by Russell Mitchell, 5/13/2006
Bob didn’t mind his job. There wasn’t a whole lot you could get as a category 2 revivificant, after three hundred years of cryo, anyway, so the fact that this was a real job, however menial, provided him the satisfaction of knowing that at least he wasn’t in semi-punitive “welfare” like those poor cat-3 bastards.
The fact that the work as non-technical was a given. A 21st-century engineer equated to a particularly dim 24th-century general-purpose AI, afterall. But, he could help people, and that was good for something.
“Hi, I’m Phil. I’ve had a great life, lots of kids, and lived in a lunar cis-hab, so you know that outside of some aluminum silicates, there ain’t nothing in me that wasn’t meant to be. My poetry is just inside the collagen bundles, and although I’ve chosen to be configured as a lampshade, extensive hours with jojoba oil leave me plenty capable of assuming other forms. I am an excellent babysitter for children in need of backpacks.”
“Hey there, I’m Nina. I’m a hot little piece of scapula looking for a long-term partner. I’m cute, I wear well, and I’m pre-sculpted for buttons and lanyards. Let me help you tie one on, okay, sweetie?”
And on days like today, his job just became a no-brainer anyway. Being by nature old-fashioned, he glanced around the shop. As luck would have it, there was a nice little girl who’d had her full-body sentience checkup before mostly being eaten by the products of her little brother’s malfunctioning “monster creation kit.”
“Hi, this is Patrice. I like ponies and rocket shows, and my favorite endorphocreme flavor is nannybooboo.”
Yep, seventeen inches of Patrice would do the trick just fine. Good spin’s work, and his bosses would be able to put them on the “family friendly” rack, too,
Bob popped a retro-coffee spray, and stepped out to grab some breakfast across the station at the Spinside Slam. He had a whole cart full of bougainvilleas he wasn’t sure what to do with, but for now, lost lives and lost loves would have to wait — nothing helped Bob do a good day’s work like a hearty breakfast before kicking butt and taking names at New You, Franchise, seventeen billion served daily.
