Far Off

Awake

Rilind Novak sat on a chair beside the long table in the break room. He'd tried to cross his legs again, but found the effort frustrating. Letting his left leg slip, it dropped to the floor with a thud. "When they wake you up, you gasp for air," he said. "It doesn't make sense, I know, but they make you suck in air like they raised you from the bottom of a lake. My new body doesn't need oxygen. Why did they make me do that?"

"Humans are weird," said the large yellow artificial man in the corner. Its voice was deep and mechanical.

Rilind tried to remember its name. "C" something. A few numbers. 239? Not very easy to remember a name like that. Rilind wondered why the artificial didn't give itself a better name. "Sometimes we are weird."

"You're not human anymore."

"Why do you say that?"

"You're an artie now. You may think like a human, but you have an artificial body."

"So if I had a human body?"

"Then you'd still be human. See, arties think. You don't call us human, you call us arties."

"But I had a human body once."

"What if – while you still had your human body – they put a pig's heart in you. Would you be a pig?"

"No, I'd be a human with a pig's heart."

"See. That's my point. A pig's heart in a human body doesn't make you a pig. Now you have an artificial body with a human brain. The brain doesn't make you a human. The body makes you an artie. One of us, and just as insignificant."

"But I feel human."

The lumbering artificial chuckled. At least, Rilind thought it was a chuckle. The artie's broad thorax tended to rattle when it spoke. The sound it made may have been something else. He decided it was a chuckle and left it at that.

"The abdominal breathing mechanism is unnecessary," said Epsilon Three. This cyborg was the most advanced of the arties in the room. Rilind was having an easier time with its name. Epsilon Three would have rolled off his tongue if he still had one. "Your brain still requires oxygen, but there are more efficient ways to supply it."

Turning his head, Rilind looked toward the fourth member of their team, John Randolph. This android model most resembled Rilind's new body. Unlike the others, John Randolph preferred the male pronouns that went with his name. He had remained silent until Rilind looked his way. "Exactly. It's like using new words to describe old ideas."

"What are you talking about?" asked C-239. Its audio crackled a little with the effort.

"Well, it's not exactly like that." John Randolph appeared embarrassed, something Rilind would never have expected from an artie.

"It's nothing like that." The bulky yellow artificial's final 't' faded into static.

"C-239, I don't understand why you are always so snarky." John Randolph often sounded like a dandy to Rilind. He wasn't sure if he found that endearing or annoying.

Rilind smiled at C-239. At least, he hoped he was smiling. Months in this body and he still couldn't be sure. In his mind, his holographic lips curved into a smile. He imagined his silicon face presenting a pleasant grin. "I think I understood," he finally said.

Epsilon Three shook its head. "You shouldn't encourage it." The cyborg waved its arm toward C-239. "You'll learn, it wants you to treat it nice, but it has nothing but contempt for you."

"And you don't?" asked C-239.

Rilind wondered if the aging yellow artie would have scowled if it was able to. What facial features it had could not move. Its smooth, faded yellow face contained two 'eyes' and a round port to emit sound. Its cavernous thorax rattled. If anything, this artie most resembled the mid-twentieth century description of a robot. He'd seen plenty of them in history books. It's arms – there were six in all – offered the only departure from what he imagined.