Mary felt out of place.
She wasn't interested in being beautiful. And she spent her time on silly things—like eating and sleeping.

By Charles Beaumont

MARY sat quietly and watched the handsome man's legs get blown off; she kept watching as the massive ship started to crumple and break apart in the middle of the blazing night. She fidgeted a bit as the men and their body parts drifted dreamily through the wreckage into the awful silence. And when the meteorite shower hit the men, tearing through everything, ripping flesh and breaking bones, Mary closed her eyes.

"Mom."

Mrs. Cuberle looked up from her magazine.

"Huh?"

"Do we have to wait much longer?"

"I don't think so. Why?"

Mary said nothing and just stared at the moving wall.

"Oh, that." Mrs. Cuberle laughed[6] and shook her head. "That tired old thing. Read a magazine, Mary, like I'm doing. We've all seen that a million times."

"Does it really have to be on, Mom?"

"Well, nobody seems to be watching. I don't think the doctor would care if I turned it off."

Mrs. Cuberle got up from the couch and walked over to the wall. She pressed a small button, and the light went out from the wall, flickering and glowing.

Mary woke up.

"Honestly," Mrs. Cuberle said to a woman sitting next to her, "you'd think they'd try to find something else. We might as well go to the museum and watch the first landing on Mars. The Mayoraka Disaster—seriously!"

The woman replied without taking her eyes off the magazine page. "It's the doctor's idea. Psychological."

Mrs. Cuberle opened her mouth and nodded her head up and down knowingly.

"Ohhh. I should have known there was some reason. Still, who actually watches it?"

"The kids do. It gets them thinking, makes them appreciate things or something."

"Oh."

"Psychological."

Mary picked up a magazine and flipped through the pages. It was full of photos of women and men. Women like her mom and the others in the room; slim, tanned, curvy, gorgeous women; and men with big muscles and shiny hair. Women and men, all looking similar, all perfect and beautiful. She closed the magazine and wondered how to respond to the questions that would come up.

"Mom—"

"Goodness, what’s going on now! Can’t you just sit still for a minute?"

"But we've been here for three hours."

Mrs. Cuberle sniffed.

"Do I really have to?"

"Come on, Mary, don’t be ridiculous. After all those awful things you shared with me, of course you do."

An olive-skinned woman in a sheer white uniform walked into the reception area.

"Cuberle. Mrs. Zena Cuberle?"

Yes.

"Doctor's ready for you now."

Mrs. Cuberle took Mary's hand, and they walked behind the nurse down a long hallway.

A man who looked to be in his mid-twenties looked up from a desk. He smiled and motioned toward two adjoining chairs.

"Well, well."

"Dr. Hortel, I—"

The doctor snapped his fingers.

"Of course, I know. Your daughter. Ha ha, I definitely know your struggle. There are so many of them nowadays— it takes up most of my time."

"You do?" asked Mrs. Cuberle. "Honestly, it was starting to bother me."

"Upset? Hmm. That’s not good. Not good at all. But then—if people didn’t get upset, us psychiatrists would be out of a job, right? Just like the early M.D.s. But I promise you, I don’t need to hear any more." He turned his good-looking face to Mary.[7] "Hey there, little girl, how old are you?"

"Eighteen, sir."

"Oh, a bit impatient, are we? It's almost time, of course. What’s your name?"

"Mary."

"Charming! And so unusual. Well now, Mary, can I say that I understand your problem—totally understand it?"

Mrs. Cuberle smiled and adjusted the sequins on her blouse.

"Ma'am, you have no idea how many there are these days. Sometimes it weighs on their minds so much that it affects them physically and mentally. It makes them act weird and say strange, unexpected things. One little girl I remember was so upset that she just sat around sulking all day long. Can you believe it!"

"That's what Mary does. When she finally told me, doctor, I thought she had lost it—you know."

"That bad, huh? Looks like we’ll need to kick off a re-education program pretty soon, or they’ll all end up like this. I think I’ll bring it up to the senator the day after tomorrow."

"I don’t really understand, doctor."

"Simply put, Mrs. Cuberle, the children need to be thoroughly instructed. Completely. Too much is assumed, and young minds just won’t accept things without clear reasoning. Children have become way too intellectual, which, as I hope I don’t need to remind you, can be a dangerous thing."

"Yes, but what does this have to do with—"

"With Mary? Everything, of course. Mary, like many sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen year olds today, has become very self-conscious. She feels that her body has developed enough for the Transformation—which it hasn’t, not quite yet—and she can’t grasp the complicated reasons that make her wait until some future date. Mary looks at you, at the women around her, at the pictures, and then she looks in the mirror. From pure perfection of body, face, limbs, skin tone, posture, stance, from true perfection, if I may say so, she sees herself and is horrified. Isn’t that right, my dear? Of course—of course. She wonders, why must I be hideous, unbalanced, too big, too small, full of ugly skin blemishes, poorly put together? In short, Mary is tired of being a monster and is very eager to achieve what almost everyone else has already achieved."

"But—" said Mrs. Cuberle.

"This much you get, no doubt. Now, Mary, what you’re against is that our society doesn’t offer you and others like you any convincing reasons for waiting until you’re nineteen. It’s all taken for granted, and you want to know why! It’s that straightforward. A simple explanation won't do—oh no! Today’s kids want facts, solid data, to satisfy all their questions. And that, as you both can see, will require a lot of rethinking."

"But—" Mary said.

"The child is upset, anxious, tense; she acts weird, strange, odd, worries you and makes herself sick because it’s beyond our limited abilities to communicate it. I’m telling you, what we need is a completely new foundation for learning. And that will take[8] action. It will take action, Mrs. Cuberle. Now, don’t you worry about Mary, and don’t you worry, kid. I’ll prescribe some pills and—"

"No, no, doctor! You're totally confused," shouted Mrs. Cuberle.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

"What I mean is, you’ve got it wrong. Tell him, Mary, tell the doctor what you told me."

Mary shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

"I don't want it."

The doctor's jaw dropped.

"Can you please repeat that?"

"I said, I don't want the Transformation."

"Do you not want it?"

"You see? She told me that's why I came to you."

The doctor eyed Mary with suspicion.

"But that's impossible! I've never heard of anything like that. Little girl, you're just pulling my leg!"

Mary shook her head.

"Look, doctor. What could it be?" Mrs. Cuberle stood up and started to pace.

THE DOCTOR clicked his tongue and took a black box filled with buttons, dials, and wires from a small cupboard.

"Oh no, you don't think—I mean, could it?"

"We'll find out soon." The doctor turned several dials and focused on the single bulb in the middle of the box. It didn’t flicker. He took the handles off Mary's head.

"Wow," the doctor said, "wow. Your daughter is totally sane, Mrs. Cuberle."

"Well, what is it then?"

"Maybe she's lying. We haven't completely ruled that out yet; it finds its way into certain organisms."

More tests. More machines and more negative outcomes.

Mary moved her foot in a circle on the floor. When the doctor placed his hands on her shoulders, she looked up with a friendly smile.

"Little girl," said the handsome man, "are you really telling us that you prefer that body?"

"Sure thing."

"Can I ask why?"

"I like it. It's—hard to explain, but it's me and that's what I like. Not the looks, maybe, but the me."

"You can look in the mirror and see yourself, then look at—well, at your mom and be okay with that?"

"Yeah, sir." Mary considered her reasons; unclear, vague, but definitely present. Maybe she had mentioned the reason. No. Just a part of it.

"Mrs. Cuberle," the doctor said, "I suggest that your husband have a long conversation with Mary."

"My husband is dead. I think it was that incident near Ganymede. Something like that."

"Oh, great. Rocket man, huh? Very interesting creatures. Something always seems to happen to rocket men, one way or another. But—I guess we should do something." The doctor scratched his jaw. "When did she first start talking like this?" he asked.

"Oh, for a while now. I used to think it was because she was so immature. But lately, with the time getting so close and everything, I figured I should come and see you."

"Of course, yes, very smart. Uh—does she also do unusual things?"[9]

"Well, I found her on the second level one night. She was lying on the floor and when I asked her what she was doing, she said she was trying to sleep."

Mary flinched. She felt bad, in a way, that Mom had discovered that.

"Wait—did you say 'sleep'?"

"That's correct."

"Now where could she have learned that?"

"Don’t know."

"Mary, don’t you realize that nobody sleeps anymore? We live so much longer than our poor ancestors now that wasting time in unconsciousness has been beaten? Honey, have you really slept? No one knows how to do it anymore."

"No, sir, but I nearly did."

The doctor sighed. "But, it's unheard of! How could you even think about trying to do something people have completely forgotten about?"

"The way it was described in the book, it sounded nice, that's all." Mary was feeling very uncomfortable now. Home and no talking man in a silly white gown....

"Book, book? Are there books at your unit, ma'am?"

"There might be—I haven't tidied up in a while."

"That's definitely strange. I haven't seen a book in years. Not since '17."

Mary started to fidget and looked around anxiously.

"But with the tapes, why would you even bother trying to read books—where did you get them?"

"Dad did. He got them from his dad and so did Grandpa. He said they're better than the tapes, and he was right."

Mrs. Cuberle blushed.

"My husband was a bit strange, Doctor Hortel. He held onto those things no matter what I said."

"Excuse me, I—oh dear."

The muscular, black-haired doctor walked over to another cabinet and grabbed a bottle from the shelf. He took two large pills from the bottle and swallowed them.

"Sleep—books—doesn't want the Transformation—Mrs. Cuberle, my dear good woman, this is serious. Doesn't want the Transformation. I would appreciate it if you could change psychiatrists: I am very busy and, uh, this is a bit specialized. I suggest Centraldome. Many great doctors there. Goodbye."

The doctor turned and sat down in a big chair and folded his hands. Mary watched him and wondered why the simple statements had changed things so much. But the doctor didn’t get up from the chair.

"Well!" said Mrs. Cuberle and walked out of the room quickly.

The man's legs were getting blown off again as they left the reception room.

MARY examined her reflection in the mirrored wall. She sat on the floor and looked at various angles of herself: profile, full-face, full length, naked, clothed. Then she picked up the magazine and studied it. She sighed.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall—" Those words slowly came to her mind and slipped from her lips. She realized she hadn't read them; Dad had said them, quoted them as he put it.[10] But they were lines from a book—"who is the fairest of—"

A picture of Mother sat on the dresser, and Mary thought about it now. She looked at it for a long time, studying the slender, feminine neck. The golden skin, smooth and flawless, without wrinkles or signs of aging. The dark brown eyes and the delicate, shaped eyebrows, the long black lashes, perfectly aligned, so that each side of the face matched exactly. The half-open mouth, a violet hue against the gold, the bright white teeth, even and sparkling.

Mother. Beautiful, Transformed Mother. And back again to the mirror.

"—of all of them...."

The image of a pretty chubby girl, lacking any rhythm or grace, and far from perfect. Skin with blemishes and tiny holes, cheeks that are puffy, and red spots on her forehead. Sweat dripping down, her messy hair spilling over undefined shoulders and a shapeless body. Just like everyone else, before the Transformation.

Did they all look like this before? Did Mom, even?

Mary thought hard, trying to remember exactly what Dad and Grandpa had said, why they thought the Transformation was a bad thing, and why she believed and agreed with them so strongly. It made little sense, but they were right. They *were* right! And one day, she would completely understand.

Mrs. Cuberle slammed the door angrily, and Mary jumped to her feet. She hadn't forgotten about it. "The way you upset Dr. Hortel. He won't even see me anymore, and these traumas are getting horrible. I'll have to get that awful Dr. Wagoner."

"Sorry."

Mrs. Cuberle sat on the couch and crossed her legs carefully.

"What were you doing on the floor?"

"Trying to get some sleep."

"Now, I won't listen to it! You need to stop! You know you're not crazy. Why would you want to do something so dumb?"

"The books. And Dad told me about it."

"And you shouldn't read those awful things."

"Why—is there a law against them?"

"Well, no, but people got tired of books when the tapes showed up. You know that. The house is full of tapes; anything you want."

Mary sulked.

"They're not fun at all. It's all about the wars and the colonizations."

"And I guess books are fun?"

"Yeah. They are."

"And that's where you got this ridiculous idea that you don't want the Transformation, right? Of course it is. Well, we'll take care of that!"

MRS. CUBERLE quickly got up and grabbed the books from the corner and the closet, filling her arms with them. She scanned the room and collected the old, decayed volumes.

These she took from the room and tossed into the elevator. A button closed the doors.

"I figured you would do that," Mary said. "That's why I hid most of the good ones. Where you'll never find them."

Mrs. Cuberle held a satin handkerchief[11] to her eyes and started to cry.

"Just look at you. Seriously. I have no idea what I did to deserve this!"

"Deserve what, Mom? What am I doing that's so wrong?" Mary's mind swirled in a confused stream.

"What!" Mrs. Cuberle screamed, "What! Do you think I want people to point at you and say I'm the mother of an idiot? That's what they'll say, you'll see. Or," she looked up hopefully, "have you changed your mind?"

"No." The unclear reasons, eager to be expressed.

"It doesn't hurt. They just remove a bit of skin, apply some new stuff, and give you pills and electronic treatments and things like that. It takes no more than a week."

"No." The explanation.

"Don't you want to be beautiful, like everyone else—like me? Look at your friend Shala, she's getting her Transformation next month. And she's almost pretty now."

"Mom, I don't care—"

"If you're worried about the bones, don’t stress. They give you a shot, and when you wake up, everything's shaped perfectly. Everything fits the personality."

"I don't care, I don't care."

"But why?"

"I like myself the way I am." Almost—almost exactly. But not entirely. Part of it, though. Part of what Dad and Grandpa meant.

"But you're so ugly, dear! Like Dr. Hortel said. And Mr. Willmes at the factory. He told some people he thinks you're the ugliest girl he's ever seen. He says he'll be thankful when you have your Transformation. And what if he hears about all this? What will happen then?"

"Dad said I was beautiful."

"Well, really, dear. You do have eyes."

"Dad used to say that true beauty is only skin deep. He said a lot of things like that, and when I read those books, I felt the same way. I guess I just don’t want to look like everyone else, that’s all." No, that's not it. Not at all.

"That guy was too involved with you. You'll see that he had his Transformation, though!"

"But he felt regret. He told me that if he could do it again, he wouldn't. He said I should be stronger than he was."

"Well, I won't accept this. You're not getting away with it, young lady. After all, I am your mother."

A bulb flickered in the bathroom, and Mrs. Cuberle walked hesitantly to the cabinet. She pulled out a small cardboard box.

"Lunch time."

Mary nodded. That was another thing the books mentioned that the tapes didn't. Lunch used to be something special, or at least different. The books described odd ways of loading up food into the mouth and chewing it. Enjoying it. Strange and somehow wonderful.

"And you'd better get ready for work."

"Yes, Mom."

THE office was quiet and shadowless. The walls emitted a steady glow, evenly spreading light across all the desks and[12] tables. It was neither hot nor cold.

Mary held the ruler tightly and let the pen glide down the metal edge effortlessly. The new black lines were small and precise. She tilted her head, comparing the notes next to her to the plan she was working on. She noticed the attractive people watching her more discreetly than before, and she thought about this as she made her lines.

A tall man stood up from his desk at the back of the office and walked down the aisle to Mary's table. He looked over her work, carefully letting his gaze move from her face to the draft.

Mary checked her surroundings.

"Great job," said the man.

"Thanks, Mr. Willmes."

"Dralich shouldn't have anything to complain about. That crane should be able to hold the entire city."

"It's a really good alloy, sir."

"Yeah. Hey, kid, do you have a minute?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's go to Mullinson's office."

The tall, attractive man led the way into a small, cramped room. He gestured to a chair and sat on the edge of a desk.

"Kid, I was never one to sugarcoat things. Someone called a little while ago and shared some wild tale about you not wanting the Transformation."

Mary said, "Oh." Dad had said it would have to happen someday. This must be what he meant.

"I would have told them they were way off the mark, but I wanted to talk to you first to clear things up."

"Well, sir, it's true. I don't. I want to stay like this."

The man looked at Mary and then cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed.

"What the hell—sorry, kid, but—I don't really understand. You, um, you saw the psychiatrist?"

"Yeah, I'm not crazy. Dr. Hortel can confirm that."

"I didn't mean anything like that. Well—" the man laughed nervously. "I don't know what to say. You're still new, but you do great work. Lots of good results, lots of feedback from the stations. But, Mr. Poole won't like it."

"I get it. I get what you're saying, Mr. Willmes. But nothing will change my mind. I want to stay like this, and that's all there is to it."

"But—you'll grow old before you're halfway through life."

Yes, she would. Old, like the Elders, wrinkled and fragile, unable to move properly. Old. "It's hard to make you understand. But I don't see why it should matter."

"Don't get me wrong, okay? It’s not me, but, you know, I don’t own Interplan. I just work here. Mr. Poole wants things to run smoothly, and it’s my job to make that happen. As soon as everyone finds out, things won’t run smoothly. There will be a big fuss. The women will start asking questions and gossiping."

"Will you accept my resignation, then, Mr. Willmes?"

"Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

"No way. I decided that a long time ago. And I'm sorry now that I told Mom or anyone else. No way, I'm not changing my mind."

"Well, I'm sorry, Mary. You've been doing really great work. In a couple of[13] years, you could be stationed on one of the asteroids with how you've been working. But if you ever change your mind, there will always be a job for you here."

"Thanks, sir."

"No hard feelings?"

"No hard feelings."

"Alright then. You’ve got until March. And just between us, I hope by then you've chosen the other option."

Mary walked back down the aisle, past the rows of desks. Past the men and women. The good-looking, model guys and the gorgeous, flawless women, flawless, all flawless, all looking the same. Looking exactly the same.

She sat down again and picked up her ruler and pen.

MARY stepped into the elevator and went down several hundred feet. At the Second Level, she pressed a button and the elevator stopped. The doors opened with another button, and she opened the doors to her Unit with yet another.

Mrs. Cuberle sat on the floor by the TV, looking upset and with red eyes. Her blond hair was a bit messy, and a few strands fell over her forehead. "You don't have to tell me. No one will hire you."

Mary sat next to her mom. "If you hadn't told Mr. Willmes to begin with—"

"Well, I thought he could make you see some sense."

The sounds from the TV got louder. Mrs. Cuberle switched channels and finally turned it off.

"What did you do today, Mom?" Mary smiled.

"Do? What can I do now? Nobody is even going to come over! I told you what would happen."

"Mom!"

"They say you should be in the circuses."

Mary went into another room. Mrs. Cuberle followed. "How are we going to survive? Where's the money going to come from now? Just because you're so stubborn about this insane idea. Insane, insane, insane! Can I really support both of us? They'll be firing me next!"

"Why is this happening?"

"Because of you, that’s why. No one else on this planet has ever turned down the Transformation. But you reject it. You want to be ugly!"

Mary wrapped her arms around her mother's shoulders. "I wish I could explain, I've tried so hard to. It's not that I want to bother anyone, or that Dad wanted me to. I just don't want the Transformation."

Mrs. Cuberle reached into the pockets of her blouse and pulled out a purple pill. She swallowed it. When the letter dropped from the chute, Mrs. Cuberle hurried to grab it. She read it once, quietly, then smiled.

"Oh, I was worried they wouldn't answer. But we'll find out about this now!"

She handed the letter to Mary.

Mary let the paper drop to the floor. She walked silently to the elevator and pressed the button for Level III. When the elevator stopped, she dashed out, crying, into her room.

She thought and remembered and tried to sort things out and piece them together. Dad had said it, Grandpa had too, the books mentioned it. Yes, the books did.

She read until her eyes hurt, and her eyes hurt until she couldn’t read anymore. Then Mary fell asleep, gently and without noticing it, for the first time.

But the sleep was not restful.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the young-looking, well-groomed man, "this problem isn’t easy to solve. Dr. Hortel here testifies that Mary Cuberle is definitely not insane. Drs. Monagh, Prinn, and Fedders all confirm this judgment. Dr. Prinn argues that human beings are no longer wired to create and maintain such a mindset through deliberate deception. Moreover, there is absolutely nothing in Mary Cuberle's makeup that would suggest issues in Transformation. There is evidence supporting all these statements. And yet, we are confronted with this refusal. What, may I ask, should be done?"

Mary looked at a metal table.

"We've been in session for way too long, delaying way too many other urgent issues. Like the trouble on Mercury, for example. We'll have to sort that out, somehow."

Throughout the rows of attractive people, the murmuring grew louder. Mrs. Cuberle sat anxiously, tapping her shoe and running a comb through her hair.

"Mary Cuberle, you’ve had countless opportunities to rethink this, you know."

Mary said, "I know. But I really don't want to."

The attractive people glanced at Mary and laughed. Some just shook their heads.

The man threw up his hands. "Little girl, do you even understand the problem you've created? The chaos, the lost time? Do you really get what you've done? Important intergalactic issues are on hold while you sit there repeating yourself. Doesn’t your mother’s happiness matter to you?"

A slender, flexible woman in the back row shouted, "We want action. Do something!"

The man in the high stool raised his hand. "Enough of that. We have to stick to the rules, even if the question is unusual." He flipped through several papers on his desk, leaned down, and whispered to a strong blond man. Then he turned to Mary[15] again. "Child, for the last time. Are you rethinking your decision? Will you accept the Transformation?"

"Nope."

The man shrugged his shoulders. "Alright, then. I have a petition here, signed by two thousand people and representing all the Stations of Earth. They know all the facts and have submitted the petition willingly. It's all so strange, and I had hoped we wouldn't need to do this—but the petition calls for serious action."

The mumbling rose.

"The petition insists that you will, upon final refusal, be required by law to accept the Transformation. It also states that a law will be enacted to make this universal and binding for the future."

Mary's eyes were wide open. She stood still for a moment before speaking.

"Why?" she asked, loudly.

The man ran his hand through his hair.

Another voice from the crowd, "Looks like there are a lot of unanswered questions here."

And another, "Sign the petition, Senator!"

All the voices, "Sign it, sign it!"

"But why?" Mary started to cry. The voices fell silent for a moment.

"Because—Because—"

"If you would just tell me that. Tell me!"

"Well, it's just not happening, that's all. The biggest gift of all, and what if others start thinking the same way? What would happen to us then, little girl? We’d end up right back to being the ugly, thin, fat, unhealthy-looking race we were ages ago! There can’t be any exceptions."

"Maybe they didn't see themselves as that unattractive."

The mumbling started again.

"That's not the point," the man shouted. "You have to conform!"

And the voices shouted "Yes" loudly until the man picked up a pen and signed the documents on his desk.

Cheers, claps, cheers.

Mrs. Cuberle patted Mary on the head.

"There, all done!" she said, happily, "Everything will be fine now. You'll see, Mary."

THE Transformation Parlor occupied the entire Level, sprawling with its different departments. It was always busy, and there was nothing to sign or money to pay; people were always lined up, waiting.

But today, people stepped back. And there were even more, watching through doors, TV cameras set up with tape machines in every corner. It was crowded, but not lively like usual.

Mary walked past the people, her mother and the men behind her, following. She looked at the people. The people were beautiful, perfect, without a single flaw.

All the beautiful people. All the ugly people, staring out from bodies that were not theirs. Walking on legs that had been made for them, laughing with manufactured voices, gesturing with shaped and crafted arms.

Mary walked slowly, even with the nudging. In her eyes, in her eyes, was a growing confusion; a deep, deep sense of wonder.

The reason was becoming clearer; the blurry edges were fading away now. Through all the terrible months and all the terrible moments, the edges faded. Now it was almost clear.

She looked down at her own body, then at the walls that reflected it. Flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone, all hers, created by no one, built by herself or someone she didn't know. Uneven kneecaps that formed two grinning cherubs when bent, and the old familiar rubbing of soft inner thighs. Soft, unshapely, chaotic Mary. But Mary.

Of course. Of course! This was what Dad meant, what Grandpa and the books meant. What they would understand if they read the books or heard the words, the good, reasonable words, the words that meant more, so much more, than any of this.

The understanding grew with each step.

"Where are these people?" Mary asked mostly to herself. "What has happened to them and don’t they miss themselves, these created beings?"

She stopped abruptly.

"Yes! That is the reason. They have all lost sight of themselves!"

A curvy woman stepped forward and took Mary's hand. The woman's skin was a deep tone. Chipped and shaped bones formed slender, flowing lines; her posture was striking and dynamic, perfectly presented.

"Okay, young lady. Let's get started."

They led Mary to a big, curved leather chair.

From the top of a long silver pole, a machine descended. Tiny bulbs lit up and cells began to click. The people watched in awe. Gradually, an image appeared on the screen of the machine. Bulbs pointed at Mary, then refocused into the machine. Wheels turned, buttons clicked.

The picture is finished.

"Do you want to see it?"

Mary shut her eyes tightly.

"It's really quite nice." The woman turned to the crowd. "Oh yes, there's a lot that can be saved; you'd be surprised. A lot. We'll keep the nose and I don't think the elbows will need any changes at all."

Mrs. Cuberle looked at Mary and smiled. "See, it's not as bad as you thought, right?" she said.

The beautiful people watched. Cameras focused, tapes recorded.

"You'll need to excuse us now. Only the machines are allowed."

Just the machines.

The crowd filed out.

Mary looked into the mirror and saw the rooms. She saw things in the rooms—the faces and bodies that had been left behind; the woman and the machines, and the old young men standing around, adjusting and getting ready.

Then she looked at the picture on the screen.

And yelled.

A woman of average height looked back at her. A woman with a curvy body and slender legs; silver hair, styled in a pompadour and cut short; full, sensual lips, small breasts, a flat stomach, and flawless skin.

A really unusual woman that no one had ever seen before.

The nurse started to remove Mary's clothes.

"Geoff," the woman said, "come[17] check this out, will you? It's not been this good in years. It's incredible that we can hold onto anything at all."

The attractive guy put his hands in his pockets.

"Pretty bad, for sure."

"Calm down, kid, stop making all that noise. You know very well that nothing is going to harm you."

"But—what are you going to do with me?"

"That was all explained to you."

"No, no, with me!"

"Oh, you mean the leftovers. The usual stuff. I’m not really sure. Someone takes care of it."

"I want me!" Mary shouted. "Not that!" She pointed at the screen.

Straps. Clamps pulling, stretching limbs apart. The screen shows the picture being brought in. The men and the woman, now more women. Dr. Hortel in a corner, sitting cross-legged, shaking his head.

Mary started to cry above the noise of the machines.

"Shhh. Wow, what a noise! Just think about your job waiting for you, all the friends you'll make, and how great everything will be. No more problems now."

The large machine speeding downward.

"Where will I find me?" Mary screamed, "when it's all over?"

A long needle pierced through tough skin, and the beautiful people gathered around the table.

They powered on the huge machine.