In a comfortable, plush room in a beautiful penthouse in Dubai, an old woman closed her eyes to sleep. She would not wake up. But Milele wasn’t planning on staying in the woman’s mind long enough to see the morning, anyway.
As soon as unconsciousness took hold of the old woman, Milele got to work untying the threads that held her mind to the woman’s. She’d lived a good life in that body, from eighteen years old (Milele still regretted replacing the body’s native occupant at such a young age) all the way through a prosperous middle age, and finally to a well-executed retirement in the United Arab Emirates. But the body was not much use anymore, and she once again craved the feeling of youth and possibility. Each fiber she unwound detached her more from the life she had just finished living, until at last she was free of it entirely. Milele did not waste any time floating in the opaque ether of interconsciousness. She immediately began searching for sleeping minds.
The interconsciousness is not organized in accordance with physical space, and it therefore requires very little effort to travel through it and arrive on the other side of the world. Milele flew through this shapeless void, brushing minds with the tips of her fingers as she passed. Some were too old already. Others had heart conditions that made them risky to occupy, and still others were too innocent. She had nine hours to search before most people would wake up in this part of the world — much less than that if she accidentally traveled too far east or west. She preferred to find a body in the first hour, to give herself plenty of time to replace the native occupant and become accustomed to their form.
After two hours, Milele finally zeroed in on a body sleeping in Sweden — a man in his twenties with a healthy heart and a rich father. Probably a bit full of himself anyway, she told herself. She descended on his mind, unwrapping the threads that held his mind to the body — threads that became much more pliable in sleep. Just like she’d done centuries ago with Queen Victoria’s mind, and Genghis Khan’s before that, she pulled at the threadbare cloth of the subliminal canvas until it dissolved. She had never intentionally learned how to Occupy — she’d discovered the power as a child in Macedonia, when she had suffered a stroke and, in a desperate panic of self-preservation, fumbled her way into the mind of Alexander the Great.
Milele felt a familiar twinge of guilt as the man’s mind drifted helplessly away into interconsciousness, but she steeled herself. I’ll make better use of this body than you ever could have. Entwining herself in the threads, Milele transferred the man’s life into her subconscious, down to his every last mannerism. His name was Nils. Her name was now Nils. He had wealthy friends in Canada. She now had wealthy friends in Canada. But somewhere deep down, in the part of the mind where identity truly lies, she was still Milele. His memories were hers, but only when she needed to draw upon them.
The next morning, Nils woke up.
Over the next forty years, he founded the three largest tech companies the world had ever seen, ensured the approval of the first permanent lunar base, and put several billion dollars into ocean restoration.
In his old age, Nils was diagnosed with cancer. A week later, he was found dead in his house in Fiji.
The next morning, a woman in Japan woke up, smiling as sunlight streamed in through her window. Her mind was two thousand years old. Milele stretched, and got out of bed.
As soon as unconsciousness took hold of the old woman, Milele got to work untying the threads that held her mind to the woman’s. She’d lived a good life in that body, from eighteen years old (Milele still regretted replacing the body’s native occupant at such a young age) all the way through a prosperous middle age, and finally to a well-executed retirement in the United Arab Emirates. But the body was not much use anymore, and she once again craved the feeling of youth and possibility. Each fiber she unwound detached her more from the life she had just finished living, until at last she was free of it entirely. Milele did not waste any time floating in the opaque ether of interconsciousness. She immediately began searching for sleeping minds.
The interconsciousness is not organized in accordance with physical space, and it therefore requires very little effort to travel through it and arrive on the other side of the world. Milele flew through this shapeless void, brushing minds with the tips of her fingers as she passed. Some were too old already. Others had heart conditions that made them risky to occupy, and still others were too innocent. She had nine hours to search before most people would wake up in this part of the world — much less than that if she accidentally traveled too far east or west. She preferred to find a body in the first hour, to give herself plenty of time to replace the native occupant and become accustomed to their form.
After two hours, Milele finally zeroed in on a body sleeping in Sweden — a man in his twenties with a healthy heart and a rich father. Probably a bit full of himself anyway, she told herself. She descended on his mind, unwrapping the threads that held his mind to the body — threads that became much more pliable in sleep. Just like she’d done centuries ago with Queen Victoria’s mind, and Genghis Khan’s before that, she pulled at the threadbare cloth of the subliminal canvas until it dissolved. She had never intentionally learned how to Occupy — she’d discovered the power as a child in Macedonia, when she had suffered a stroke and, in a desperate panic of self-preservation, fumbled her way into the mind of Alexander the Great.
Milele felt a familiar twinge of guilt as the man’s mind drifted helplessly away into interconsciousness, but she steeled herself. I’ll make better use of this body than you ever could have. Entwining herself in the threads, Milele transferred the man’s life into her subconscious, down to his every last mannerism. His name was Nils. Her name was now Nils. He had wealthy friends in Canada. She now had wealthy friends in Canada. But somewhere deep down, in the part of the mind where identity truly lies, she was still Milele. His memories were hers, but only when she needed to draw upon them.
The next morning, Nils woke up.
Over the next forty years, he founded the three largest tech companies the world had ever seen, ensured the approval of the first permanent lunar base, and put several billion dollars into ocean restoration.
In his old age, Nils was diagnosed with cancer. A week later, he was found dead in his house in Fiji.
The next morning, a woman in Japan woke up, smiling as sunlight streamed in through her window. Her mind was two thousand years old. Milele stretched, and got out of bed.