ManAgain, Incorporated

Body-renting was a lucrative trade.

   Every able-minded person knew it; when they breezed into the main offices of Mannigan, Inc., past the viewing gallery and the oceans of test-walkers, right up to the desk of Surzak H. Mannigan—their mind was either on the lease or the small fortune to make it.

   And so it happened that on one particular Friday in September, Emil kindled a strong desire to have flesh.

   Emil floated toward the beaming head of the company, himself, who threw a brief wave and said, “Greetings, potential sir or madam! Have you business with us today?”

   Body, Emil hummed. Want-rent-body.

   “Why, of course,” harped Mr. Mannigan. He rose from his desk and motioned for Emil to follow. “It’s why everyone comes here! How silly of me to ask such an obvious question.” He shuffled out of his office and into the light of the outside lobby.

   Emil hovered close behind.

   “Now,” said Mannigan, “we have a wide selection—I’ll bring you to the gallery right away. Do you have any preferences on sex or race?”

   Male, Emil hissed. Not-care-race.

   “Ah, yes,” Mannigan replied as they headed toward the east wing, “very well. You may make a selection at your leisure.” His polished, black shoes squeaked a steady rhythm against the tile.

   A test-walker waddled past, waving his arms for balance.

   Mannigan gave a friendly nod to the newbie before they slipped into a hallway. In either wall, hundreds of alcoves were roped off, containing within them body after body, posed in interesting ways and ripe for the choosing.

   “Of course you know that once you’ve made a final choice, you will not be able to manually leave the body,” Mannigan said. “But should you wish to cancel, you may return to us at any time and we will see to it that you are extracted unharmed.” He paused. “That is to say, if you make good on your credit.”

   Emil scooted toward a tall white man. Silently Emil observed his features; the blank expression on the body’s face, his fingers stroking his chin.

   Emil whirled.

   This-one.

   “You’re sure?” Mannigan asked. “Wouldn’t you like to test it, first?”

   Have-good-feeling, Emil sighed. No-need.

   After the procedure, Emil glanced down at his new legs. He smiled.

   “This is more like it,” he remarked, throwing a thankful glance to Mannigan. “Mister Mannigan,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to know—where do these bodies come from?”

   Mannigan pursed his lips in thought. After a moment of silence, he explained, “A long time ago, we fought a war against a race of savage brutes—humans, were they? We scrambled their brains and emptied their skulls, quite simply.”

   “Wait a minute!” Emil gasped. “You mean to tell me this body belonged to a living creature at some point?”

   Mannigan shrugged. “Of course. Does this bother you?”

   Emil blinked.

   He smiled.

   “No—of course not. Just curious.” He turned to leave, but stopped at the door and twirled. “Oh—and the name on the credit account is Emil,” he called.