Eugene Jones TELEPORTER
Nov 27, 2022 21:20:26 GMT -5
Post by Radrook Admin on Nov 27, 2022 21:20:26 GMT -5
Eugene Jones TELEPORTER
by
Radrook
Eugene Jones, a young, professional football player of African American descent, and teleporter customer, stood dumbfounded after arrival at his plush room at the Hotel Wailea, Maui in Hawaii. True, the teleportation trip had been virtually instantaneous, exactly as the Teleportation Company had guaranteed. Yes, he had also survived the transit. However, one very important detail was awry. You see, when Eugene had entered the company’s transportation pod, he had been a muscular, six-foot-six, African American professional football player, while now, now he was a five-foot-three, rather frail-looking, white-haired old white-man who looked as if he were in his middle eighties.
As he stared at himself in the mirror, struggling desperately to control his panic, he had almost fainted from the shock. What the hell happened? 'Who was the SOB who had foisted this on him?' he thought as he sat down on the edge of the bed with elbows on thighs and both palms against his temples.
No, he had no enemies among the Teleportation Company’s technicians. Well, at least he had no enemies that he knew of who would be willing to risk their jobs or their lives to do him in, in this way. Furthermore, had he known that such a harmful effect had been even slightly possible, he would have taken a plane. At least then he would have arrived intact. But this? This was an abomination and an outrage.
Repeatedly, he attempted to contact the company via the phone and repeatedly was either getting a busy signal, or else a wrong-number message. Neither were they accessible via the Internet now. In fact, their entire website had suddenly disappeared which indicated that they knew something had gone seriously wrong, and preferred to avoid facing the legal consequences.
For a moment, he considered returning home by using the hotel transporter. But would that involve the risk of maybe arriving there as a dog? Now he really wasn’t sure what those infernal machines were really capable of. Hell no! He wasn’t going to risk it. This transformation had definitely not been part of the deal. The contract had clearly said that there were absolutely no risks involved. The company’s record had been impeccable. Well, at least that had been the impression he had been under when he signed the contract.
Now in anger, he read the contract once more. But this time, he noticed the fine print at the bottom of the last page which exonerated the company for any harm that a customer might suffer due to some machine malfunction. It went on and on in explaining, that all new technologies suffer glitches, and that there indeed had been certain unpleasant glitches involving genetic and chronological anomalies during the experimental stages of the teleporter’s development, but that these had been sorted out to satisfaction, although a very slight risk still remained.
So by his signing the agreement, without reading the small print, he had inadvertently exonerated the company from any responsibility because he had agreed with informed consent. In other words, there was no way he could sue and win in a court of law. The negligence had been his. Malice would be ruled out and the burden of proof would be squarely on his shoulders. In short, he was totally screwed.
At that moment, many violent thoughts crossed Eugene Jones’s mind. There were thoughts of hurling a Molotov cocktail or else strapping his torso with explosives and taking the whole company building down along with himself. If he survived, of course, then he risked being sent to prison or maybe get the electric chair.
Finally, he just decided to go home. But how the hell could he possibly return home now? How could his kids now call dad, an old, decrepit white-man on his last skinny legs, a man that they had never seen before in their lives, and how could his wife, who had been attracted to his young, athletic, masculine physique, accept him as her husband once more?
In fact, they might even assume that he was an imposter of sorts. They might even imagine that he had murdered the real Eugene and was now seeking to cash in on his rich lifestyle by impersonating him. His sanity might also be suspected, and he might be committed to a mental institution.
In any case, his Hawaii vacation had been ruined, and there really was no sense in trying to make as if nothing had happened. So as quickly as possible, he bought himself a new set of clothing, and was soon on a plane back to the states.
Strange how his knee-joints ached now whenever he tried to walk fast and as he climbed the steps to the airplane. Also strange how his mind seemed to work at a slower pace, forgetting familiar names, while remembering the faces. Recalling football strategy concepts but failing to recall exactly what their official terminology was. Weird also how people were now suddenly holding doors open for him, including women, as if they had assumed him too frail to handle it himself. Also, when crossing the street, cars stopped to let him by, even though they had the green light, as if in some effort to honor him, but only managing to make him feel more wretched than he already did.
Finally, after arriving at La Guardia Airport in New York, he was on a taxi heading for home. No, he could not rent a car at the airport, because now his ID card, with a photo of a young African American man, did not match his white-male, senior-citizen appearance. As he was nearing his destination, he decided that it was best to call his wife first in order to ease the shock.
“Hello honey?” he heard himself say in an unfamiliar voice.
“Who is this?” his wife asked in a perplexed tone.
“It’s me hon, Eugene! I’m back from my Hawaii vacation. I had to cut it short due to certain serious trouble.”
There was an extended silence. And then:
“You don’t sound like my husband, Eugene! My husband has a very deep voice, and an African American accent! What is this? Some kind of a joke?” she shouted.
“Now, please, honey, calm down! It’s really me! You see-” he heard himself say in a totally unfamiliar age-weakened voice. Then he heard the phone suddenly go dead on the other side, and realized that trying to sort out-things by himself was going to prove futile.
So he sought help from a lawyer, who, for an exorbitant fee, took over the whole reintroduction formalities. Soon, his wife had been informed of what had happened, as well as his kids.
“They were shocked, of course, Eugene!" his lawyer said, "But that is perfectly normal. I mean, put your self in their place. Yet, they said they will be at my office tomorrow at 12 noon Eugene,”
"Are you sure?" Eugene asked.
“Yes, they know the whole Teleportation Company Accident story. She says that no matter what has happened, she still loves you. Your kids also said the same thing. That you are their dad no matter what. The company personnel responsible for your accident has also been tracked down and will have to face the legal charges for negligence.” the lawyer told him in a compassionate tone of voice, while placing a comforting hand on his stooped, frail shoulder.
The next day, Eugene was reunited with his family, who at first were a bit tentative, but who had finally accepted him as he had become-and still as a husband and a dad. Eugene remained with them until his death ten years later at the ripe old age of 95.
As he stared at himself in the mirror, struggling desperately to control his panic, he had almost fainted from the shock. What the hell happened? 'Who was the SOB who had foisted this on him?' he thought as he sat down on the edge of the bed with elbows on thighs and both palms against his temples.
No, he had no enemies among the Teleportation Company’s technicians. Well, at least he had no enemies that he knew of who would be willing to risk their jobs or their lives to do him in, in this way. Furthermore, had he known that such a harmful effect had been even slightly possible, he would have taken a plane. At least then he would have arrived intact. But this? This was an abomination and an outrage.
Repeatedly, he attempted to contact the company via the phone and repeatedly was either getting a busy signal, or else a wrong-number message. Neither were they accessible via the Internet now. In fact, their entire website had suddenly disappeared which indicated that they knew something had gone seriously wrong, and preferred to avoid facing the legal consequences.
For a moment, he considered returning home by using the hotel transporter. But would that involve the risk of maybe arriving there as a dog? Now he really wasn’t sure what those infernal machines were really capable of. Hell no! He wasn’t going to risk it. This transformation had definitely not been part of the deal. The contract had clearly said that there were absolutely no risks involved. The company’s record had been impeccable. Well, at least that had been the impression he had been under when he signed the contract.
Now in anger, he read the contract once more. But this time, he noticed the fine print at the bottom of the last page which exonerated the company for any harm that a customer might suffer due to some machine malfunction. It went on and on in explaining, that all new technologies suffer glitches, and that there indeed had been certain unpleasant glitches involving genetic and chronological anomalies during the experimental stages of the teleporter’s development, but that these had been sorted out to satisfaction, although a very slight risk still remained.
So by his signing the agreement, without reading the small print, he had inadvertently exonerated the company from any responsibility because he had agreed with informed consent. In other words, there was no way he could sue and win in a court of law. The negligence had been his. Malice would be ruled out and the burden of proof would be squarely on his shoulders. In short, he was totally screwed.
At that moment, many violent thoughts crossed Eugene Jones’s mind. There were thoughts of hurling a Molotov cocktail or else strapping his torso with explosives and taking the whole company building down along with himself. If he survived, of course, then he risked being sent to prison or maybe get the electric chair.
Finally, he just decided to go home. But how the hell could he possibly return home now? How could his kids now call dad, an old, decrepit white-man on his last skinny legs, a man that they had never seen before in their lives, and how could his wife, who had been attracted to his young, athletic, masculine physique, accept him as her husband once more?
In fact, they might even assume that he was an imposter of sorts. They might even imagine that he had murdered the real Eugene and was now seeking to cash in on his rich lifestyle by impersonating him. His sanity might also be suspected, and he might be committed to a mental institution.
In any case, his Hawaii vacation had been ruined, and there really was no sense in trying to make as if nothing had happened. So as quickly as possible, he bought himself a new set of clothing, and was soon on a plane back to the states.
Strange how his knee-joints ached now whenever he tried to walk fast and as he climbed the steps to the airplane. Also strange how his mind seemed to work at a slower pace, forgetting familiar names, while remembering the faces. Recalling football strategy concepts but failing to recall exactly what their official terminology was. Weird also how people were now suddenly holding doors open for him, including women, as if they had assumed him too frail to handle it himself. Also, when crossing the street, cars stopped to let him by, even though they had the green light, as if in some effort to honor him, but only managing to make him feel more wretched than he already did.
Finally, after arriving at La Guardia Airport in New York, he was on a taxi heading for home. No, he could not rent a car at the airport, because now his ID card, with a photo of a young African American man, did not match his white-male, senior-citizen appearance. As he was nearing his destination, he decided that it was best to call his wife first in order to ease the shock.
“Hello honey?” he heard himself say in an unfamiliar voice.
“Who is this?” his wife asked in a perplexed tone.
“It’s me hon, Eugene! I’m back from my Hawaii vacation. I had to cut it short due to certain serious trouble.”
There was an extended silence. And then:
“You don’t sound like my husband, Eugene! My husband has a very deep voice, and an African American accent! What is this? Some kind of a joke?” she shouted.
“Now, please, honey, calm down! It’s really me! You see-” he heard himself say in a totally unfamiliar age-weakened voice. Then he heard the phone suddenly go dead on the other side, and realized that trying to sort out-things by himself was going to prove futile.
So he sought help from a lawyer, who, for an exorbitant fee, took over the whole reintroduction formalities. Soon, his wife had been informed of what had happened, as well as his kids.
“They were shocked, of course, Eugene!" his lawyer said, "But that is perfectly normal. I mean, put your self in their place. Yet, they said they will be at my office tomorrow at 12 noon Eugene,”
"Are you sure?" Eugene asked.
“Yes, they know the whole Teleportation Company Accident story. She says that no matter what has happened, she still loves you. Your kids also said the same thing. That you are their dad no matter what. The company personnel responsible for your accident has also been tracked down and will have to face the legal charges for negligence.” the lawyer told him in a compassionate tone of voice, while placing a comforting hand on his stooped, frail shoulder.
The next day, Eugene was reunited with his family, who at first were a bit tentative, but who had finally accepted him as he had become-and still as a husband and a dad. Eugene remained with them until his death ten years later at the ripe old age of 95.