The day after I advanced to shortlist for the Sigma 957 expedition I met with coach ne-Voosen. Of all the correspondence I had received, his was the most pressing. Although I had some confidence in my qualifications, I still had to distinguish myself in a field dominated by candidates that enjoyed a privilege of birth -- they were all e2's. ne-Voosen offered his assistance and I would be a fool to reject it.
His office was in the school of medicine and his degree was in biomechanics, and yet as soon as I set foot in his tiny office it became clear we were from very different worlds. Since the days of Athens and Sparta the mental and physical realms have been at war. The denizens of thought relish argument and quiet contemplation, while the acolytes of the body grapple fiercely with their comrades and worship sweat and straining muscles. His cluttered space was filled with trophies and photos, gaudy souvenirs of conquests and victories that would have embarrassed any of my friends. My colleagues and I lived in our heads, while ne-Voosen and his ilk lived in a more physical reality.
His gamesmanship, however, was exactly right. No matter my talents, everyone else on the short list was so obviously better qualified physically that it would be easy to reject me. Even if the real reasons were petty or unfair, no one would give a second thought to why the e-zero stayed home and an e2 went to the stars. His suggestion was to do something to prove the entire premise wrong -- to accomplish something so audacious that even few enhanced people could manage it. Tipping the scales so far in my favor could make rejection difficult; exceptional performance in multiple fields was hard to ignore.
I talked about my swimming as a child which he waved off immediately. e2's and even e1's have a natural affinity for water, and their superior strength and oxygen transport cannot be beat by a mere human like myself. Stamina was the key, he said, and would I mind running 2 kilometers for him. So I did. Barely.
As I doubled-over gasping for breath he played back dynamic analysis studies of my gait at full scale in slow motion. My cheeks reddened from more than exertion as he pointed out the places where forces went laterally or into other inefficiencies. "You're losing a lot of energy fighting rebound and uncontrolled motion."
"You mean this," I said, grabbing both breasts and shaking them illustratively.
"Yes, that," he said matter-of-factly, "and in your hips and ass. You probably hate your thighs too, but they're all latent muscle. We can work with that." He smiled seriously. "Shall we do this?"
I sighed."Yes. And thank you."
"Don't thank me," he said. "Pretty soon you'll hate me."
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