By Laurel Hanson
My client looked like the world had been wiping the floor with her. She lay back in the containment pod and closed her eyes.
“Ma’am, you have to spin the wheel first,” I told her.
She leaned over to give the roulette a faint push. It began spinning, and the silver ball clattered from one slot to the next until it finally bobbled to a stop on Cervin, one of the newest worlds to join The Second Chance franchise. The roulette was just a bit of theater designed to remind those exchanging lives with a compatible candidate elsewhere in the universe that their fates were random. If she experienced buyer’s regret with the body she received on the other end, that was out of our hands. She’d spun the wheel, after all.
Cervin notified me their client was in place, so I gave the lovely sad-eyed woman a wave and hit SEND, all as slick as a Parvinian oil spill.
Usually, it took a while for incoming clients to adjust to their new bodies. So, I poured myself a mug of Karponiax tea but almost dropped it when the pod flew open and the sad-eyed woman leapt out. She landed hard and started running. It’s a good thing the walls of the clinic are padded is all I’m saying.
She bounced back and saw me standing there. Now, I’m not much to look at—I bear a striking resemblance to a Bandurian troll—but that didn’t mean she had to start screaming.
Still, I’m a decent sort. I threw a robe over her, at which point she looked down at her nakedness, went chalk-white, and shouted, “What have you done?” as if she wasn’t the one who’d paid for a second chance.
Frantically, she wiped her hands down her magnificent body like she was trying to remove a toxic coating. Then she straightened and glared up at me in what appeared to be an effort at intimidation.
“Your transference to Fengshun, occupying the body of Ash Angel, has been successfully completed,” I said, modulating my voice into a soothing lull. I held out the Lifepad. “Contained here are the particulars for your new personhood.”
“Why am I a woman?”
“I assume that’s what you applied for.”
“Uh… Last I knew, I was a man in a casino on Cervin.”
“Ma’am, The Second Chance franchise is not a casino.”
“Well, ma’am, I am not a woman. Obviously.”
I begged to differ but only in my head. This degree of disorientation was unusual in our clients. Our vetting process was top notch.
“Sir,” I corrected, “you are in a ten-star clinic for interspatial transference. Our protocols are rigorous. Surely you completed your preferences before spinning the—”
“What preferences?”
“The personality preferences designed to minimize your chances of rejecting the host body. It’s all in your dossier.” I held out the Lifepad again. “As well as the codes to your new apartment, digital accounts, investments, and so on.”
“I didn’t complete anything! I was…” He paused, nibbled aggressively on his thumbnail, and then decided to come clean. “Look, I may have flirted with the wrong guy’s wife. I got a message to meet her at The Second Chance, which apparently is not a casino, and the next thing I knew, I was locked in this cooler thing and bam! I’m…” He grimaced down at his new body, and his earlier pallor took on a greenish hue.
“I gather you don’t like women.”
“Are you kidding? I love women! Particularly those who look like this.” He actually whistled at himself.
“I’m sure they appreciate that so much,” I said.
He shot me a glance and muttered, “At least I’m not… err… homely.” Tightening his robe, he added, “You’ve got to reverse the transference.”
And because I am homely—and a little spiteful—I said, “No can do.”
“I can make it worth your while,” he purred.
“How, exactly, could you make it worth my while?”
He tried for a dapper raised eyebrow, only with his new face he looked like a squirrel trying to peer into a sewer pipe.
“Look—” I paused. “What’s your name?”
“Spark. Spark Spaulding.”
“Okaaay, Spark.” I gestured to her decidedly female form. “This is not for me, so you can put that right out of your mind. If you want another transference, pay the fee and await a compatible candidate.”
And only then, belatedly, did I have an appalling realization. My client was now in this man’s body on Cervin, decidedly not the preference she’d paid for. She’d think this mix-up was my fault, and if she was able to transfer back, she’d sue me so hard my credit would collapse in on itself and suck me down with it.
I gulped.
Spark gulped. “How am I supposed to pay for transference?”
Not going to lie, I was feeling snarky. “Maybe you can flirt with the wrong guy’s wife here on Fenghsun.”
He came at me with both fists. I just held her at arms’ length while he flailed ineffectually.
He gave up, collected his dignity, and began to scroll through the Lifepad. After a bit, he raised her eyebrows and flicked me a surprised glance. “Ash Angel,” he read. “Celebrity model. Rich.”
“Very rich,” I confirmed. Ash was the most famous client I’d ever had, but one desperate to escape a life under the microscope of public scrutiny. Perhaps she’d be happier as Spark Spaulding on Cervin. I hoped so, because if she transferred back, I was going to be in a whole universe of trouble.
I gave Spark a friendly pat. “Take a look through those investments,” I said. “They’re all yours as long as you remain Ash Angel.”
My new client studied the Lifepad for a bit longer. Then, he began to smile as he realized he’d just won a lottery he hadn’t even played. The world had just given him a second chance.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The nightmare world of roulette-soul-swapping is only seven years away, people! As Jamiroquai prophesied in their song “Twenty Zero One”:
“by 2032, you can be me, and with a little luck I can be you”
That was funny, and brilliantly written!
This is fantastic! So clever and witty and FUNNY. I love the interplay between the characters and I love Spark in his surprisingly female body. So many great lines, but I really-really love him whistling at himself.
Just wanted to say thanks for the kind feedback!
“He tried for a dapper raised eyebrow, only with his new face he looked like a squirrel trying to peer into a sewer pipe.” Hahaha what a great line! Great story!