Short Story Time: "Use By"
Short Story Time: "Use By"
Author: Sam Timmins
Type: Humour/Sci-Fi
Rating: PG - Low Level Coarse Language
Other: All people in this story are ficticious, any resemblance to living, dead, or "undecided" individuals is coincidental or a sign of the Apocalypse. Other names and Copyrights used are borrowed. The writer does not claim to be as rich and/or famous as them. Yet.
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The day seemed like any other, a typically usual one.
Eyesight still bleary, he wished he had slept better, the six hours he had managed now sustaining him, but only just.
Tiredly flopping the bedcover to one side of the bed, he lifted himself to a sitting position, looking around the room, various electronics and paperwork as far as the eye could see, most of the former quite possibly out of date.
These days an item of technology was obsolete so quickly, it had a use by date stamped on it when it was created and released, figuratively in programming, literally, or in some cases, both.
If the world was as full of processed foods as it was of technology today, the main smells would have been of rotting fruits, vegetables and sour milk.
The air was pierced rather violently with a shriek, making him jump.
"What in the bloody..."
He then realised it was the doorbell, still broken, since tech support had told him noone used or repaired them anymore, and had simply told him to upgrade to the latest model like everyone else.
He'd only bought it three days ago.
"...alright...give me a minute...Computer, lights!"
The rooms lit up like the surface of the sun, his hands flying up to shield his face.
"Good God! Computer, lights, low!"
The illumination became tolerably bright, and less retina scorching.
His lights had relatively the same story as his doorbell did.
Throwing on a shirt and pants from his wardrobe nearby, he staggered out of the bedroom, ears hurting, head pounding and eyes almost blinded, black spots doing a jig across his line of sight.
A thudding was heard against the main doorway.
"All right!" he yelled back,"I'm on my way!"
"And I should be already!" A muffled voice replied.
Pressing his thumb to the metal plate on the doorway, which should have opened the door, he waited.
Nothing.
Even in the future, you see, nothing works.
Or at least it was prone to a lot of malfunctioning. A lot of the time.
Tech support had beaten all other professions in terms of moneymaking odds. Lawyers wished they had Techie level wages.
"Oh for the love of...hang on!" he yelled to whomever was outside.
"Not for much longer!" came the increasingly annoyed muffled reply from the other side.
Opening a small hatch in the wall next to the door and keying in an elaborate combination into the keypad, a beep sounded, door swishing open, then jamming halfway for a second with a whine of servos, then fully opening.
"Need an upgrade huh?" wisecracked the guy standing there, a B.E.N.T in hand.
"I'm quite fine." he replied, rubbing his tired eyes.
"And quite broke too huh?"
"Not that it should matter to you anyway." peeking at the guy's Business Entry Network Tablet, his own curiousity got the better of him."What's that for?"
The guy looked at his B.E.N.T, then back up.
"James Nogol?"
James looked at him tiredly.
"Yes, and it's Jim."
"I don't really give a rat's if you're Arthur or Martha." the guy tapped his shoulder badge, a logo prominently displayed. "Delivery via good old reliable "Virgin Galactic Delivery Service". Boldly going where..."
"That joke's really, kinda, possibly, probably just a tad stale by now."
The Delivery guy shrugged.
"Company policy. Got to say that to every customer. You think YOU'RE sick of it? The only joke STALER is from the Tech Support guys telling us to get "freshly B.E.N.T" each use by."
The V.G delivery guy tapped his tablet with a stylus while shaking his head, a package down the hall to his left, hovering along, making its way toward them.
"Voila! One fragile..." glancing, he spotted the rip in the packaging, and ignored it completely,"...package, from "Asimov Labs"."
James perked up.
"I sent for that over a month ago!"
"Didja now?" the delivery guy looked amused,"Out of date hardware? Lucky you it's not C.O.D!"
"Yeah, lucky me. I got ripped off BEFORE delivery." James replied, hardly amused at all, more tiredly bemused as the delivery guy grabbed his hand and pressed James' thumb to the B.E.N.T's Thumbplate.
"Delivered!"
"You sod! I didn't say I wanted to ACCEPT it!"
"Well, you JUST did. ENJOY!"
James gave the delivery guy the two finger salute as the guy left in a hurry.
"Bastard." he muttered, and looked the package over, hovering it indoors with effort, disengaging the now apparently free hovertrolley.
"Asimov Labs huh?"
He looked the package over again, finally noticing that it was human sized. "Well, off your trolley bud, join the club."
He found a letter, old fashioned synthetic paper, stuck to the front.
Carefully ripping the corner, then opening the letter with a finger, pulling out a piece of paper, it simply had two things to say, reading it out loud to himself.
"Congratulations on your purchase from ASIMOV LABS...one, two, three, four, five." James paused. "One, two, three, four, five?"
He looked at the now empty gap in the package left when he removed the letter. It gave access to a keypad sunken into the middle of the package slightly. "Any simpler and Grandma could do it."
Tapping the five number code in, one key at a time, he eyed the package warily, finger poised over the last key, expecting the package to explode open, either on purpose, or by accident.
Neither happened.
Just a fizzle, a pop, and a puff of smoke from the side.
"Oh for crying out loud...if they melted this one as well..."
Fistmarks dented the packaging, again, again, and yet again, James getting clear of the front of the package before it flew off into the wall, shattering a poster's glass frame.
A humanoid looked out of the box, scanning for signs of life, finally seeing James, head poking above his couch, checking for safety.
"James Nogol?" the being intoned in a dangerously bass sounding tone. James had no idea if he should reply, or begin firing at it like a member of the G.R.A.
"Yes?"
The humanoid suddenly became bright and cheery.
"Happy Hannukah!"
James looked at it with a puzzled smirk.
"I'm...not...Jewish."
The humanoid looked over, tilted its head, and made what looked a mildly annoyed pout.
"Oy vey."
"Oy vey is right! Look at my poster!"
James gestured at the broken glass over his furniture, package front on the floor. The humanoid simply stood tall and quoted.
""All damages are the responsibility of the owner." Section fourteen dash twelve, Asimov Labs User Agreement."
"I didn't agree to that!"
""Thumbprint collection of products in any transportation mode, legged, wheeled, starshipped or transportation beamed, via any type of collection, automatically validates user ownership of said product." Section thirty-seven dash five, Asimov Labs User Agreement."
James looked bemused, and just shrugged.
"Fine." he looked the humanoid over,"class of model again? I forgot."
The humanoid looked at him and went through its spiel.
"I am I Asimov Labs Personal Assistant Android, P.K.D Model B.3.T.T.3.R."
"That's the one. I keep forgetting if I bought you or the other model, B.1.6.6..."
"We do not look alike. My skin is Model Three Seven Three."
"That's another thing, why is your skin flesh tone, with a slight hint of light grey? Didn't they fix that?"
"Correct. Model Three Seven Four."
"Which I ordered." he sighed, "Never mind then."
"A mind is a terrible thing."
"...to waste."
B.3 looked blank.
"Waste what?"
"Oh God...where's your use by date?"
B.3 knelt, lifting his simple Asimov Labs designed shirt up, and opened a hatch on his chest, artificial flesh moving with it, James grimacing slightly.
"Bleh! I never get used to you lot doing that. It's like a horror xvid."
Looking over the display and keypad buttons, James tapped a few buttons, and the display brought B.3's use by date up on screen.
"Yesterday?!"
B.3 started singing softly.
"...all my troubles seemed so far away..."
"They shipped and handed over an out of date Android to me under false pretenses!"
"...now it looks as though they're here to stay..."
James shut B.3's chest hatch.
"Well, like I have a choice?"
B.3 paused his singing and began quoting again.
""Thumbprint collection of products...""
"Oh shut up."
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