Does your job bore you? Are you just plain
tired of working for a living? Well meet a man
from the future—who'd gladly trade places!...
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
April 1953
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The bed woke them. "Time to get up, dears," it cooed. "Time to get upand greet the sun ... time to get up...." Then the supporting magnetismfaded and let their mattress drift gently to the soft warm floor.
Janet turned and opened her eyes, pouting at Les. He scowled back,grumbled something, and rolled away. She shook his film-coated shoulder.
"Come on, Les. Come on, you'll feel better after coffee."
"Don't want any," he snarled.
But the damage had been done. At the word "coffee" a grotesquemarionette opened the bedroom door and minced in with two steamingcups on a tray, swinging them artfully so that they appeared likely tospill, but didn't.
For some years, now, that dance had left Janet unamused. She was aboutto say so when Les growled, "These darned dolls are a nuisance. I wishyou'd order a plain, automatic dispenser!"
"They're even more boring," Janet argued, sitting up. Her gauzyfilm-dress and sleepy face made her look appealingly childlike. Shewas fifty-five.
Les was sixty, with a full head of blond hair atop six and a half feetof slim solid flesh. He sat up with the expression of an exasperatedsix-year-old.
"Go away!" he told the doll. It did.
"But I wanted some!" Janet wailed. She was careful, though, not touse the words that would cause the doll to return.
Neither did Les. He said, "Why don't we take a couple of pills and goback to sleep till tomorrow? There isn't a darned thing to do."
"There never is," Janet said. Then noting she'd inadvertently agreedwith her husband, she quickly added, "But we can't sleep—we didthat yesterday. If we don't move around we'll practically stop eating,and anyway the neighbors will miss us. First thing you know we'll beaccused of either a hunger-strike or immobility. Then they'll enslaveus for attempting suicide!" She sniffed in self-pity at the thought.
"Ah, honk 'em!" Les said. "Slavery'd at least be a change. And slaveshave something to do!"
"Don't talk nonsense," Janet said tartly. "You know perfectly well theyalways torture slaves."
"Yeah.... But I just can't face this any longer! I've got sixty-fivemore years of longevity, according to the doctors—and they're neverwrong, curse them! Sixty-five more years without the possibility ofillness, want, risk.... Even an accident is unlikely. Nothing's goingto happen in all that time! Jan, I just can't face it."
"Isn't that just like a man?" she scoffed. "You know very well I'vegot seventy years to go—five still to wait before I can even have myfirst child! You're just being selfish!"
They glowered at each other. Then Les rubbed her cheek with the back ofhis hand, and smiled.
"Thanks, kid," he said. "You really had me going for a minute. Now Ifeel better!"
Pleased with the compliment, Janet concocted an extra-fancy combinationof films to spray on herself for the morning's wear. When it wasin place, she ordered a large breakfast and arranged to have thewaiter-doll do a special dance-routine while serving.
But Les's smile had vanished with the whiskers he'd rubbed off. Hepicked at his food, turned his back on the dancing, and afterwardyawned away the few minutes they spent on their apartment's terrace,stared at by