I am a Companion” I said. “A professional, and what I do is not what you think. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“Happy? Shit, for what? For this?”

Mama laughed and shook her head in disbelief. Her eyes grew wider as she poured herself a drink. She raised her oxygen mask to her face and took in a deep raspy breath fogging up the mask as she exhaled. Even after all these years, the old tensions were still there between us, as if we had never been apart.

“I deserve this,” I said. “I worked hard for it and would have had it a hell of a lot sooner had it not been for Tommy’s bullshit.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare speak his name!” Mama said, her hand now trembling with growing anger.

“Oh, so I can’t even say his name? He had every advantage, and he blew it all on Juice! He had everything, and I had nothing.”

“You don’t know anything at all!” Mama said. “I raised you as best I knew how, with all your problems! Tommy was my only son, my sweet boy, so don’t you dare disparage his good name!”

“He was a god dammed NeuroStem junkie mom; he never worked a single day in that lab in his life! But I did, every fucking day! I worked for this life! I earned it!”

“Ha! “worked,” “earned” oh I am sure you did baby girl. Tell me something, just how many of them Trillionaire cocks did you have to suck to afford that lovely new frame of yours, hmmm?”

“Oh, fuck you Donna!”

“Humph, well, that’s your department, baby girl.”

Mama smiled and laughed, stretching out her swollen leg. She enjoyed causing me pain. Her every word stung, but I knew to never let it show. I had perfected that skill at an early age. No matter what I tried to do to gain her approval or impress her, she always downplayed my achievements. Nothing I did was ever good enough for her.

“You know, I don’t know why I came here.” I said. “Despite everything I have achieved and overcome; I am still not good enough for you and I never will be.”

“Oh, here we go with all that bullshit again.” Mama said. “Poor little Tara, the poor little crippled fat girl in her little chair dreaming of the big city. Grow the fuck up, for god’s sake!”

I was already thoroughly exhausted. Even after all these years, she still knew how to get a rise out of me. For Mama, it was almost like a sport. Growing up there was no love in our house, not for me at least. I learned about love and family through virtual experiences. I knew they were fictional productions, but I still wanted them to be real. I wanted that thing that was missing from my life, a real family, a sense of safety, a sense of peace, a home filled with love. My whole life, it seems I was nothing more than a burden and an embarrassment for her and the rest of the family. She hated me for it. Even as a child, I understood this. I knew that I had better learn to fend for myself because if I didn’t, no one else would. I did everything on my own, and I tried not to ask her for much of anything. I wasn’t completely alone, though; I had my dog, Kel, and I had my bots. They took care of me, cooked for me, bathed me, helped me dress and read me stories at night. I programmed them to tell me they loved me because I needed to hear it from someone, or at least something. They were more to me than mere bots; they were my friends; my real family and I loved them. Trying to reconcile with my mother was hopeless, coming back helped me realize that.

“Well, this was clearly a mistake,” I said. “I should never have come here.”

“You always blamed me for your condition.” Mama said. “You never said it, but your eyes sure as hell did.”

“That’s not true.” I said.

“Oh yes it is, and you want to know something else? Since we are having our mother daughter moment. It was your father that wanted to keep you. It was his idea to bring you into this world like that, not mine. When I saw your gene profile and realized what you were to become, I - just - wanted - you - gone. So, if you are looking for someone to blame for your life, blame him, not me.”

I laughed as I cried, wiping a tear from my face with the back of my hand. Time and sickness had not softened her at all. Her utter contempt for my existence was as cold as it always was. I straightened myself as I stood and approached the door to leave.

“The thing is mama; I don’t blame anyone for anything anymore.” I said. “I’m all better now.” Without turning to face her, I slipped on my long coat, summoned a transport, and removed a data-cube from my coat pocket. I placed it on the table near the front door and activated it. The cube generated a life-sized volumetric projection of a beautiful, flawless young woman in her early twenties. It was a replacement Persona custom grown, a genetically identical simulacrum of my mother, ready and waiting for transfer. “We all deserve a second chance, Mama, even you.” I said, “All you need to do to accept this is say yes. It’s all been pre-arranged.” I placed my hand on the door handle as my transport arrived outside. “I hope your next life is better than your last one. Goodbye, mama.”

As I left, I could hear Donna’s muffled cries. “Yes, yes, I accept, I accept,” she said between sobs. All I ever really wanted was to be loved, but that woman ignored and resented me my entire life. She never saw me for who I was or what I might one day become. It’s a strange thing to hate the thing you truly desire. For her, the gift of CT may be a cruel blessing, but it’s one she certainly deserves. I don’t hate her, but I don’t love her either. Within the module, I included one-hundred thousand in standard currency to get her new life started. If she sells the farm, even in its current condition, it’s worth at least five times that amount. If you ask me, Mama is going to be just fine. Debt paid; conscience clear. I took a moment to look out across the family property for one last time as Kel climbed down out of my old chair. He walked up beside me and rubbed his flank against the calf of my boot as he looked up at me. I looked down at Kel with a gentle smile as the transport doors unfolded.

“Come on, Kel, let’s go home.”

Body Of Work "City Of Dreams" is on sale now

Book 2 Body of Work “Man Of Faith”

Book 3 Body of Work “The Enforcer”

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Also Check Out: Notes On Body Of Work "City Of Dreams"

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