Cliff Breeze yawned and stirred, burrowing under the blanket for warmth.
Something wasn’t quite right, though.
The sheets and blanket were awfully smooth, and carried the floral scent of cheap detergent. The mattress was a lot softer than he remembered. The pervasive, whining rumble of the neighbour’s makeshift generator was gone.
Soft giggles and whispers. Firm but gentle touches. Ear nibbles…
Groaning, he flipped the edge of the blanket off his chest and blinked the crustiness out of his eyes.
“Good morning, Frosty,” a sweet voice crooned.
Cliff froze and stared at the earth mare in bed with him, caressed by the morning sun’s rays trickling in from the room’s little window. Teal eyes. Pale amber coat. A mane positively blazing with all the radiant shades of a maple tree in autumn. It took his post-uplink brain a while to recognise her from the murky depths of his memories, but her name eventually came up: Pixel Rust.
Passionate moans. Legs, wings and tails entwined. Lips pressed against one another. Rhythmic rocking like gentle waves on the ocean, bathed in warm darkness…
He took a quick sniff, and his stomach churned when he realised exactly what his body had been up to last night.
“Everything okay?” She snuggled closer until their muzzles almost touched. “You look a little under the weather.”
Slowly, Cliff retreated from her until his back found the edge of the bed. His wings briefly fluttered in the sudden absence of warm fabric, after which he gingerly sat up on his haunches and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m not, uh… Frosty.”
She giggled. “Silly goober. Who else would you be?”
“My name is Cliff Breeze.” It sounded alien on his tongue, and he couldn’t meet her eyes, but he forced the rest of the words out. “I’m a surrogate. Sorry.”
After a moment of silence, she snorted, and said with a distinctly frigid voice, “Hoar Frost, if this is a prank, it’s very much in the not funny category. What the hay is going on? If you’re having second thoughts about us, just spit it out. Don’t give me this surrogate nonsense. I’m not stupid; I know you don’t have a slug. Your neck’s clean.”
Her smile could’ve lit the room up like the sun and lifted him higher than any updraft. He would do anything for her, never let her down.
Cliff winced. Her disappointment wasn’t meant for him and therefore shouldn’t have twisted a knife into his heart, but it did all the same.
“My slug isn’t in the usual spot,” he mumbled.
“Yeah? Where, then? Your balls?”
“It’s higher up.” He twisted to present his neck to her, then brushed aside his mane near the base of his skull. “Go ahead. Feel it.”
Despite his averted gaze, he could feel her scowl boring into him as she reached out and tentatively prodded at the indicated spot. Her breath hitched when her frog brushed against the scar tissue of the incision hidden in his thick mane, and she began pressing her hoof against his neck in earnest, feeling the lumpy implant underneath the musculature above the axis and atlas vertebrae. He winced and fought to keep still as the sudden and uneven pressure sent tingling jolts through his nerves to his extremities.
“Oh, bucking hayseed,” she muttered as she withdrew her hoof. “But—but last night you… we… Damn it, you lied to me! I’m such an idiot…”
“I’m sorr—”
She threw off the blanket with such force that she practically whipped him in the muzzle, and then stomped out of the bedroom without another word.
Cliff sat in the bed for a moment, rubbing his muzzle and wondering if he should make a break for it before she called the cops. He technically wasn’t liable for trespassing if he was unlinked outside of a surrogate centre, but she might embellish the details of their encounter a bit, and everypony knew that the cops were less than fond of humans, and by extension, surrogates. On the other hoof, if he caused her any distress or property damage in his attempt to leave, that would give the cops the perfect excuse to teach him a lesson or two…
Pixel Rust was still tromping around somewhere in the house, and Cliff decided that the last thing he wanted was for her to return and find him still in her bed. It wasn’t unheard of for a surrogate to get bludgeoned, stabbed or even shot by their client’s date once the jig was up.
A series of muffled chimes rang from a saddlebag next to the bed, and Cliff almost reached for it on reflex. He had to stop and remind himself that it wasn’t his phone, despite the hauntingly familiar tune. Instead, he made a brisk attempt at tidying up the bed and eyed the shower for a moment before thinking better of it.
This was neither the place nor time for personal grooming. The sooner he was off private property, the better.
It was a small apartment, with just enough space for a couple of rooms, a kitchenette and a crammed living room, so he had no trouble locating the exit. His hooves sounded like thunder on the floor tiles as he sidled out, feeling like a thief trapped in a maze filled with roaming police.
He just needed to sneak past the kitchenette and—
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Cliff froze mid-step and winced when he saw Pixel glaring at him from the dining table. Her mane and tail remained dishevelled, and her un-brushed coat had retained all the crusty, swirly patterns created by tossing and turning in bed—and other activities. Between the reddened, teary eyes and the shadows created by the glowing smartphone screen directly beneath her muzzle, she looked almost like the ghost of a jilted lover, risen from the grave to punish the unfaithful.
“I was just leaving,” he said.
She kicked an empty chair toward him. “Sit.”
“But—”
“You’re not leaving until you’ve had breakfast,” she growled.
They grinned as they belted out the raunchy lyrics of their favourite band’s hit together, whilst their half-eaten dinner lay forgotten on the table.
“Well…” He glanced at the door, then at the second bowl of what looked like cereal on the table. His stomach then settled the matter with a rumble. “I… Okay, thanks.”
Easy. Just take it easy. Don’t set her off.
Cliff took a seat on the opposite side of the table from her. There was less distance between them than he would’ve liked, but for now, she seemed content to sip her coffee in broody silence whilst she tapped away at her phone.
He cautiously picked at his cereal at first, but then ate in earnest when his shrivelled stomach found the milky, sugary puffs very agreeable. In between ravenous bites, he did his best to avert his eyes from her phone and ignore the way her creased brow got more severe with each passing minute.
Her apartment was much nicer than his. Nothing fancy, but she clearly had enough bits to afford a place with wallpaper instead of exposed concrete and metal everywhere. It reminded him of his parents’ home, of a time when he wasn’t such a massive scre—
“So, what’s his name?”
Cliff nearly choked on the last lump of cereal when Pixel’s voice dragged him back to the present.
“He’s not answering my calls,” she continued, and this time there was a hint of steel in her voice when she locked eyes with him. “I want to know Hoar Frost’s real name. His human name. And I want to know what he looks like.”
“Well…” Cliff gulped and gestured vaguely with a wing. “I, uh… I’m not sure how much you know about surrogate policy, but we’re not given access to any client’s personal information. And even if we knew anything, it’s strictly against the rules.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So what I’m hearing is that you won’t help me.”
“I can’t help you. I’m not allowed,” he said with a helpless shrug. “At any rate, he’s probably on Earth, and you know how they are with portal crossings these days. The visa requirements are absolutely overkill.”
“Don’t lie to me!” she snapped. “I’ve been to your—his apartment in Dasher Row. I’m going over there right now and—”
Cliff threw up his hooves. “Whoa, I’m not lying! Clients don’t bring dates to their actual homes—that’s the first thing they’re told not to do. And you’re only going to get into trouble if you go there and accuse every human of being your coltfriend!”
Silence reigned for a moment.
He could practically see the cogs working in her head, and his wings twitched whenever her muscles tensed like steel cables underneath her coat. He was no toothpick, but the fleeting memories of the previous night—heaving, pushing, panting, as futile as trying to move a warm, fuzzy, giggling steam engine—made it absolutely clear how he would fare against her earth pony strength if she really decided to have a go at him.
Eventually, Pixel closed the app on her phone with a swipe hard enough to crack the glass. Then, she jabbed a hoof at him and growled, “You…”
Her hoof shook as her voice trailed off, and she blinked profusely as tears welled up in her eyes. “This—this is just… I look at your face and I… fuck!”
She slammed her hoof on the table. “They were right about you freaks. Go. Just go.”
Cliff swallowed and hopped off the chair, heading straight for the exit. But, just as he went through the kitchenette’s doorway and rounded the corner, his brain dutifully reminded him that he was still somewhat responsible for his client’s belongings until he got to a surrogate centre. He grimaced as he skidded to a halt and gingerly poked his head back into the kitchenette.
Pixel scowled. “What?”
“Umm… My, uh, client left his stuff here last night…” He slowly raised a hoof and gestured towards the bedroom.
“Yes. His. Not yours,” she spat, lashing her tail. “If he wants them back, he can bloody well come and collect them himself. Either in his own skin or yours—I don’t care. But you are not laying a hoof on his stuff.”
“I… you’re right. Sorry for asking.” Cliff sighed and took a step back. “Look, for what it’s worth, you might still be able to reach him. Calling won’t work because the numbers you know are on this side of the portal, but aethermails should get through.”
He didn’t wait for her response. His wings twitched as he plodded to the front door, which whirred, clicked and slid open upon receiving Pixel’s remote command. A blast of cold air struck him as he stepped outside into the apartment complex, and the door to Pixel’s unit slid shut, almost pinching the end of his tail.
Cliff glanced back at the security camera embedded in the door.
She giggled as he held her steady. He snuck in a couple of kisses. She licked him back. The scent of booze wafted on their mixed breaths. It must’ve taken them a whole five minutes to just line up properly for the retinal scanner to open the door…
Grimacing, he turned away and focused on his surroundings.
The centre of the concrete superblock had a fairly spacious air well that opened up directly to the sky. Good. He needed a quick exit. After flexing his wings and confirming that they were fit for use, he leaped over the railings in front of Pixel’s unit. A few residents watched him with mild disinterest as he spiralled upwards until he disappeared over the rim of the air well and into the sky.
It took him a while to get his bearings and cross reference it with his hazy memory of Pixel’s address, but he eventually recognised some skyscrapers in the distance and briskly flew in their direction, following the rail line leading out of the residential hub.
He could probably reach the surrogate centre within a couple of hours of nonstop flight, provided he could keep up the pace. Winter was setting in, and despite the morning sun and the exhaust from numerous industrial sites below, the chill was biting right through his coat.
The tears started welling up as soon as he set off.
After just half an hour of flying, Cliff’s tears were frozen to his cheeks, and he already had ice forming on his feathers and wanted out.
Nope, nope. Too cold. Too far.
He did take a quick cloud bath before descending to the nearest train station, though. Not as good as an actual shower, but better than nothing. The last thing he needed was everypony getting a whiff of just how much fun he’d had with Pixel last night.
Luckily for him, it most of the weekend’s morning rush was already over, so he actually managed to snag a seat for himself.
Cliff sighed as he sank into the padding and closed his eyes. The hypnotic rumbling and rocking of the old train didn’t take long to set his mind adrift…
Pixel’s back arched like a cat’s, and she moaned when he—
His eyes snapped back open.
Scratch that. This was not the place to surf memories.
Instead, he forced himself to observe his surroundings. The screen at the end of the cabin cycled through the week’s headlines, occasionally switching to flashy ads and PSAs. A few ponies eyed him warily from their respective seats; maybe his cloud bath hadn’t spruced him up as much as he’d hoped. A griffon and a human chatted quietly in the corner, smoking cigarettes. At the next stop, a stallion and mare entered the cabin, and several of the other passengers made faces when the couple started making out in their seats.
Cliff winced.
Did they really have to be like that?
It would’ve been nice if they’d at least worn something to cover up the unsightly humps between their shoulder blades. Most slugs were implanted with carapace casings and were impossible to hide without clothes. In just the four or five years since the tech had entered the market, surrogates had already acquired a distinctly seedy reputation, and those two weren’t helping. Worse still, not everypony bothered to distinguish between surrogates and the clients who used them; he was lucky that Pixel hadn’t taken out her frustrations on him.
Thankfully, they didn’t escalate their displays of affection, and the rest of the journey passed without incident. The mixture of trees, conduits and industrial sites in the countryside eventually gave way to an ever-scrolling wall of concrete and neon lights as the train entered the outermost district of Kinship City. Not much sun reached the ground – too many densely-packed skyscrapers and superblocks in the way. A few more stops, and he was up and out onto the streets of Dust Alley, followed by a short trot to the surrogate centre.
It stood out amongst the rows of bars, shops and adult entertainment facilities, having just a plain door and no windows whatsoever. Ponies, changelings, griffons and even the odd human or diamond dog milled about in front of other establishments, basking in the flashy lights as they conducted business and enjoyed each other’s company. Professional escorts of various species gave him sultry smiles as he trotted past them.
He sputtered and coughed as the liquor burned its way down his throat. Pixel cackled and downed her shot with ease. “Pfft, I told you to work your way up slowly. See what happens when you don’t listen to me?” she said as she playfully patted him on the back…
Cliff shook his head and presented his eye to the retinal scanner. It beeped softly, followed by a heavy mechanical clank as the door unlocked and slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
The interior looked like an old, underfunded clinic, devoid of patients. It was, however, quite cosy, and Cliff was happy to get away from the chill outside. A lone changeling sat at the receptionist’s counter, sporting a getup consisting of a yellow sweater and leg warmers that made him look like a bumblebee when combined with his black chitin.
“Hi, Sternum,” said Cliff as he trotted up to his fixer.
“Mister Breeze?” The changeling looked up from the computer screen and frowned. “Again? What happened this time?”
“I, uh… woke up in his marefriend’s house.”
Those piercing blue eyes narrowed. “After making the eight-legged horse, I presume?”
He bit his lip. “Yes.”
“Any collateral?”
“Nothing aside from leaving his stuff at her house. She was upset, but she didn’t hurt me.”
“Uh huh. That’s the third strike, and he went out with a bang, too.” Sternum buzzed his wings and chirped an expletive. “That grub’s getting blacklisted.”
Cliff reared up and thumped both front hooves on the counter. “Wait! Please, can’t you just let this one slide? I mean, can you blame him? He got laid!”
“You know, there’s a reason clients are discouraged from using their surrogate to form deep relationships,” Sternum deadpanned with half-lidded eyes. “I’m aware you’re fond of this one—he’s admittedly a very regular and consistent customer the past couple years—but the rules exist for a reason. I’ve warned him multiple times already, and yet here you are. It could’ve turned out so much worse for you. We found Lily Jade in a ditch two days ago, severely dehydrated and exhausted—she’ll make it, don’t worry—but I think you’ll agree that everypony in your profession would want her client permanently off the market.”
“Yeah, but my client’s nothing like tha—”
“For now,” Sternum said more forcefully. He then jabbed a hoof at him and growled, “Humans have a habit of pushing boundaries. First it was you waking up a couple of times in your client’s flat, and then this morning, you’re in bed with his marefriend. Next time, it might be in mid-air, on your way to painting the ground with your guts because he wanted to take a nice flight around the neighbourhood and forgot about the deadline. You might not worry that much about your safety, but I do.”
“Because you’re such an altruist?” Cliff rolled his eyes.
Sternum grinned and gestured vaguely with a hoof. “Well, yes, but mostly because the boss’ll split my chitin for not doing everything in my power to protect an expensive asset. Slugs aren’t cheap, and we’d much rather you continue working with us for a long time instead of… you know, getting crippled or potentially dying on the job.”
“But you’re just assuming that it’s going to get worse, and…” Cliff sucked in a deep breath and sighed. He then pressed his hooves together on the counter and pleaded, “Look, just this once, let it slide. Give him a real nasty warning and a penalty or whatever, but don’t blacklist him. He doesn’t do anything freaky with my body, and that’s super-rare.”
“What clients do with your body isn’t any of your business. Besides, how would you even know that?” Sternum’s eyes narrowed. “Are the memory blockers failing?”
Cliff’s heart rate spiked, and he shook his head a little harder than was probably necessary. “No! I mean, as far as I can tell, there’s just no lasting damage or anything when I get my body back.”
“Which brings us right back to the point that he’s eventually going to if you keep rolling the dice on him.”
“I’d be rolling the dice anyway with new clients. Besides, my point is that he’s just made a few bad calls in the heat of the moment instead of literally treating my body like a condom. I mean, look at this!” He flared out his wings and wiggled his feathers. “I’m pretty sure he actually knows how to preen. How many humans bother to learn? Or at the very least, he’s paying somepony to do it for him. Like he actually cares about my body. That puts him way ahead of most clients and you know it!”
Sternum was silent for a moment.
“Come on. You’ve spoken to him, right? He’s not a bad pon—person. Just give him one more chance. Please?”
After looking at him for another moment, Sternum buzzed his wings and shook his head. “I’m probably going to regret this, but… okay. Fine. He gets one more chance.”
Cliff released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Sternum as he waved a hoof dismissively. “Seriously, don’t, or it’s my job on the line. Let’s just get you cleaned up.”
He nodded and walked past him to the decontamination room like clockwork. Before going in, he stopped at the blood sampler to get his frog pricked; the analysis would be ready after he was done getting cleaned up. The harsh water jets left him feeling like a tossed piece of raw salad, but he always appreciated the way it felt like it was also somehow getting rid of grime on his soul. Something to occupy his senses and stop him from thinking. At least for a while.
Brushing himself down after getting his hair and feathers all frizzed up by the blow-dryer also felt extra nice this time.
“Mmm, lower…” said Pixel as he ran the brush through her smooth coat…
Grooming himself took a little longer than usual. When Cliff stepped into the med bay for his pre-release check-up, he found Sternum frowning as he peered at the tablet in his magical grip.
After taking a moment to school his expression, Cliff approached him and asked, “Something wrong?”
“Maybe.” Sternum placed the tablet on a table, sat on his haunches and spread his forelegs wide. “Hit me.”
Cliff matched his posture and hugged him. He then kept still as Sternum closed his forelegs around him and thrummed softly. A deep breath and a hiss, followed by that distinct tugging and nipping somewhere between his heart and mind as Sternum sampled his emotions. It was always mildly unpleasant, as he’d never gotten the hang of ‘giving it freely’ as some claimed, but maybe that was because those ponies actually had a thing for bugs.
At any rate, the procedure didn’t take long and Sternum eventually released him.
“You’re a little off baseline,” he said, clicking his tongue as he tapped away on his tablet. “Anything you want to tell me? Problems I should be aware of?”
He shook his head.
Sternum locked eyes with him and frowned. “Mister Breeze, this is serious. I’d been thinking about what you said earlier, so I have to ask: are the memory blockers failing? Have you been surfing?”
His throat felt dry, but he resisted the urge to swallow. “No.”
“You’re lying. Don’t do that. Not to me.” Sternum’s frown deepened. “When did this start? How many cycles have you gone with memory leaks?”
“Umm, maybe two or three? It’s… gotten worse.”
Sternum grimaced and shook his head. “More lying.”
“I’m telling the truth!”
“About the timing, sure. But you sure taste like you consider this development a net positive.”
Cliff opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. He’d already said enough; any more might be overplaying his hoof. Instead, he simply flattened his ears and looked away, squirming under Sternum’s gaze like a foal caught with his hoof in the cookie jar.
Thankfully, Sternum didn’t press the matter. He just sighed and rapidly tapped some notes onto his tablet.
“Well, nothing we can do about it right now. But next time, I’m upping your dose of blockers,” said Sternum as he flared his curved horn and floated a syringe into view. He then made a twirling motion with his hoof. “Come on. The bloodwork found traces of narcotics and dreamweed; your client’s been experimenting.”
Cliff kept his head low and turned around. A second later, he winced as Sternum injected a small dose of thaumoxone to neutralise whatever nasties they’d detected in his blood.
“Look, I get it. Everyone’s a little curious, and sometimes you glimpse clients doing some exciting stuff with your body,” Sternum continued as he wiped the injection site with a cotton swab and gave him a firm pat on the back. “But we are selling private experiences. You know how bad it’ll be if we lose a client’s trust and get a lawsuit on our hooves. Sooner or later, you’re going to see something you’ll regret. This is for your own sanity as much as everyone else’s. Promise you’ll let me know if this happens again.”
His ears drooped. “I… okay. I promise.”
Sternum smiled and patted him again. “Good. Now, let’s finish up here.”
After a quick once-over, Cliff got a clean bill of health and was sent on his way.
Flying was less than pleasant in this part of town—too many wires and conduits going between buildings—so he went on hoof. Like an ant in its nest, he navigated the familiar route through the streets and catwalks, past countless ponies going about their business. Most were eagerly looking forward to the weekend, trotting towards the usual entertainment centres and parks. Cliff Breeze just wanted to go home.
It was almost noon by the time he got back to his flat in the residential blocks, and he was trembling by then.
Sternum’s promise to increase his dosage hung heavy on his mind.
Surrogates formed memories differently while being controlled through their slugs. They were still stored in the brain, but forming them required a roundabout neural pathway through the slug, which meant that they could be blocked by a drug which suppressed that part of the implant. Ideally, surrogates shouldn’t be able to remember anything that their bodies did while uplinked, but have perfectly normal memories when they were themselves again. But if the dosage was off, then some uplinked memories would leak through, and once they were formed, they couldn’t be removed without invasive mind magic or causing general memory loss.
At least, that was how Cliff understood it.
He practically charged into his room and rummaged through his stash under the bed.
Got it!
The bottle of clear fluid still had about nine, maybe ten millilitres left—possibly just enough for the next uplink even if Sternum upped the dosage of blockers.
Cliff sighed as he put the bottle back in place and flopped onto the bed to wait for his nerves to settle. He knew that Sternum meant well, but his gut had been viscerally churning with dread at the prospect of missing out.
It wasn’t easy getting his hooves on the counteragent. At least, not one that the surrogate companies were already familiar with. A big chunk of his pay went into acquiring his supply from the black market. Sternum would’ve freaked out if he knew just how frequently and how much Cliff used. He’d have to get more soon, hopefully in time for the session after next.
Once he’d relaxed, Cliff gulped down a cold cup of tea and lay in bed, sifting through the latest memories rising up from the fog in his brain. Much of it still involved his date with Pixel Rust, but the more time his brain had to recover, the more it was able to recall memories from earlier in the week. There was one of him simply putting together a model of a griffish airship, marvelling at the exquisite detail of the talon-carved woodwork…
Would Pixel forgive hi—Hoar Frost? Would his client blame him for not doing a better job of smoothing things over once he was found out? Cliff knew it wasn’t his business, but at the same time, they had a good thing going, and he hated the thought that he might have played a part, however small, in breaking them up.
“Pluck me,” he growled.
Cliff shook his head and focused on the memories.
He hoped he had enough to last him the weekend.
Soaring over the clouds. Shrieks of delight as he swooped down and nearly brushed against a treetop. Pixel Rust was all snug in the carrier harness under his barrel, spreading her legs out and laughing, whooping, shouting for him to go higher and higher!
Landing on a snowy mountaintop far from civilisation. Panting and heaving to recover his breath, he unfastened the harness. Snuggling, giggling, kissing, tossing, tumbling. Pressed foreheads together, combing his feathers through her mane, whispering sweet nothings into her ear…
Belly-down in the snow, biting his lip and trying not to giggle as she nibbled his feathers. “Stop laughing. Preening is hard!” she said. Yelped when she accidentally plucked a loose feather. “Oops!” Rolled over and gasped and guffawed helplessly when she gave up and resorted to pure tickling, cackling like an evil, evil sweet mare…
Brought his guitar. Played her a silly song. Raised their voices together until the squirrels pelted them with nuts. Nuts were tasty. Went well with turnip sandwiches.
There were many memories.
But not enough, never enough.
Cliff surfed them, devoured them. Clung to them like driftwood in the ocean. A vast, empty ocean wide and deep enough to drown a million souls.