Return Policy
by Stacey Berg
Marya took a deep breath and punched the transit button. A few seconds later she stepped out of the lift into a featureless hallway in a building whose address code was only available to the right kind of people.
Fortunately Marya was one of them.
At the end of the hallway a single door was marked, discreetly, "Service Center." Marya squared her shoulders and marched down the hall. "Come on, Sammy. Stop playing with those buttons." The child hurried to catch up, chubby hand grasping at hers. "Inside here."
The room held only a clerk in a plain gray suit--real organic wool, she noted with appreciation--accompanied by the most tastefully subdued shirt and tie. "How may I help you, madam?"
"I need to make a return."
He glanced at Sammy, then back to her, unperturbed. "Yes, madam. Do you have the receipt?"
"Yes, right here." She set the chip on the counter with a decisive click. "Sammy! Get those filthy fingers out of your mouth!" She smacked the offending hand, a meaningless ritual performed a dozen times a day, but as always, the boy looked at her heartbroken, tears brimming in his huge brown eyes.
The clerk had placed the chip into a reader. "Series S, luxury model, fully upgraded... May I ask if the unit was defective, or if you were in any other way dissatisfied with the product?"
Marya glanced down. Sammy's fingers had gone right back into his mouth and he was chewing them desperately. She glared at him, then gave up. If he hadn't learned by now he never would.
The clerk added deferentially, "We only seek to improve our customer service. All data is stored free of identifiers, need I say."
"There's nothing really wrong with the product. I'm just no longer interested."
The clerk made a notation. "Refund or exchange?"
Marya felt on firmer ground here. "Refund, please. You may credit my chip. Sammy! Now what are you doing?" For the boy was on the floor, poking at some invisible bit of dust or dirt. "Stop that right now! I'm sorry," she said to the clerk. "No matter how many times I try to tell him..."
"Children can be such a burden," the man said with practiced sympathy.
She tried to smile. "I'm so glad you understand." And ridiculously, she was. "I hope you don't imagine that I've made a hasty decision."
"Of course not, madam." He handed her a different chip. "All the necessary corroboration is here."
"Corroboration?"
"The accident that explains... Merely to avoid any distasteful speculation."
"Oh yes, of course." Then she hesitated. "I was wondering how--that is, I wanted to be certain--it would not do to have any future... entanglements."
He caught her meaning so easily that she realized that everyone must ask the same question. Somehow that made her feel better--less naive. Less, dare she say it, as if she herself had failed. "I can assure you, madam, there is no cause for any concern. Lesser establishments, of course, have been known to resell components, even whole units--"
"Heaven forbid!" Marya exclaimed.
"Indeed, madam. But our firm would never engage in such an unsavory practice. Please be assured that even the basic components will be redigested."
Her mind shied away from digested. She had already told herself that she need not dwell on the details. "Excellent," she said out loud, but then she did not know what else to say, or do. Carefully as she had planned, this was the moment she had never quite been able to rehearse.
