PREFERRED POSITION By Dave Dryfoos Does your job bore you? Are you just plain tired of working for a living? Well meet a man from the future--who'd gladly trade places!... [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy April 1953 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The bed woke them. "Time to get up, dears," it cooed. "Time to get up and greet the sun ... time to get up...." Then the supporting magnetism faded and let their mattress drift gently to the soft warm floor. Janet turned and opened her eyes, pouting at Les. He scowled back, grumbled something, and rolled away. She shook his film-coated shoulder. "Come on, Les. Come on, you'll feel better after coffee." "Don't want any," he snarled. But the damage had been done. At the word "coffee" a grotesque marionette opened the bedroom door and minced in with two steaming cups on a tray, swinging them artfully so that they appeared likely to spill, but didn't. For some years, now, that dance had left Janet unamused. She was about to say so when Les growled, "These darned dolls are a nuisance. I wish you'd order a plain, automatic dispenser!" "_They're_ even _more_ boring," Janet argued, sitting up. Her gauzy film-dress and sleepy face made her look appealingly childlike. She was fifty-five. Les was sixty, with a full head of blond hair atop six and a half feet of slim solid flesh. He sat up with the expression of an exasperated six-year-old. "Go away!" he told the doll. It did. "But I _wanted_ some!" Janet wailed. She was careful, though, not to use the words that would cause the doll to return. Neither did Les. He said, "Why don't we take a couple of pills and go back to sleep till tomorrow? There isn't a darned thing to do." "There _never_ is," Janet said. Then noting she'd inadvertently agreed with her husband, she quickly added, "But we _can't_ sleep--we did that yesterday. If we don't move around we'll practically stop eating, and anyway the neighbors will miss us. First thing you know we'll be accused of either a hunger-strike or immobility. Then they'll enslave us for attempting suicide!" She sniffed in self-pity at the thought. "Ah, honk 'em!" Les said. "Slavery'd at least be a change. And slaves have something to do!" "Don't talk nonsense," Janet said tartly. "You know perfectly well they always torture slaves." "Yeah.... But I just can't face this any longer! I've got sixty-five more years of longevity, according to the doctors--and they're never wrong, curse them! Sixty-five more years without the possibility of illness, want, risk.... Even an accident is unlikely. Nothing's going to happen in all that time! Jan, I just can't face it."