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Chapter II: Tin hearts

"Well, Harper, today makes three months with us. You haven't said anything today yet. How are you feeling?"

Harper inspected carefully the faces of the other therapy patients. They rarely were the same from one day to the other, although sometimes they'd repeat. The woman sitting in the other side of the circle was the mother of two whose children had abandoned because of her addictions. No one knew how had she come by the money needed to get freezed, but Harper suspected it had not been exactly legal. The reasonable thing to think was that both son and daughter had lived long, happy lives without the constant debts from their mother. The therapist seemed to be having a hard time convincing her there were certain psycologichal limits she shouldn't push on people.

The guy the right was born rich, but had crashed with all his money in a stripper's thong, whose pimp had hired someone to make a very poor job of making it seem like an accident, rather than the mess of a murder that actually was. Anyway, the kid had come out alive though badly injured, and his mother's insurance policy has covered the expenses of freezing him until his body could be completely repaired.

No one else was repeating. They had been talking the last hour and a hald, but they were a mystery. The only thing clear being that most of them weren't human.

Even the kid had been turned into a robot.

"Harper?"

Harper raised the eyes to meet his, expectant.

"How are you today?"

"Fine."

The therapist waited silently for an extended reply.

"I still haven't remembered anything."

"That's best," a men said. "Good for you."

"And you are...?"A tin-man, just like the rest, Harper thought with disgust.

The man blinked in confusion. "Diego Díaz, I introduced myself earlier..."

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry, I wasn't really interested."

"Harper..." The therapist sighed. What was his name again? "Diego is right. There's a bright side to not remembering who you were, after all —"

"Yes," Harper interrupted, "I'm lucky that the diods fried my brain. Except for the possible cognitive losses, the motor impairment, the hormonal imbalance... But yes, I'm really lucky after all. Better than to end up like all these..." Harper looked at them with utter disgust. "Tin-people."

Many frowned, most of them disconcerted. Others were... hurt by the statement. What did it matter? What feelings could they hold inside their cold, metal hearts? How could that doctor know what Harper was feeling when even his brain had beein cabled up with... with... whatever they used to cable the brains?

"You are being treated with quite an intensive hormonal therapy, but you'll see. In time, everything will—"

"In time feel better." Harper finished at the same time. A speech heard hundreds of times over the past months.

"And then, when we have fixed your chemical problems..."

"I won't ever let you do..." Harper gesticulated with the hands, lacking a way to express it, "... That to me."

"What's your problem with Improvements?" The woman with the addictions asked. "Wouldn't you want your body to be optimal, perfect?"

"I know what optimal means, thanks. And I think it already is."

Harper sat back. If there was anything left behind by the amnesia was a void to be filled with the only thing remaining: social interaction, and all of it depended in Harper's point of view being presented with iron-like force. Back when remembering how to speak was the main goal, a lesson had shined above all: a stubborn face would make them back down until next time. They thought Harper's mind would change eventually.

A siren rang and everybody stood, concluding the session. Harper tried to follow them, but the therapist cut the way.

"Harper."

Harper tried to sidestep him but the guy got right in front, blocking and taking one of Harper's arms. He breathed deeply.

"Your time here is limited. You know that. If you don't accept that in this reality, in this future, humanity has decided to evolve into something that can't be provided by nature, then..."

"Then what?" Harper dared him, freeing the arm. "If you're so much like us, don't —!"

"They'll eat you," he interrupted. "Not literally, but... We can endure up to three days of work in a row without having to stop for resting. Things have changed. You wouldn't be able to endure the new society rhythm with an organic body."

The words echoed, full of a meaning that never got through, as Harper's repulsion for the idea soon impregnated anything that would make them valid. For Harper, they were no more than a virus designed to steal and crush one's body so they could put your brain on a tin full of LEDs.

"Don't you see this is good? We have overcome every difficulty from your century. People born in the wrong body can choose the one that is right for them. Sexuality, the colour of the skin, the thoughts, and the religion and... Don't you see that we've finally realized that the body is but a vehicle? We have understood what matters is who we are, what we feel and what we think. How do each of us express all of that. We have eliminated disease and hunger. We can live several centuries more than any organic being."

"Yes, I absolutely understand everything you've 'overcome'," Harper air-quoted. "To you, everything inside the brain is software, the rest is hardware. It's perfect, isn't it? To hell with hugging, the emotion of caressing someone's skin. To hell with desire."

"All of that is perfectly simulated, Harper. To me, touching you, " He softly grabbed Harper's hand, "is no different than before I was optimized."

Harper looked at their intertwined hands. Equal to the naked eye. Humans. Yet, in Harper's mind, clearly different.

"I'd rather starve in my own shit than turning my whole life into a simulation."

Harper turned away with disgust and turned for the hall towards the bedrooms.