The air was damp. The sun was setting, and its red rays were scattered among the clouds. Their eyes met — Chryz’s cold gray and the predator’s yellow. Chryz retreated close to the rock, continuing to look the tiger in the eye. The predator was at a distance of a jump. Chryz inserted the rear end of the spear into a hollow in the basalt. The ebony spear was heavy and strong. Held behind by the rock, it could withstand a tiger's throw, if ... If you direct the spear point straight into the animal's mouth, only then will it pierce its head, and Chryz will emerge victorious. Any deviation, however, meant his immediate death. Chryz took a deep breath, squeezed the pole with both hands closer to the tip, continuing to look the predator in the eye. His heart thumped in this chest, driving blood to muscles with powerful and frequent jolts.

For a moment, the tiger lingered. A vague feeling of concern seized him at the sight of how this weak animal in front of him manipulated the length of its limbs. Yet the concern quickly gives way to rage. The predator hit its tail three times - and jumped. The mouth opened, ready to tear Chryz apart, mighty paws with extended claws stretched forward, a huge body blocked the sky and the sun, the smell of rotten meat hit Chryz’s nostrils. At this moment, Chryz sent the spear point directly into the predator's mouth and, not waiting for the moment when the tip touched the tiger's mouth, he pulled back, grabbing the spear shaft farther down its base.

Such was the strength of the jump that the spear-tip pierced the brain and came out from the other side of the head, covered with blood, and pieces of brain and skull. When the huge striped body covered Chryz, the tiger was already dead. From a concussion, for a split second Chryz fainted. When he woke up he somehow crawled out from under the animal's corpse, turned it over onto its back, took a stone knife out of his belt and began removing the hide.
The thought of his tribe spread like a warm wave in his mind. When he will enter the cave with the skin of a tiger on his shoulders and cavort in a victory dance, he will tell everyone about what he has done. The men of the tribe will show him respect and recognize him as the toughest worrier, and of course, he will be able to cover all the females.

Chris Grewell left the virtual channel and looked around. He was lying on a couch, surrounded by wires and sensors. To his left, a robot psychologist sat at a table and smiled obligingly. She was wearing horn-rimmed glasses, had her hair assembled in gray curls on the sides of her head, her eyes expressed kindness. Dim lamps evenly lit the room. Blinds did not let in the daylight. The air was sweetened by the smell of juniper.

‘She reminds a librarian. Her appearance must have reconstructed from some old-fashioned picture’- Chris thought and added aloud:

“Is this all there is?”

“No, sir! We have a huge collection of historical travels! For example, you can be an oligarch in ancient Athens, a senator in Rome, or a vizier in the Arab Caliphate.”

“But the scheme is probably the same - a self-asserting alpha male who then mates with the most attractive females of the tribe.”

“True, this is the most popular form of travel; it will allow you to reunite with your inner male beginning. It will help your psyche to appear before the future life companion in the correct light and not to be screened out by natural female filters. However, we have other travels. You can live the life of a great man - commander, navigator, artist, inventor, scientist,” the librarian lowered her voice in decibels. “If you do not wish a heterosexual union, we can advise you to travel of a different type.”

Chris grinned wryly, turned his head up and stared at the fractal-patterned ceiling. Rules are rules. At least, five trips to make sure that the perception of a quality sex life after a personality reload is well adjusted.

“Okay. Let me then become Alexander the Great and cut the Gordian knot. I want something nerve-racking.”
“Sure sir. Please, open your virtual channel and I will upload this journey for you.”

A week ago, Chris returned to Earth from Alpha-Imet. He spent most of his working career on this planet. There, a thorough medical examination found that his organs and systems were functioning poorly, and the psyche was on the verge of collapse. According to the employer’s policy, he accrued enough service hours to earn himself a free replacement of obsolete organs and optimization of the psyche. With that task on hands, Chris was sent to Earth, although no one was waiting for him there.

In the hotel, Chris ran several searches, studying some materials for a long time. The next day, he again appeared in the personal recovery center and signed an agreement for all medical procedures.
The process took about six hours. Most of the time was spent rebooting the memory and installing the personality matrix after organ replacement. It was important to perform this operation slowly enough so as not to overload the nerve fibers of the neural network.

Three days later, rejuvenated and refreshed, Chris again came to the center and made a request for the restoration of the identity of Irene Polk - a woman he once knew in his youth.

“But, sir, it’s a very expensive procedure.”

“I have the means.”

“Besides, this woman died almost forty years ago, and her personal matrix was not preserved in the system.”

“Are you able to recreate her appearance by a photograph?”

“It is better, of course, to have a full video matrix. In principle, recovery from a holographic photograph is possible, but you understand that in many cases it is impossible to achieve an identical copy. The program will have to extrapolate.”

“And if this is a photograph of the old flat type?”

The receptionist attempted to smile. ‘Still, they didn’t learn how to make a good, natural smile,’ Chris noted mentally. ‘looks somehow unnatural, mechanical.’ Aloud he asked:

“Because of what?”

“Certainly, this is impossible to do with a single flat photo. You need, at least, three or four photos from different angles taken from different positions. Even then, the quality of such a clone will be ... you know, very approximate. More so …”

“What?”

“We will need your permission to scan your memory and still you understand that this is not recommended. Act No. 45678, paragraph 12A.”

“To tell you the truth ... I have not been on Earth for a long time. I'll take a look.”
Chris mentally entered the search program and found the desired paragraph. It spoke about the right of a citizen to private information and a ban on government structures from gaining access to personal memories.

“I will give you permission. Moreover, you just reset my personality and memory. There certainly should be the necessary information.”

“All right then. You must understand, though, that in this case, your protégé will not be who she really was, but what you remember her to be. You must have been in a romantic relationship.”

Chris nodded.

The memories burned through him again, as a flame burns through dry wood. Chris remembered how they met, their gazes merging into a visual vibrating nerve. How they began to talk about something, just to fill the pause of surprise, for it was clear to both that the said words had no meaning. Then there were many days and nights together: talk, laughter, intimacy, and happiness… Then break and emptiness ... for life. Only dull pain in the heart.

As usual, the director of the recovery lab, Mr. Andersen, reviewed the documentation of today's transactions. The intricate patterns of light glares moved along his tanned baldhead when he habitually shook it.

“So you say he ordered himself a double of Irene Polk? Who was she actually?”

“Irene Davis. Polk is her maiden name,” the robot assistant looked like a young brown-haired man of athletic build. “She worked in education. Married, two children. Died from pancreatic cancer - did not want to replace the organ.”

“Where did such detailed memories of this woman came from? I can understand if we were to restore a relative ... This way, though, some unknown person... he only spoils our stats! He spent his entire life as an explorer on this planet, what was its name?” Mr. Andersen looked at the screen. “Alpha-Imet?”

“He had a severe nervous breakdown, with accompanied migraines. There are records of his sessions with a psychologist who arrived at Alpha-Imet from Earth.”

“Well, let me look at them.”

“Sure Sir, here they are. Sending them to your virtual receiver.”

“How many sessions are there?”

“A total of thirteen sessions, but I sent you the fourth one, where he extends about this woman.”

“Well, the story is quite common,” Chris sat on a chair, leaning forward, putting his elbows on his knees, hanging his heavy hands down and looking at the floor, ”Everyone, I presume, is got a story like that. We’ve met when my flight to Alpha-Imet was a done deal. I thought – what a pretty gal. She’d brighten up my time before departure, and so on. I did not know that I was so ... that we’d get so involved… that everything would be so serious.

While in the rocket, we were in touch all the time. It was sad. I missed her terribly - physically, you see. Well, not only physically, in general - her presence. So we’ve believed that in a year or two I would come back and take her with me.
Then… you know what happened then. Our ship crashed when it landed. Part of the crew died, communication with the Earth was lost. As we learned later, a search party was not easy to assemble and was very expensive. People on Earth didn’t have much hope for success, they believed us dead. Production of the new ship, flight preparation, and crew formation took several years. Yes… and the ship flew for a long time.

Well, and we - those who survived ... the planet was uninhabited. We somehow were able to put together a small station and moved their food, water, equipment. The captain was a tough and strong man, both physically and spiritually. This was actually good. He forced us all to work as if we were mad - there was no time left to feel bad for ourselves.”

When communication finally was restored, I saw her on the screen. She was terribly surprised, burst into tears. They were informed on Earth that the entire crew of the ship died. Anyhow, she was already married and had a child and all that.”

“Well you probably also had other women, don’t you?”

“Others? Well, women did not particularly like to fly here. Surely, we had cyber dolls. We called them ‘mercy nurses.’
They looked like you,” Chris smiled cheerfully, which made his face wrinkle, “Only you have glasses, and you look more complicated, sophisticated, while those ones were simpler, more primitive. Well, you know, they meant little and … also over there we didn’t have such luxury as feelings. All the powers of mind and body were utilized for everyday survival. There was no time for self-digging; we could not afford to grieve for the loss. Over time, everything seemed to become somehow duller and duller. I was happy about it - I loved my work and seemed to forget about it. So it went ...”

As Mr. Andersen looked at the content of the psychological session, his face grew redder and his eyebrows rose in bewilderment. Having finished viewing, he took a napkin and wiped his bald head and neck — although the room was cool.

“Listen, I got the impression that someone uploaded these memories to him.”

“What kind?”

“Well, about this woman whom he allegedly loved in his youth. I don’t remember anything like it in his original matrix.”

“We did not expect that he would react that way. I mean, that ordering her double would become such a fixated ide for him and he will go for it with such perseverance.”

“So you confirm that there was nothing between him and this woman?”

“It is difficult to establish. Maybe it was.”

“What does it mean ‘maybe it was’? I'm NOT interested in your hypothetical cognitive speculation, just facts! Was it on the original matrix, or not?

“No, sir.”

“What? Are you telling me that someone from our laboratory manipulated his memory?”

“This is Kate. She messed with it, sir. She felt sorry for the guy. After all, the poor fellow had nothing, only worked hard all his life. His only joy was - these “sex nannies” ...

“What the heck?! Are you kidding me?!” Mr. Andersen used to use the antique slang when angry.”

“Sir, I just literally conveyed to you Kate’s words. “After all, the poor fellow had nothing, only worked hard all his life. His only joy was - these “sex nannies” ...

"She said that?”

“It’s a serious legal matter! We can be liable for it! She can be indicted if he will press charges! Well, call her here! I will show her how to play with the memory of clients without instructions from above! This is not a toy!” Then he thought ‘People! How can you hire them after this!’

“Mr. Grewell thank you for stopping by!” The director of the lab rose from the table and shook Chris’ hand. “Wow!” Andersen looked at Chris's big hands with a respectful grin. “You can see right away that you were not just sitting in the office on Alpha-Imet! How is the adaptation to the new body?” looking at how Chris's eyebrows crept up, he quickly added, “I mean almost new - because we had to replace so many organs in your body. You look great! Twenty years younger, if not thirty!”

“Thank you, sir! I feel pretty good. You have a wonderful lab here, and the staff is so nice and friendly.”

“Hmm ... Thank you, the staff here ...” without finishing this phrase, Andersen curled out his lip and scratched it with his index finger. “Why I am keeping you standing? Sit down, sit down, please! We need to talk about something and I'm thinking, how to put it in better terms.”

“What happened?” Chris sat in a chair across from Andersen's desk.

“You see, we had some problems with the creation of hm ... hm ... of that clone of yours. That is, I didn’t express myself adequately,” Andersen corrected himself, seeing how Chris’s eyebrows crawl up again and squeezed between his eyebrows into a vertical wrinkle. “With the creation of this woman's clone - Irene Polk.”

“Yes, I understand. So I was told. The lack of visual and personal matrices - and so on. Still, I have already said that I agree that you can scan my memory and extrapolate the characteristics of her appearance and personality as they were stored there.”

“That is correct, certainly correct, but,” Andersen looked away and shook his head up and down, “…but we had a more serious problem of a different nature,” he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and again wiped his baldhead and neck. “Excuse me. I don't even know how to tell you.”

“Speak straight up. I'm used to complications. It's hard to discourage me.”

“You see, an error occurred during the process of reloading your memory.”

“A system glitch?”

“Worse than that. I must tell you with all the sincerity - this has never happened in my twenty-year practice as a lab director.”

“Tell what happened already?” Chris raised his voice. “Why all these secrecy?”

“Of course, Mr. Grewell, of course. You see, your memories of this woman ... I mean, Irene Polk - they are not real, erroneous, so to speak.”

“What do you mean - erroneous?” Chris's face became stony as his jaw muscles tighten.”

“Something, or rather someone manipulated your memory.”

“What do you mean manipulated?”

“I mean that the whole story about Irene Polk is created by the AI memory program. Simply put, your story with Irene Polk ... it never happened, it is a fiction.”

Chris's face flared and twisted with anger.

“This cannot be!” He jumped to his feet and stepped towards the table, but pulled himself up and just stood there for several seconds with clenched fists, his head down and breathing heavily. Then, somehow absurdly fell in a chair and repeated:

“This cannot be. What about my migraines on Alpha-Imet? I even stopped working. That's why they brought me here. This is all - the result of my subliminal sorrow! The psychologist explained it to me there, on Alpha-Imet.”

“Based on your original matrix, everything was different. You just worked and lived in very difficult conditions - poor sanitation, high concentrations of harmful gases in the air, insufficient amounts of vitamins, and so on. Yes, and your age ... you understand that without support, without upgrades, the bodies become obsolete, wears out.” Andersen was silent for a moment, holding a compassionate expression on his face, and then continued, “Believe me, Mr. Grewell, we understand how hard it is for you now, and I personally feel very sorry. But the fact remains the fact.”

“Who did this?”

“Dear Mr. Grewell... Chris, can I call you Chris? According to the rules, we cannot report this. But believe me,” he pressed his hand to his chest. “The guilty have already been served the punishment!”

“What can I do now?” Chris covered his face with his hands. “What can do?”

“For my part, I would advise you to make a lobotomy of this area of your memory - to restore the status quo, so to speak. And, of course, since the error hm ... hm ... was made by our laboratory, we will do it for free.”
Chris made an impatient movement with his shoulder, clasped his hands in the lock and rested his chin on them.

“What if I still want to leave this part of the brain as it is, and complete the process of Irene's cloning?”

“Try to understand, Chris. This entire story with Irene, your memories, even your torments, all of it is the script generated by a program. There is nothing real or human in it. You are trying to create a bot. If so, then you can simply buy a new bot and customize it to your own settings. It will be better and cheaper than the Frankenstein, which will be the result of transformations made in our laboratory from the scarce data. Didn't you have enough of “sex nurses”? I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to hurt you. But after all, in fact, this is exactly what will happen.”

Chris even lowered his head and began to massage his forehead with his fingertips.