“In many parts the outcome is still being decided by the trident and the thunder-hammer,” continued the supervisor cyberdroid, “but we at ReCarnation Inc. prefer a free and open narrative economy. Free Raconteurism will allow us to crush the competition and become a monopoly, thus enabling us to reduce quality, cut costs, and become fabulously wealthy. That would, of course, be most unsporting … Crushing the competition will have to be its own reward. Apologies sir, I am still grappling with the concept of dead-pan humor.”
The measuring, sorting, and packaging of soul-shards that were until recently the consciousness of Chumberlank Leatherchunk was now complete. The supervisor touched his breast communicator, and said “Five with cargo to telelevitate.”
“Wait,” said Thornpike, “What do we do with the body?”
“Cadaver disposal is a hardware problem,” replied the supervisor, “ReCarnation Inc. specialises in software. That is our core business. Trying to be all things to all people is a recipe for mediocrity.”
With a departing nod from Leatherchunk’s soul they faded from view. Moments later, the spiceship streaked towards the horrizon and disappeared , leaving Thornpike and Knobkerry to the practical considerations of what to do with the corpse.
“I think it a shame to leave him lying here with a tridentbolt sticking out of his chest like a porcupineapple in the terminal stages of going bald,” said Bandersnatch, coming forward once more with hesitating steps and a very pale expression. “Keep a good eye on the wood, Master MontGoatee – keep a clear eye on the wood. The goddesses protect us! Here was a good blast!”