ReBody, Inc.

WOULD YOU?

Sneak Preview

            Months have passed, every day almost identical. I've settled into a routine.

Put out the breakfast. Pick up the debris and put it in the compost machine. Micro the lunch. I don't know why, it always seems to end up in the garbage. And vacuum the carpet, everywhere except in the private quarters. I'm not allowed in there. I'm not allowed anywhere except the main room, kitchen, and laundry, and a cubbyhole for when they turn me off.

 Then I load the washing machine. Mr. Merinda wears the same black fabric suit every day, he must have dozens of them in his bedroom wardrobe.

            Most of the time I wish I were dead. I often wish Mr Merinda would keel over and die on the floor, him with his damn clicker. Sometimes I find myself blaming Yolanda for all this, but what's the point of blaming someone who long since turned to dust? Anyway it was all my fault; I could have chosen the straight path, flunked her, and found myself another girlfriend, a significant other without a maniac father. As usual though, I let my cock make the decisions, and it has no brains whatsoever. That's one problem I don't have now.

            I wonder what would be the best way of switching myself off. Quickly and without pain, if possible. I haven't managed to get into my electronics module. I guess ReBody doesn't want me to be able to get at the pain and shut-off controls. I could wreck something else; the last resort being a nutrient tube, because that would take too long.

            The Merinda's are both watching a telenovela, one of those endless Mexican soaps. I watched it for a while, but I can't deduce anything from the fashions. For all I know men's suits are still popular in 2303 and the women wear practically nothing. All the chat is personal gossip.

I sit here in my cubbyhole watching my battery indicator slowly go down, wondering what a new human body will cost.

I start up my blower. Mr Merinda looks around.

"Mr Merinda, can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead, Hugh."

"How much would it cost me for a new body? Just roughly, I mean."

"A new body? Erk! Excuse me, it isn't funny I know."

Mrs Merinda says without turning, 'You gotta have the insurance,' and laughs.

"Well I thought I did have insurance, Mrs Merinda."

"You makin fun of me?" Mrs Merinda turns her face towards me,   and I don't like the look on her face.

"No, Mrs Merinda." I whirr my tracks a couple of times to show I'm sorry. "But how much would a body cost? How about a finger?"

"You givin' me the finger, boy?" Mr Merinda gets to his feet.

"No, Mr Merinda, I was just – "

"You shit for brains. And that's all you make with your brain, shit. And my wife empties it for you every week. Or you'd be full of shit. An' you don't even clean proper. You shit for metal, too. Okay. We'll see 'bout you." He pulls the clicker from a pocket, points it at me.

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