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Begin Neural Log. I’ve just woken up from surgery and I feel great! My life begins here.

Until recently, my “brain,” everything definable as “me,” was just a kilogram of meat that taught itself to interpret senses, think, remember, and reason, and cobbled itself together into a functional person somehow. Then I received my first neural interface, this collar around my neck that reads the signals in my meat brain, allowing me to outsource brain functions to other external devices. I’m now a hybrid of synthetic and organic modules--cyborg.

Navigating a terminal by thought will take some getting used to. Just another intuitive function to learn--like talking, and walking, and breathing--just another thing brains have to figure out for themselves--it can’t be taught. To help develop this skill, they encourage us technopath candidates to record our every meaningless thought into a searchable encrypted log--faster and more reliable than meat memory.

This will be my encrypted neural log, a place for absolutely no eyes but my own.

They say it’s important for technopath candidates to work on documenting all the important details of our lives before our transition. As our brains make the switch from analog to digital memory, all that is not saved will be lost. The meat will forget how to remember things the old way, it will no longer be necessary. And we will be forever changed, there’s no telling what person I will be after rearranging my thought patterns to incorporate the interface.

Sounds great to me, why would I want to remember any of that? Escaping from the past is a privilege few can enjoy and I intend to be one of those few and enjoy it to the fullest. So why not take the initiative and kill the old me upfront? As of a few hours ago, the previous file has been deallocated. That boy is dead. I don’t even remember his name! So here begins a written record of the life of a girl named Saffron--a girl of her own making.

So where to begin, what has the lovely Saffron to report this afternoon? My surgery, yes! My first implants!

Magnificent implants they are! One will produce estrogens--estradiol, estrone, estriol, probably even estetrol if I want, every flavor in its quantity, all the while absorbing and neutralizing any trace of the vile poison called testosterone. The other will provide progesterone, that other sweet enigmatic hormone I long to taste. Now this girl tragically born without ovaries has a few of her own at last--tiny little bioreactors encased in silicone--the wondrous girl juice they produce is completely indistinguishable from a tradgirl. Once they are activated, this nightmare of 174 months will be over.

I made it! I wasn’t too late, I’m going to be okay, I don’t have to live out my worst nightmare--I get to live! The price, well that’s a problem for future Saffron, and if she doesn’t mind, I have a whole adolescence to get caught up on first. There’s still a few glaring flaws with my body, but all in good time--this isn’t my last surgery or anything.

Restless. Waiting here forever. Try to sit up. Feels fine. That’s probably whatever’s in this IV though. Better not overdo it, I have to fly tonight. Pull up this lovely paper dress and take a look at the incisions. Nicely cauterized, three little stripes, lighter brown than my skin--feels so soft, sensitive to the touch. Can hardly tell my abdomen was cut open--two little slits for the implants and one for the camera probe.

Door’s opening. Pull my paper skirt back down.

It’s Dr. Tsing. “Saffron! How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” I say.

“Part of that is the anæsthesia and the pain killers. Part is the implants absorbing and breaking down your free testosterone before it can bind to its receptors, so you effectively have no sex hormones right now. Get plenty of rest today, okay?”

Dr. Tsing Lan is Qianshi’s greatest expert in biohacking. They famously printed a better version of the ovary implant, then installed their own implants at home--without even using anæsthesia, using their neural interface to suppress their pain and restrict their blood flow--then fine tuned them mentally to produce a flawless nonbinary balance of hormones. They’re legendary among biohackers Moonwide.

Lucky girl I am, to be sent to Dr. Tsing once I passed the academy’s preliminary tests. They wrote the medical authorization letter for these implants. The state of her dysphoria is so bad that it is my medical opinion that she will be unfit to begin her technopath transition and training before beginning her physical transition. Nobody’s ever stuck up for me like that before.

“Saffron?” Their electronic silver eyes are on me. I appreciate how they don’t go out of their way to appear human like some technopaths. I don’t think I will either, why not just go all out? Wait am I supposed to respond to something?

“Oh, yeah?” It’s too easy to get lost in thought with the neural interface--I feel more Autistic than ever.

“Saffron, get plenty of rest, and take it easy, and there’ll be no problems.”

“Yeah, sure. When do we activate them?” Can’t wait to taste that sweet forbidden chemical.

A hard knock on the door.

“One moment,” Dr. Tsing says. They mentally open the door, not even looking at who might be there. It’s one of my not-favorite people. She glares at me in my hospital bed.

“Tsing, don’t tell me you already installed before company authorization again.” Lieutenant Commander Yuan Wei, the Blackstar Security company rep, my “handler,” meant to oversee my preparations for training, and most importantly, make extra sure I sign every contract properly. Despite her name, she towers over both of us in the room, the tallest girl I’ve ever seen. Her greying hair is cut short in a military officer style, as if she misses her days ordering around kids just 36 months older than me on that ship she’s always going on about.

Tsing looks at me and rolls their eyes before turning to face her. “What does it matter? She’s gonna sign all your forms.”

“Installing our company property without consent is an act of theft, doctor,” Wei says.

“Right, right,” Tsing says. “Okay Saffron, let’s put you under again so I can remove those ovaries, then wake you up to sign a form, then put them back in again.”

Wei sighs. “And charge us three times as much?”

“I’ll sign, I’ll sign, don’t worry about it,” I say.

She nods and gestures to my terminal sitting on the table beside me. Pick up the little rectangular device, linked to my interface collar. Unlike my old terminal, this one has no physical input method built in--it works entirely by neural interface. This is a technopath’s terminal--if stolen, it could not be accessed except by a technopath. Dr. Tsing gave it to me today, along with the collar, while I was waiting for my surgery. But the case is clearly labeled--Property of Blackstar Security, Inc.

I receive a file--I feel it through the interface, like a flash of light or a burst of noise, but no sensory information attached--a whole new sense to learn. Wei sent me this without even looking--trivial for an experienced technopath. I grasp and feel my way around the local filesystem and open the file on my terminal screen. A message from Blackstar Security.

“Sign this shared file with your public key and it’s done,” Wei says. “You did generate your new public key, right?”

“Of course, of course,” I say.

“Do it Saffron, then she’ll stop breathing down my neck and I can activate your implants,” Tsing says.

“The company’s implants, doctor,” she says.

I focus on the text on the screen. Verify my name, Liáo Saffron. Still haven’t really thought of a new surname. They’re a kind of antiquated concept anyway aren’t they? It’s my key that matters anyway, the name is a formality.

One last look over the contract. Long and dense. I can process text much faster with the interface and this is still dense. Everything’s here, a lifetime of correct hormones, all the surgeries and implants I could dream of, an education at a prestigious school in a vital and profitable field, a guaranteed job for ten years after, and most importantly, a shuttle ride off this dust pile.

Now to sign. But first, of course, a new key, a new identity. As it was said since ancient times:

> ssh-keygen

This contract will also attach this name to this key. The Academy and the company can never call me anything else, unless I choose to change it.

I submit my key. Verified. “Signed.”

“Good, then we’re done here,” Wei says. “I’ll see you at your first progress evaluation. Make Blackstar proud, Saffron.”

“Yeah, yeah, now doctors have important things to do, off to your battleship, Lieutenant,” Tsing says.

Past the doorway, she turns around. “Lieutenant Commander.” Door slams shut.

“Now let’s get you activated. Here, I’m going to link with your terminal, I need to use it real quick.” Dr. Tsing gets to work.

A strange sort of vertigo, like double vision in my mind’s eye. They’re requesting access to my terminal. I authorize it, like a response I submit in my mind. We’re linked together through two separate devices. Disorienting. Standing between two mirrors, on the inside.

They’re processing something. I feel sort of a reverberation of their thoughts secondhand while we’re linked like this. The technopath experience: becoming part of a network, becoming more than yourself. Now I feel something inside me, definitely not in my mind. Focus on my body--I feel the devices inside my abdomen. No longer just lumps of plastic--they’re connected to the circuit that is me--they are alive.

“Perfect. Now we’ll configure your terminal to control them.”

Dr. Tsing is manipulating a config file--I watch in my head. Try to just be a passive observer, stay back in my own mind and not accidentally inject my own thoughts into their code and cause my ovaries to crash later--that would be awkward.

“Alright, done. Sorry for the intrusion,” they say.

It’s just me in the config file--alone in my head once more.

“Now you’re in control, Saffron. Your hormone levels are tunable through your neural interface. I’ve started you on a program that closely mimics the average organic production of a tradgirl your age. You might find it needs some fine tuning, but don’t be too trigger happy with it. It could take a month to adjust to the difference when you change your dose, so don’t go overboard. Stick within the safe parameters the program gives you, okay? It won’t hurt you physically to go too high or anything, but it could play havoc with your emotions, especially while you’re still getting used to your hormone cycle.”

“You mean I have a cycle?” I feel something, elation that spreads through my body--it’s warm.

“Honestly Saffron, don’t you ever read the documentation?”

“I skimmed it.” Don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I already feel amazing. Yes, this was absolutely worth it.

“You have a 29 day hormone cycle, just like the phases of the Earth. It won’t make you bleed, doctors actually try to avoid making our patients bleed. But you’ll have a period nonetheless, so enjoy that. Or you can also disable that feature if you don’t like it, you’re in control. Most girls tend to want to at least experience it first, though. If you get confused about anything, please read the documentation, it’s very thorough, I wrote it after all.”

“Thank you so much Dr. Tsing! I can’t believe this is really happening!”

“Aw, Saffron, you’re one of us, just call me Lan.”

“Okay!”

“Now I’m scheduling a follow up for you over mid term break. Your company will arrange transportation.”

“Okay.”

“And with that, you’re cleared for release.” They open the door again to leave, then turn back toward me. “And I hope you have a wonderful time at TLA. Some of the best years of my life. Have fun, and study hard, okay?”

“I will, I will, I’ll work hard and I’ll be the best technopath the solar system has ever seen!”

“That’s the spirit. And have a nice flight!”

“Bye!”

They leave and let the door shut behind them. Guess it’s time to get dressed and head home. Home...where’s that? Ah, dead boy left me a note in my home directory. An address. BEWARE, it says...

Stand up and I’m pretty lightheaded. Haven’t eaten in sixteen hours, and I’ve been anesthetized. Take my clothes out of the bag on the floor. Although, the paper dress is oddly comfortable. But it’s probably hospital property, oh well. Take it off and look down at my body. Nothing’s changed about it, even after five whole minutes of estrogen, yet it still feels more right somehow. Find my ovaries within my body network and try something. Flipping a boolean value brings a faint red glow to my skin where the implants are--LEDs like most implants have for troubleshooting purposes. I can flip that switch on anytime I need a physical reminder of what I have now.

My timing is so lucky--I can transition now before anything gets too fucked up. I’m still well within the low end of the girl range of height for Lunatics. My shoulders and ribs didn’t get all wide. But I’ll be able to have hips! I’m right at the threshold of being indistinguishable from a tradgirl to most people. My voice has barely started fucking up--it should stop now. I haven’t hardly grown any unwanted hairs. It’s all going to be okay, I’m going to be okay, and I only feel ten times more excited and relieved and ecstatic now that the implants are active. I’m really going to be okay, I made it! One more night and I’m free.

Pull shorts on--light orange colored. Then socks--my cute purple ones--and shoes. Shirt is sleeveless, soft, a pale lavender color--I feel like they go together, I don’t know, I know nothing about fashion, but it’s the second best outfit I own, and the best for the heat of midday. Pull it over my head, sliding my hands down my flat chest to put it on. That might set me apart from other girls my age. But I won’t be far behind now that I have the precious girlfluid running through my veins. Just a late bloomer, nothing strange about that. I’m gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay.

Activate the terminal’s camera and take a look at myself. Hair’s a mess, always is after waking up. Try and bring some order to it with my hands. I look cute with it not all tangled up! The way I have the bangs cut is just perfect right now--I love the way it clumps together. It makes a perfect black frame around my dark eyes. For a little while these were the only things I could like about my body. It’s getting longer, it’ll get to my shoulders in no time. Any day now she would force me to cut it again. Except I won’t be sticking around for that, I’m done with that, done with her, I’m in control now.

I’m remembering things, huh. Her... Have to go home and face her. I have a bad feeling about it. But I can handle it. I’m a technopath. I’m a girl. I’m Saffron. I fear nothing!

Out the door and down the hallway, past the lobby, into the elevator. I’m high up in a skyscraper here, right downtown in the central dome of Qianshi.

I see it all sprawled out before me through the glass walls of this elevator--the tall towers of metal and glass shining bright in the noonday sunlight, densely clustered with bridges and walkways running between, making maximal use of every bit of vertical space under the great dome of hexagonal glass panels above. Wires run along the walkways--overgrown metal and rubber hanging down over the city. Lower, my eyes trace the busy streets and alleys running between the buildings, lit up at all hours in the vibrant colors of a thousand ad screens.

Stretching all directions I see the tubes of glass connecting this sector to the smaller domes and the wide web of streets. And inside the glass is the only thing standing between me and a boiling death from magnified sunlight--water, flowing at a high speed between the twin glass layers of every tube and dome connecting this spiderweb city. It blocks radiation and also carries heat away from us in the day, to store in massive heat banks of liquid salts, to come back to us and keep us warm through the night. The sunlight filtered through the shielding looks like rippling waves down on the surface, here in this “aquarium” I call home.

I reach my floor, where I’ll go across a bridge to the train station nearby, then home...

I need a break from this. Later, personal log.