WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

When Braun told him it was a woman, and that she was 6 months pregnant, the first thing he asked was: "Is she pretty? I don't want to come back to life as an ugly woman."

"A knock-out," said Doctor Braun.

"And she's young?"

"Twenty-seven."

"What happened to her?"

"Recoilless ball-bearing hammer. Skull fracture. Cerebral hemorrhage."

"Oh."

"The guy's in jail. Probably insane."

"Who was he?"

"Her husband... Ex-husband..."

"Oh." There was a long pause filled with the magnified breathing and gurgling of the mechanical respiratory system.

Doctor Braun wondered if the Professor had wandered away. Communication with a brain trapped in such a body was difficult, at the best of times. And now they were coming to the end. Maybe the Professor was just thinking. He liked to take his time, and he didn't mind taking other people's time either. One of the last perks of power and immense wealth.

"Pregnant ..." the ancient voice mused.

"Yes," said Braun. "Six months."

"Other children?" The voice gurgled.

"One girl."

"How old?"

"Seven."

"Hmmm..." There followed a long pause in which the Professor's mind said nothing. Doctor Braun listened to the bubbles, the gurgles, the sighs. He glanced toward the dials and graphs and blinking lights. The brain was still normal, but the support systems were on the verge of collapse. And the body... the body... Well, what could you expect at 128...

"What shape's the body in?" The ancient voice, filtered through the machines, was querulous.

"Whose body?"

"Hers of course!"

"As of now ... perfect ..."

"You hesitate." The observation was peremptory, and it was a question.

"Well, we can't wait..." Braun hesitated. "All her superior neurological functions have been destroyed, and she's carrying a baby... She needs a brain fast if her systems are to be preserved intact."

"Abort."

"What?"

"Arrange an abortion. Get rid of the baby!"

"We can't. Too risky. And..."

"Imbecile!"

"Professor, there's another thing..."

"Yes?"

"Well, two things, actually..."

"Get on with it, you fool! Tell me!"

You asked for it, you old bastard, thought Doctor Braun. He wondered why the fates had chosen - of all people - Professor Kurt Siegfried Dietrich for the first complete brain transplant. Of course, the fates had not chosen. Professor Dietrich and his immense wealth and influence had chosen. And his Nobel Prize in chemistry. This was a brain, it was thought, worth preserving.

"Well...," Braun cleared his throat, "there are a series of infections loose in your own body. All attempts to stop or control them are failing. They've brought the Life Support System to its limit. The infections have not yet touched your brain. But in a few days... hours even ... the whole body's internal mechanism will ... well ... implode ... and I'm afraid it'll take down the LSS ... and your brain ... with it."