The Fabulous Beast by Garry Kilworth

Author:Garry Kilworth
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Infinity Press
Published: 2013-07-08T04:00:00+00:00

Call Centre Incident, Procyon 3

Caller: Hello? Hello? Jesus, will someone please answer me.

Centre: Hi, you have a connexion with Ssyxiss. How can I help you?

Caller: (A sob) Is that really a human voice. Oh, thank God.

Centre: (A snigger) Well, not exactly human. Actually, not human at all. But sentient. I think that’s what you meant to say.

Caller: Yes, yes – anyone. Anyone but another bloody machine. I’ve been talking to machines for two hours now . . .

Centre: Well, we have to be sure it’s a real emergency, you know. Now, how can I help. That’s what we’re here for, to help our customers.

Caller: . . . and I thought it was Armageddon, with that terrible rushing noise thundering in my ear, like a firestorm trapped in a metal dustbin.

Centre: Are you referring to our musak, sir? It’s from one of the moons of Jupiter. I rather like it.

Caller: Look – what’s your name again?

Centre: Ssyxiss. It’s not a name exactly, it’s a description – we don’t have names where I come from.

Caller: Whatever. Look, Syxis, I’m supposed to be on a Body Exchange holiday. Luxury Change 7, in fact, and – well, the thing is after the transfer I found myself in this horrible body. I don’t mind that it’s old and wrinkled. That doesn’t bother me at all. Or the bad teeth. Even the sores are not exactly painful – just itchy – but luxury? The house I’m in is made of rags, on the edge of some foul city garbage dump in the tropics . . .

Centre: Planet?

Caller: What?

Centre: (Patiently) What planet are you on?

Caller: Oh, well, Earth of course. I didn’t want to leave my home planet. Listen, I’m in the body of some refugee. He’s sick, you know, I hate to think with what. Probably a lot of things, but I just want to get out of here. I paid a lot of money. A lot of money. Now a mistake has been made – not your fault, you’re just answering the call – BUT I NEED TO GET INTO THE BODY I PAID FOR. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just a little stressed. You would be. Anyone would be. This place is filthy. I’m filthy. I have a hacking cough. I think blood just came up, unless he’s been eating raspberries, which I seriously doubt. I need to get out. I need the body, the holiday I paid for . . .

Centre: Reference number?

Caller: What?

Centre: Your reference number, when you booked the holiday. Can’t do anything without that. After all you could be just someone off the street.

Caller: Good God, man, all I’ve got on is a loin cloth – a fucking loin cloth that looks like a dishrag. Look, my wife has the reference number with her. I’m sure she has. Please, can’t you just look up my name. Jones. Alfred David Jones.

Centre: (After a long wait) Three million.

Caller: Three million what?

Centre: Alfred David Joneses. Whole long list of them. Scattered all over the universe.

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