You take a tour of your factory. The various pipes containing the nanites all around you. The whole process is automated, but you feel the need to have a human show some interest. The whole environment is very sterile, a synthetic white world with every surface a wipe clean one.
You muse on the need for a direction and purpose in life. The new technology... Your technology has left mankind with a problem.
As problems go, it's not the worst. But.... But what can a man do with his life. Technology has made doctors redundant, the simple practically instantaneous creation of matter has made most work redundant.
How is a man to define his life when his whole being can be re-written almost instantly and according to his own plan.
You run a hand along one pipe as you walk, the heat of the nanites warming it as you caress the pipe.
You head for the terminal, it's time for some honest feedback. The government may control the tech, but you still have a commercial interest, and the secrecy that that allows.
The requests that your nanites have fulfilled, amaze and shock you. You have to assume that they are done with full consent and awareness. It's hard not to judge, but you do resist the temptation.
There have been half a dozen 'events' that the computer flagged up, one turned out to be a rancher converting some of his visitors into animals. Either dumb cattle to be lead to the slaughter, or horses to be ridden. It turns out not everyone knew this was a feature of the drive, and not everyone converted back to human at the end.
However, you send an anonymous tip to the police, and within a week up popped the headline. Their defence that they deserved it, that they weren't fit ... manly ... enough won them no sympathy. Their punishment couldn't have been more appropriate. The three ranch hands were converted themselves, having to serve as horses for a minimum 50 years a piece. It was hard work, and so the men didn't object... one even smiled as sentence was passed. Seeing this as a chance to show his character through a life of physical labour.
But it wasn't all hard work, they would get a month off every year or so. Well, it was only fair not to work a brood mare in her final month of pregnancy.
Perhaps this would be the year you'd take a shot at being a gaucho, and driving the cattle. Having seen the fantasies of so many people, you came to appreciate the simple things in life. And if someone wanted to do the cattle drive as a cow or a horse, you weren't going to treat them any differently.
The temptation was to find which of the horses were serving their sentence.
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