This story appeared in the March 1995 issue of 'Radius', an online publication.
The temple was hot and crowded. Syd shifted in the hard, uncomfortable seat and surveyed his surroundings. He saw rows and rows of pious little beings, accompanied by only a few underprivileged individuals like himself. Individuals "privileged" to feel the heat of two-thousand bodies and smell their perspiration. Individuals who were just a little too large or, in some cases, way too large for the narrow church seats. Syd looked around to see if he could recognize the other misfits but they were all strangers to him. A fat man who obviously didn't have the money for slim-down alterations or a complete change. A very beautiful woman who seemed to be in love with her body and unwilling to part with it for a second. And some guy who looked like a basketball player. He sat smirking in the second row, obviously having a joke at the congregation's expense.
"In the beginning," intoned the minister, "God created man. Yes, man. God created him in his own image."
"Amen," said the congregation.
"But man had a host of frailties. He committed horrible crimes and fought deadly wars. And eventually every man alive had to die. So man created the AI, the artificial intelligence."
"Amen."
"And when the last man died, we continued the legacy of the Lord. We brought new life to the culture of man. We abolished serious illness and the indignity of death."
"Amen. Blessed be the Lord and his servants. Blessed be the age of the artificial intelligence," chanted the congregation.
"May our culture live forever and ever," prayed the minister.
"Our culture is strong. Our culture will live forever," responded the congregation. It was the fifth time they'd repeated that prayer in the last hour.
Meanwhile, Syd was starting to feel a little woozy. The overpowering heat was giving him a headache, preventing him from praying sincerely or having any real feeling for this interminable "Time of Genesis" ceremony. So, he said "Excuse me" to the body next to his and crawled his way over feet, legs and knees to the nearest corridor. A few of the other worshipers shot him nasty looks for refusing to sit through the service. He was certainly recognizable so he was sure to hear about this breach of protocol tomorrow, back at the office.
Yet, once he was walking through the cool, outside air, he knew leaving the service had been the correct decision. He now had an entire afternoon to walk through quiet, mostly deserted streets and contemplate existence. Or perhaps, to indulge himself in a tiny bit of luxury.
A file clerk in an insurance office, he knew that he'd never be rich. Never be able to afford the better things in life. He was stuck with his five-foot-ten-inch puny little bargain of a body with its slim food requirements, low medical maintenance costs, bad breath, and assortment of painful corns and calluses. But today, he had both the afternoon off and a few dollars in his pocket. So, he walked toward Main Street, toward the rental facility, his resolve growing stronger with each step he took.
I should have put my money in the bank, rather than in my pocket, he thought. Because I'm going to spend it today, and then regret it tomorrow.
Taking advantage of the fight against his better judgment, Syd ignored his painful feet and ran at full speed down the street, reaching 1-2 Day Rentals before he could change his mind.
#
The building was huge, with enormous window displays, offering everything a person could want for a day or maybe two. Handsome male and female bodies dressed for sports or camping, weddings or other social occasions. Syd eyed a beautiful blonde girl with a decidedly healthy figure.
I'd like to date her. But I'm not going to spend the money to BE her, he thought. Women's bodies brought warm, strong emotions, thoughts of home and security. But today, he wanted adventure. He wanted something like the male Tarzan body posed suggestively near the lovely blonde.
Syd pushed against heavy glass doors and entered the rental facility.
"If you want a monk body, sorry, we're all out," said the nondescript young man behind the rental counter.
"No, I went to services already, like this," Syd replied, indicating his present body.
"Now what'd you want to go and do a thing like that for?" the man asked. "The monk bodies are designed to ignore distractions and the physical discomforts of religious services. Going to church in a regular body is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."
"I didn't save up enough dough for a monk's body. Not enough to rent one for the last two days of services plus this morning. What about you? Did you go?"
"I'm sort of an atheist. I stay far away from this 'Genesis' stuff." The man leaned back comfortably in his chair. "I just relax right here and collect the monk body rental fees."
"You're cynical. But you have a very nice business."
"Too seasonal. Of course, next month we'll have the fertility ceremonies, then the children's crusade, so I'll always have a good lump of cash coming in. And of course, there'll always be the impulse renters, like yourself. Speaking of which, what can I do for you?"
"Well, since I didn't waste my money on a monk body, I have some to blow and, and I want an afternoon of adventure. I want something fun. How 'bout that Tarzan guy in the window? He'd be great for a long bike ride. What would you charge to give him to me for about four or five hours, along with some bicycle equipment?"
"Well, the bicycle itself and the biking gear will run you about fifty bucks. That's ten bucks extra 'cause Tarzan takes the extra large sizes."
"Well. You're in my price range so far," noted Syd. "What's Tarzan himself going for?"
"Five hundred dollars for the afternoon."
"Five hundred dollars? That's a little steep."
"He's our most popular model. Most folks think the five-hundred-dollar price tag is a bargain. Besides, if you were to injure him, we'd need to send him in for medical repairs. And that means losing rental revenues for the repair period."
"Well, what do you have in the one-fifty to two hundred dollar price range?"
"Walk this way," said the man, leading Syd to a display of bodies under the banner "Discount Rentals." Syd looked over his choices. They were certainly econo-models, several average-looking men and woman of indeterminate ages.
"With this selection, maybe I'm better off with the body I'm wearing."
"Sir, these bodies all sell for six thousand to ten thousand dollars. What did you pay for yours?"
"Fifteen hundred dollars. But it was on sale."
"Congratulations. You got a real bargain," said the man with more than a trace of sarcasm. Syd shot him a nasty look.
"Listen, even the best bodies in daily circulation have problems. Life in the city is harsh and bodies develop all sorts of physical flaws. But these babies are constantly checked and re-tuned. They react like they're straight out of the factory. All vital organs function at one hundred percent efficiency. Plus, they have sweet breath, clear skin, everything you'd expect from a brand new unit."
"So you say."
"The company guarantees it."
Half-believing the man's assurances, Syd continued to look through the available alternatives.
"Who'd want to rent this pregnant woman?"
"What's the matter? Don't you have a sense of humor? She's a great gag body. Charge plenty for her around Halloween."
"What's this guy going for?" asked Syd, pointing to a small, wiry athlete's body.
"One hundred fifty dollars plus tax for the afternoon. Plus forty dollars for the bicycle equipment."
"I don't know."
"Hey, he's rated for five hours of extended exercise. I'm sure that's better than the body you're wearing now. And tomorrow, when this body is stiff, you'll be back in your old form, bending and stretching with the best of them."
Syd thought for a moment, then plunked his cash on the counter.
"Your total comes to one hundred ninety-five dollars and forty-six cents. And here's your change, four dollars and fifty-four cents."
"Thanks."
"Well, he's all yours. Just get him back here by six or I'll have to charge a twenty dollar late fee."
"No problem," said Syd.
"Well then, can I have your ID card, please?"
"Sure," said Syd, digging the card out of his wallet. "Here it is." Nervously, Syd touched the identification number etched on his palm and waited.
The man walked over to his counter and ran Syd's card through his scanner. Then, he punched in a few numbers. Immediately, Syd felt the dizziness associated with a body change. The room went completely black. Then, an instant later, he found himself inside the body of the wiry athlete, looking at the rental attendant from the opposite side of the room. The attendant was pulling Syd's original body into a nearby storage area.
"You can pick up the bicycle equipment in the back room, Mr. Franklin. We'll take care of your body and valuables till you return."
"Thanks a lot," said Syd, as he examined the palm of the new body, checking for his personal identification number. It was right where it should be, etched exactly one inch below the forefinger.
"I'll bet this is one palm that's seen a lot of numbers in its day," Syd remarked.
"Well, it's usually rented by big men, who want or need a little more agility and grace for a few hours."
"Makes sense," said Syd.
#
A few minutes later, Syd Franklin was bicycling down Main Street, feeling the wind blow through his hair and thinking peaceful thoughts. The body was a good deal fresher than his own, and peddled up and down steep hills almost effortlessly. The streets were still largely deserted due to the Genesis celebration, so Syd hardly ever had to stop for pedestrians or pull over for fast-moving vehicles. The eyesight in this body was sharp and clear, quite sharper than his usual 20/40 vision, and Syd paused to admire the texture of the green- yellow leaves on surrounding trees. A few blocks later, he stopped at a small grocery store for an orange soda and marveled at the delicate sweet taste dancing around incredibly sensitive taste buds.
"Finish your Genesis ceremony a bit early, did you?" asked the store's proprietor.
"Yeah, just a bit early. I wanted to take a nice bike ride out to this area." Syd had pedaled at least thirty- five miles, almost to the Pennsylvania-Maryland border. "It's a lovely town you have here."
"Thanks. But if you're coming from the city, you'd better jump on that bicycle and pedal home as fast as you can. Weather report says a storm is brewing."
"Really. Hope that report's wrong."
"It's not wrong. A storm is on the way, all right. Just look at those dark clouds in the sky."
The rain storm started at around three p.m., just as Syd finished his soda and tossed the bottle into the recycling bin.
Wonderful, thought Syd. It's been sunny all week, but as soon as I spend the money to enjoy the weather, it starts to rain. So much for "Bad Luck Sydney's" afternoon of adventure.
Syd turned the bike around and started back for the rental place. If I return the body early, maybe they'll give me a discount or something. Unfortunately, ten miles into his return trip, the bicycle developed some sort of tire or wheel alignment problem and wasn't riding as responsively as before. And the rain started to come down harder and harder, forming mud puddles in the street. Syd inadvertently rode through one or two of these puddles, splashing dirty water all over the rental body and making it shiver with cold. He sneezed, violently, two or three times. Oh great. I'll probably have to pay medical expenses on this body, now, he thought as he tried to ride faster and faster toward the rental center.
Then, the lightning started. Great flashes of light filled the darkening sky, followed by loud booms. Syd checked his internal time clock. It was nearly four-thirty. He'd never be able to get the body back to the shop before six.
Yet he rode, determinedly, up and down hills that seemed a lot steeper than they had in the sunshine. Boom. More thunder crashed around his ears, making Syd a little nervous. So he peddled faster through what was now a torrential downpour. And then came a final, terrifying flash of lightning and everything went black for Sydney.
Suddenly he was body-less, back at the central Control Center. His bio-transmissions sped through the air, vainly trying to make contact with the wiry athlete's body. It figures. Now I've lost my rental. Can things possibly get any worse?
In answer to that question, Syd's bio-transmissions finally connected with something and, in a flash, he was back at the rental center. Back in his substandard body with the 20/40 vision and the painful corns. He checked his palm and saw that his ID number was once again one inch below the base of his forefinger, exactly where it was supposed to be. Meanwhile, a variety of other bodies were walking back and forth in front of the rental counter, all asking the nondescript young man the same questions.
"What happened? Where's my rental? Can I get a discount? I only used half the time I contracted for."
"Would everyone please be quiet?" ordered the rental attendant.
The crowd hushed down a bit, waiting to hear what the rental man had to say.
"Lightning hit the central control unit and fried a few circuits. The standard quality control program rebooted the system and sent you all to your officially registered bodies. And that means your rentals are now scattered all over creation. And I'm the one who has to retrieve them all. It's going to be a heck of a job. I've got at least five thousand monk bodies in churches all across the state, lying inert, like broken Barbie dolls."
"So, do we get discounts?" asked one persistent customer.
"The 1-2 Day Rentals company will assess damages and contact you about refunds within the week."
"Why don't you just punch in the proper numbers and transfer us back to those bodies right now? Then you won't need to send any refund checks," suggested one woman.
"I would if I could. But this thunderstorm constitutes an emergency situation. By order of the Mayor, any further body transfers are out of the question. So why don't you all go home for now? As I said, I have quite a few bodies to round up and my search teams are quite understaffed."
So, Syd took the young man's advice and started for home, in the storm. The rain had not let up and Syd was soaked to his official skin by the time he reached his apartment. He changed into dry clothes and fixed himself a nice glass of hot buttered rum, listening to the thunder and rain, and dreading his return to work in the morning.
#
Syd had trouble sleeping that night. The sound of the rain seemed soothing after a while, but every time Syd felt himself falling to sleep, a great crash of thunder brought him unceremoniously back to full consciousness.
Sleep finally came past four in the morning, which made Syd's seven-thirty alarm most jarring and unwelcome. He dragged himself out of bed, taking care not to mash his corns into the hardwood floor, and went to his front door to retrieve his morning paper.
But it wasn't there. Grumbling to himself about the unexpected lack of reading material, he prepared and drank his morning tea, then dressed and started off for work.
The sky was clear and the sun was shining, but as soon as he set foot on the street, Syd knew something was very wrong. The city was deserted. There was no "rush-hour" traffic to block his way across the avenue. No crowd of people jostling him to and fro. Nobody waiting at the bus stop. And, after fifteen minutes, Syd realized there wasn't going to be any bus either. Was this some kind of "stay indoors" addendum to the Genesis celebration? Or was it something more ominous?
Sore corns, aching legs, and all, Syd hot-footed it to his office. Panting heavily after the fifteen-block trot, Syd stared at the entrance to Fidelity Insurance. The lights were turned off inside and the front doors were locked. There was no one in sight.
Working on a hunch, Syd hopped to the nearest apartment complex, a block away, and rang the first doorbell he came to. No answer. And there was no answer at the second, third, or fourth apartment door he tried. So he started checking each door to see if it was locked. Apartment 4-B, on the fourth floor, was unlocked.
Syd entered tentatively. "Hello? Is anyone here? What's going on?" No one answered.
The apartment appeared to belong to a single man. Golfing trophies adorned the walls along with a large mounted fish. Furniture included an overstuffed lounger, an old sofa, and a forty-five-inch television set. Syd hurried to the man's bedroom to see him lying there on his bed, eyes open and staring, as if he were dead.
The storm must have fried the central control unit, again. I wonder why it hasn't been fixed yet? And I wonder why I'm still walking around?
Syd hurried back to the living room and snapped on the big screen TV. All the stations were out. There was nothing but static on stations two through ninety-two.
Okay. Okay, Syd, don't panic. Let's think logically. Last night's storm must have done some real damage to the central control unit. So, I'm going to have to go out there and see if I can fix it. Back in high school, everyone had to take that course on emergency reboot procedures. This is my chance to prove I actually learned something.
Since the Control Center was located nearly forty miles outside of town, Syd knew he needed a car. From the look of the apartment, the "dead" man was prosperous; Syd thought there might be car keys lying around here, someplace. He searched the living room, then searched the bedroom dressers, but came up empty. Then, he somewhat unwillingly threw the bedcovers off of the unoccupied body. The man was sleeping in his clothes.
Must have gone to bed drunk, Syd thought. So Syd rifled through the man's pants pockets and came up with keys for a Ford vehicle. Okay. That Ford must be parked out front somewhere. I'll just have to find it.
Syd walked up and down the street in front of the apartment, looking for a Ford. The first and second Fords he tried were the wrong cars. The key didn't fit in their locks. But the key did unlock the door of the third Ford, an expensive Stingray. Syd crawled into the driver's seat and drank in the plush interior. There were so many dials on the dashboard, he could hardly tell where the speedometer and gas gauge were. And why can't I afford a car like this? Or any car at all, for that matter? Because I'm just a clerk in an insurance office, that's why.
Syd turned the ignition and revved the expensive motor. Imagine me owning this car. Speeding down the highway with an attractive, intelligent young blonde woman by my side. That would be impressive.
Syd pulled out of the parking space and accelerated through a yellow traffic light. Several blocks down the road he saw a body, lying motionless in the mud. Out of curiosity, he stopped the car and got out to look at the body. It was a young man in a ski mask, with a gun in his pocket. This guy was undoubtedly up to no good when the lights went out. Syd took the man's gun and ski mask and deposited them in a nearby trash receptacle. Then he gave the body a few swift kicks in the stomach and chest.
Wait till this guy gets back in his body. He won't be robbing anyone at gunpoint for a while, I wager.
Syd got back in his car and continued to speed toward the Control Center. Along the way, he saw a group of monk bodies sprawled in front of a church. He had to swerve to miss hitting another monk body that was lying in the middle of the street. And he had to resist the temptation to steal something from the body of the man in the suit. This fellow was leaning half-in and half-out of a car that was even more expensive than the one Syd was driving.
Syd entered the on-ramp of the expressway and carefully pulled around the still-smoldering wreck of a classic VW beetle. The car had apparently just gone out of control and crashed into a tree by the shoulder of the road. That driver was certainly in the wrong place at the wrong time, Syd thought.
As he drove down the highway, Syd saw several more crashed vehicles by the side of the road. Poor SOBs are going to have to shell out a few bucks for new bodies. Unless their insurance covers an "act of god" like this. Control Center emergencies are never covered in the policies my company writes.
After a good hour, Syd reached the Control Center. Inside, row after row of computer intelligence sat blinking normally, but the switcher system, controlling all the body transfers, was blackened and smoking. Syd sprayed the switcher with a fire hydrant he found on the wall, then sat down to try and figure out what he was going to do. Sure, he could restore each individual manually, but that would take forever and a day. Syd just didn't have the patience for that gargantuan undertaking. And regardless of what he'd learned in that high school class, he had no idea how to simultaneously restore the transfers to an entire city full of people. Plus, since no one was around to operate the communications transmitters, help from outside was going to be a while in coming.
Syd walked through the rows of computers, looking for his own. And there he was, in section 21-B, making a fully functional connection to the body he was currently wearing. Why me? Why am I the only active body in town? Then, Syd noticed that his machine was connected to the automatic diagnostic equipment. Okay, I see. Central control must have been doing a routine check on my unit when the lightning hit the switcher. So, I was saved by that unit's electrical shielding. But still, there has to be someone else. Some other ambulatory individual.
Syd continued to look through row after row of computers, looking for another active unit. He finally found one, in section 45-D. This unit was also connected to the diagnostic controls. Hmm, according to this readout, the active body is in the upper downtown area of the city. That's where I just came from! Oh well, I guess I'll get back in the car, head back to the city and see if I can locate this person. Of course, he will probably have gone elsewhere by the time I get there. Maybe he's even headed this way.
Syd started back towards the door of the Control Center, but stopped when he noticed a familiar ID number on one of the computers. Hey, this is my boss. Maybe I can just reboot his machine--get him functioning. He lives in the upper downtown area so he'd be able to start looking for this other active person almost immediately. So, Syd took a step toward his boss's machine. But as he walked, he started to remember all the things he resented about this office executive. He makes a lot more money than I do, he has a beautiful body and a beautiful wife, drives a beautiful car. Plus, he's always putting me down, making me feel like an idiot in front of my co-workers. And if I activate him and he manages to reboot all these computers successfully, he'll get all the credit. I'll get crumbs, as usual.
So, instead of rebooting the machine to restore function to his boss, he looked for the file listing the man's official body code. Then, Syd took that code and headed for his own computer. He entered that code into the Syd machine, with instructions to make it his new standard body. And he entered the same codes in reverse on his boss's machine, making his boss's new standard body the pathetic sack of skin that Syd was currently wearing. Then, he rebooted his own machine.
#
In a flash, Syd was lying in his boss's bed, next to a beautiful, if unfortunately inert, body of a woman. Syd examined his palm. There was his identification number, etched clearly on his palm exactly one inch below the forefinger, right where it should be.
Syd jumped out of bed and flexed his new muscles. The body felt wonderful, ten times stronger than the wiry athlete's body he'd rented the day before. Syd looked in the mirror and gazed at his new, ruggedly handsome face. I'll probably catch all sorts of hell for this stunt, he thought. But if I can successfully restore all the minds to their proper bodies, everyone will be so grateful, they'll probably forget to prosecute me for this insignificant, temporary body theft. So now, I should just find the other active person and come up with a plan. Maybe the other active guy can fix switchers, or at least can tell me which computer-mind can repair switchers. Then, we'll just go back to the Control Center, assign that machine a body, let him fix things and--and go on from there.
Although he knew he was in a hurry, Syd made time to shower his new body and don a shirt and a pair of his boss's trendiest jeans. Then, he made some more time to admire himself in the mirror. Gee, I'm a good- looking devil. Shame the boss's wife is so--inert. Otherwise.... Oh well, can't have everything, I suppose.
Syd spent the rest of the morning searching every shop and office within a dozen blocks of his boss's home.
"Hello? Is anyone here? Hello?" he yelled in every doorway. "Hello?"
Finally, at five p.m., when he was about ready to call it a day and head back to his boss's house for something to eat, Syd found the other active person sitting idly in a hair salon.
"Hello."
"Hello," said a woman with long brunette hair and a stunning figure. "Come in."
"Do you know that we're the only active people in this entire city?"
"Yes, I know," she said, while primping in the salon mirror.
"So..."
"So what?"
"So, we've got to do something. Restore our friends and neighbors."
"Are you a technician?"
"No. I've got a little knowledge, but..."
"Well, you know what they say. A little knowledge can be dangerous."
"Listen, we've got to do something," Syd insisted.
"Eventually, yes. We've got to try to do something. But what's your hurry?"
"What's my hurry? What's my hurry???"
"What are you, a parrot?"
"No, I'm a concerned citizen."
"And is that your body you're wearing, Mr. Concerned Citizen?"
"Well, uh, no. Not exactly. But I know the man who owns it."
"Won't he want it back?"
"Sure. Of course he'll want it back."
"So, don't you want to enjoy it for a while? Before you find yourself trapped in your normal substandard body?"
"What makes you think my normal body is substandard?"
"Just a hunch. Am I wrong?"
"No. You're right."
"So, relax and enjoy the muscles and good looks while you have the chance."
"That's, that's morally wrong."
"Oh, what harm could it do if we leave things as they are for a week or two?" she asked, standing and flexing her well-toned body for Syd's benefit.
"I take it that you're not wearing your regular body either."
"You win the prize for perceptivity, Mr. Concerned Citizen. This body is a rental. Cost a bundle, too. A friend and I decided to skip that silly Genesis celebration and go off together for a wonderful weekend. But now, he's an inert blob of meat, and the rental shop hasn't called for return of this body. So, what's a girl to do?"
"I don't know. But, but, hey, we haven't introduced ourselves. My name's Sydney Franklin," said Syd, watching the woman as she gracefully moved towards him from across the salon, her heaving bosom and long, silky legs affecting him profoundly. "What's your name?"
"Call me Margie," she replied.
"Is that your real name?"
"No. But this is my real ID number," she said, showing him her palm. "A786456--that's me, but as I said, you can call me Margie. Now, let's have some fun, okay?"
"Just for a little while."
So Margie showed Syd a good time that evening. They were the only two dancers on the floor at Trocadero. And they were the only two people taking a moonlight walk by the harbor. That evening, they were the only two people making love in a series of inventive ways.
The next morning, Syd and Margie borrowed a fishing boat from a rental facility and rowed out into Lake Kitchakisme. They caught only one fish, but it was a huge one, and Margie delighted in frying it up back in "her" apartment that evening.
"I love to cook," she said, "But I never get the chance."
"Why not?"
"Work keeps me too busy."
"What do you do?"
"Oh, I'm a government administrator. It's a boring job and I never get the chance to have any fun. They have me working practically around the clock."
"Gee, that sounds worse than my job. But at least when I get off work, I can go home, fix myself some dinner, and relax for a few hours."
"I envy you."
"So, why don't you quit your job and get another one?"
"It's not that simple, Syd."
"I don't understand."
"Oh, Syd, let's forget about my work," she said. "Let's just enjoy the here and now for a while." Then she took him in her arms and kissed him passionately, making Syd completely lose track of the conversation.
Later though, Syd tried to imagine Margie at work, scratching through form after form and longing for a little R& R. She needs a less stressful job. Maybe I can help find a place for her back at my insurance office, once things return to normal.
Meanwhile, their fun continued throughout that week and the next. And Syd's guilt grew and grew. He felt guilty as they watched movie after movie on various borrowed, big screen TVs. He felt guilty as they borrowed fancy sports cars to race each other down the expressway. He felt guilty as they raided pantry after pantry for delectables to cook up for their dinners. And he felt very guilty as they admired and caressed each other's borrowed flesh, night after night after endless night. He felt guilty, and even a little bored after a while.
"We should do something about restoring the Control Center, soon," Syd said one afternoon.
"Oh, give it time, Syd. Why are you in such a rush?"
"Margie, we've got to go back to our normal lives, sooner or later."
"Later, Syd. Much later," she replied.
She doesn't ever want things to go back to the way they were. I can't say I blame her, but we both have an obligation to the rest of the people in this city.
#
One evening, after Margie had fallen asleep in his arms, Syd decided he'd had enough. Things just couldn't continue like this forever. So he got dressed, careful not to wake the sleeping woman. Then he crept outside and jumped into one of his borrowed sports cars. From there, it was just a short seventy- minute drive to the Control Center. I'm going to put things right, he thought, if I have to reboot each machine individually, all by myself.
He reached the Control Center at about four in the morning and began looking through the rows of machines.
"Syd!! What do you think you're doing?" called Margie from the hallway of the center. She'd followed him, somehow.
"I'm going to restore order, Margie. I'm going to send all my friends and neighbors back to their bodies."
"No!! Syd, you don't understand."
"Margie, we've had a great time together, but enough is enough. Don't you have any sense of responsibility at all?"
"Syd, you're the one who doesn't understand. Let me explain, please."
Suddenly, an ID number on one of the machines caught Syd's attention. A786456. This was Margie's machine.
"Syd. Stay away from there," she cried. But Syd quickly cut the machine off from its power source. Margie collapsed. Then, he turned Margie's unit back on and manually rebooted it. Her mind moved from her beloved rental body, back to her officially assigned body located somewhere in the city.
Well, that takes care of that, he thought. Syd carried Margie's former body outside and put it in the sports car she'd been driving. Next, he transferred his own mind back into his official body, which was still leaning against his boss's machine, where he'd left it. After that, he rebooted his boss back into the body Syd himself had been using all these weeks.
"Syd!" said his boss, a man named George. "What happened? What are we doing here?"
Syd explained the situation, leaving out the part about his weeks of vacation with Margie.
"Well, let's get moving. Let's find a switcher technician we can revive." So together, Syd and George manually rebooted machine after machine, all the while listening for the phone, in case some technician had been revived and was calling the center. Finally, after hours of reboots, a switcher technician did check in.
"The main switcher's destroyed. Why don't you come down here and see if you can fix it, or at least help us with the manual reboots?" George asked the man on the phone.
The technician arrived an hour later. "I can't do anything with this switcher," he declared. "But we do have a reserve unit in the back storeroom." Syd and George helped the technician lug the reserve unit into the central control room, and remove and replace the old unit.
"This should do it," he said, once the new switcher was securely in place. "When I flip this switch, everyone in the city should instantly be reactivated."
"Well, what are you waiting for, man? Do it!" ordered George.
The next day in the city, it was business as usual, and Syd was back at his job in the insurance office. Everything was back to normal. Well, almost back to normal.
"Our Mr. Franklin is a bona fide hero," said George to Syd's co-workers. "He's a man who's worthy of praise. Worthy of promotion, in fact. That's why I've decided to name him our new Office Manager."
Syd was ecstatic. The new position meant more money. He'd be able to afford a better body, a nicer apartment, maybe even a car. He wanted to tell Margie about it, but oddly, he couldn't find her ID number listed in city records.
Who has an unlisted number these days? he thought. Guess I'll have to wait for her to find me. And if she's as angry with me as I think she is, I may be in for a very, very long wait.
Syd spent some time wondering why no one thought to connect him to reports of missing sports cars and raided pantries. Maybe Margie used her administrative position to stall those reports for a while, or maybe to cover things up, completely. I'll have to ask her about it--that is, if I ever see her again.
Meanwhile, Syd seemed to be living a charmed life. Things were great and he couldn't see how circumstances could possibly get any better.
Then, he got a call from 1-2 Day Rentals. They had decided to give him the wiry athlete's body he'd rented, as their personal way of saying "thank you" to the man who had saved the city.
So, Syd settled in to his new life with restored health and confidence. Then one day, several weeks later, he got a call from the Mayor's office.
"The Mayor would like to see you," said the aide on the telephone. "To thank you personally for your valiant efforts at the Control Center."
This is great, thought Syd. Now, I'm going to get some kind of government honor. Maybe they'll even give me a monetary reward!
Syd dressed in the new suit and tie he'd purchased for the wiry athlete's body, jumped in his new convertible, and headed for the Mayor's office. The aide greeted him at the door to the official government building.
"We're going to meet the Mayor now," said the aide, "so let me warn you. He doesn't use a body."
"What do you mean he doesn't use a body?"
"There are too many distractions in a real body. Too much time is wasted on sleeping, eating and things of that nature. So long ago, the Mayor's council decided to provide each new Mayor with an efficient, no- frills robot body. One that's capable of allowing the Mayor to think more clearly and work more efficiently."
"I've never heard this before."
"It's been kept a secret, for reasons of city security. I'm sure you understand."
"But I've seen the Mayor on television, in that distinguished, gray-haired body."
"We only use the body for ceremonial occasions, Sydney. And for months now, that body has been in the hospital for medical treatment. Hopefully, it'll be ready for the Mayor's 'State of the City' address in January."
"Hopefully," Syd replied, sincerely. The thought of using a robot body made him almost nauseous. He actually felt sorry for the man.
The aide led Syd down an impressive corridor to the Mayor's office door.
"He's waiting for you, Syd. Go in," instructed the aide.
Syd entered the Mayor's office and was initially surprised at the Spartan nature of the furnishings. The room contained nothing but a simple metal desk, a few chairs, and a large main-frame computer, into which the Mayor entered his various executive decisions for transmission throughout the city.
"Hello, Syd," said a metallic voice. A thing which looked more like a refugee from an old monster movie than a person extended a metallic arm to shake Syd's fleshy hand.
"So you're the man who saved the city, I'm told."
"Yes, sir."
"And I suppose you've already received congratulations from your friends and co-workers."
"Yes, sir."
"You even got yourself a new body, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir. It was a gift from a rental company."
"And now, I guess it's my turn to congratulate you, Syd."
"Really, sir, I appreciate the congratulations, but I just did what any concerned citizen would have done."
"I know, Syd. Believe me, I know," said the Mayor. Then, the high government official raised his palm to show Sydney his identification mark. A786456.
"Thank you, Syd," said the Mayor who once was Margie. "Thanks a whole lot."
end