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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Science Fiction
- Subject: Miracles / Wonders
- Published: 09/16/2025
The Body Shop.
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United States.jpeg)
The bell over the door rang. Brent knew it was an anachronism, but then again so was almost everyone who visited his little shop. There weren’t many folks left who opted for a “Normal” life and lifespan, before deciding on upgrading.
“May I help you?”
The man looking back at Brent was bent beyond the normal stoop look of old age. What hair he had left seemed to gather itself into two giant caterpillar like tufts that guarded the man’s eyes like a hedgerow. The eyes were yellowed with age, but the clear lenses lent proof to the fact that the man did not disregard the Medical capabilities of the Short lived. Cataract surgery, or perhaps the multiphase VR lenses that were so popular just before the breakthrough.
Brent guessed the man to be at the very limit of the Normals…perhaps 116 years old. So he simply smiled as the man’s much slower brain synapses fired enough to answer.
“Yeah. I am tired. And I don’t want to die.”
Brent smiled.
“I understand. Been there myself a few years back.”
The man’s eyes grew wide.
“You do? You were?” How old are you?”
Brent chuckled lightly. The Normals always spoke of age like it was some kind of spiritual reward or armor. As if growing old was a testimony to wisdom. And something to be proud of. Half a millennium of living in a body that doesn’t age, with a mind that never slows, kind of diminishes the glow of the patina of aging.
“I am older than my teeth, and younger than my tongue. “
The old man chuckled at that.
“Now, what kind of a body are you looking for? Custom? In vogue? Off the shelf? Maybe a shielded Model to go live on Mars, or maybe Europa?”
The man shook his head.
“Nothing exotic. Actually…could you make me one like this?”
He took a photograph out of his pocket. It was a photo of the man when he was in his prime. 23 years old, fit as a fiddle, and if not handsome, at least solid looking.
Brent took it and handled it with the awe and care it deserved. Not many people had photographs of any kind, let alone one on paper. As a piece of History, the photo alone, without any backstory or provenance …would be worth more than building Brent owned.
Brent studied the photo, noticing every nuance, every little wrinkle.
Then he spoke:
“Yes, I can do that. But folks who want to look like they did when they were young…well…is there another photo you want to show me?”
This time it was the old man who took out a photo with the awe and care it deserved. It was a black and white photo…History called them: “Graduation High School Year Book Photos”.
Once he handed Brent that photo…Brent, even in his enhanced body …almost had a heart attack. His estimate of the old man’s age, jumped up centuries. He straightened up and hoped the old man would forgive him for his arrogance.
“I am sorry, Sir. Are you…are you…a Senior?”
Brent knew they existed. The Normal folks who thru some genetic fluke lived three to five centuries in one body, with its original brain. To actually meet one…
“Yes. And how did you know I had another photo?”
Still trembling with excitement, Brent answered honestly.
“Senior, when folks come to my shop, tired of their worn out bodies and failing minds, if they want to look like they did when they were young, exactly like when they were young…it usually means there is someone they want to be with. Someone who grew up with them. Often times, it is a Widow or Widower with fifty or sixty years of marriage behind them.
So…I guessed. I hope I didn’t intrude on your past, Senior.”
The old man chuckled.
“No…no…no…it’s okay. Very perceptive of you. Yes, I do miss her. She was only nineteen when she was killed in a car accident…”
Brent never wanted to interrupt a Senior, who would? But he had to ask:
‘Senior….what is a car accident, and how could anyone die in one at only nineteen? “
The old man trembled. Tears fell. He wasn’t several hundred years old anymore…he was 20 years old again. Still carrying the guilt of centuries. What if he had been driving and not her? Could he have braked sooner…or dodged the car that crashed the red-light on her side. Or at least, he would have been the one that died…in her arms.
Brent remembered enough of being fully Human, that he unconsciously reached out and pulled the old man in for a hug.
A few truly human minutes went by.
Brent had an idea.
“Senior…I can make that body for you…and upload your emotions, memories, and experiences. Your IQ, of course, is going to increase by several hundred times. That is just part of becoming integrated with the AI…you will still be you…just more focused and able to think faster.
If I am not being impertinent …if you let me do a “Scour Scan”….I think I can do a bit better for you.”
“A “Scour Scan?” What is that?”
“Just a deeper dive into the nuanced quantum pool of your thoughts. It is no different than you going to sleep while I make and transfer you to your new body.”
“Okay, whatever…what do I do now?”
Brent took him to the part of the shop that nobody ever sees. He put the old man in the Chemical Bath, replaced all the air in his body with fluid…and started building the young version of the old man. What he didn’t tell the old man…was he scoured every bit of his brain…to build a second body. The one in the HS Graduation Photo.
The old man …no longer old…fluttered his eyelashes. His young sinewy body flashed from supine to upright with no effort, no pain, and blindingly fast. He felt…Superior.
Brent smiled at him.
“Don’t worry, that is a very normal reaction. You aren’t really bounded by human abilities anymore. The body you have now will never age, break, or get sick. You’ll see. But I have a surprise for you.
“A surprise?” He looked at the strong young arms in front of his face, they were his arms. He showed them to Brent.
“What could be a bigger surprise than this?
Brent pulled open a curtain. A female figure stood there. Quietly letting tears fall from her eyes. She had no memories beyond the last words she yelled before she was killed in that horrible crash.
“I love you…”
He had millions of memories, but only one word came from his mouth:
“Kathy?”
Brent closed the door. Walking back into the front of the store, he sat behind the counter. Hoping the bell didn’t ring for a while.
“May I help you?”
The man looking back at Brent was bent beyond the normal stoop look of old age. What hair he had left seemed to gather itself into two giant caterpillar like tufts that guarded the man’s eyes like a hedgerow. The eyes were yellowed with age, but the clear lenses lent proof to the fact that the man did not disregard the Medical capabilities of the Short lived. Cataract surgery, or perhaps the multiphase VR lenses that were so popular just before the breakthrough.
Brent guessed the man to be at the very limit of the Normals…perhaps 116 years old. So he simply smiled as the man’s much slower brain synapses fired enough to answer.
“Yeah. I am tired. And I don’t want to die.”
Brent smiled.
“I understand. Been there myself a few years back.”
The man’s eyes grew wide.
“You do? You were?” How old are you?”
Brent chuckled lightly. The Normals always spoke of age like it was some kind of spiritual reward or armor. As if growing old was a testimony to wisdom. And something to be proud of. Half a millennium of living in a body that doesn’t age, with a mind that never slows, kind of diminishes the glow of the patina of aging.
“I am older than my teeth, and younger than my tongue. “
The old man chuckled at that.
“Now, what kind of a body are you looking for? Custom? In vogue? Off the shelf? Maybe a shielded Model to go live on Mars, or maybe Europa?”
The man shook his head.
“Nothing exotic. Actually…could you make me one like this?”
He took a photograph out of his pocket. It was a photo of the man when he was in his prime. 23 years old, fit as a fiddle, and if not handsome, at least solid looking.
Brent took it and handled it with the awe and care it deserved. Not many people had photographs of any kind, let alone one on paper. As a piece of History, the photo alone, without any backstory or provenance …would be worth more than building Brent owned.
Brent studied the photo, noticing every nuance, every little wrinkle.
Then he spoke:
“Yes, I can do that. But folks who want to look like they did when they were young…well…is there another photo you want to show me?”
This time it was the old man who took out a photo with the awe and care it deserved. It was a black and white photo…History called them: “Graduation High School Year Book Photos”.
Once he handed Brent that photo…Brent, even in his enhanced body …almost had a heart attack. His estimate of the old man’s age, jumped up centuries. He straightened up and hoped the old man would forgive him for his arrogance.
“I am sorry, Sir. Are you…are you…a Senior?”
Brent knew they existed. The Normal folks who thru some genetic fluke lived three to five centuries in one body, with its original brain. To actually meet one…
“Yes. And how did you know I had another photo?”
Still trembling with excitement, Brent answered honestly.
“Senior, when folks come to my shop, tired of their worn out bodies and failing minds, if they want to look like they did when they were young, exactly like when they were young…it usually means there is someone they want to be with. Someone who grew up with them. Often times, it is a Widow or Widower with fifty or sixty years of marriage behind them.
So…I guessed. I hope I didn’t intrude on your past, Senior.”
The old man chuckled.
“No…no…no…it’s okay. Very perceptive of you. Yes, I do miss her. She was only nineteen when she was killed in a car accident…”
Brent never wanted to interrupt a Senior, who would? But he had to ask:
‘Senior….what is a car accident, and how could anyone die in one at only nineteen? “
The old man trembled. Tears fell. He wasn’t several hundred years old anymore…he was 20 years old again. Still carrying the guilt of centuries. What if he had been driving and not her? Could he have braked sooner…or dodged the car that crashed the red-light on her side. Or at least, he would have been the one that died…in her arms.
Brent remembered enough of being fully Human, that he unconsciously reached out and pulled the old man in for a hug.
A few truly human minutes went by.
Brent had an idea.
“Senior…I can make that body for you…and upload your emotions, memories, and experiences. Your IQ, of course, is going to increase by several hundred times. That is just part of becoming integrated with the AI…you will still be you…just more focused and able to think faster.
If I am not being impertinent …if you let me do a “Scour Scan”….I think I can do a bit better for you.”
“A “Scour Scan?” What is that?”
“Just a deeper dive into the nuanced quantum pool of your thoughts. It is no different than you going to sleep while I make and transfer you to your new body.”
“Okay, whatever…what do I do now?”
Brent took him to the part of the shop that nobody ever sees. He put the old man in the Chemical Bath, replaced all the air in his body with fluid…and started building the young version of the old man. What he didn’t tell the old man…was he scoured every bit of his brain…to build a second body. The one in the HS Graduation Photo.
The old man …no longer old…fluttered his eyelashes. His young sinewy body flashed from supine to upright with no effort, no pain, and blindingly fast. He felt…Superior.
Brent smiled at him.
“Don’t worry, that is a very normal reaction. You aren’t really bounded by human abilities anymore. The body you have now will never age, break, or get sick. You’ll see. But I have a surprise for you.
“A surprise?” He looked at the strong young arms in front of his face, they were his arms. He showed them to Brent.
“What could be a bigger surprise than this?
Brent pulled open a curtain. A female figure stood there. Quietly letting tears fall from her eyes. She had no memories beyond the last words she yelled before she was killed in that horrible crash.
“I love you…”
He had millions of memories, but only one word came from his mouth:
“Kathy?”
Brent closed the door. Walking back into the front of the store, he sat behind the counter. Hoping the bell didn’t ring for a while.
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