The Tides That Bind Us [AfroFuturism]

Borrowed Time

Zaharah looked at the phone, then up at her father. He hadn't taken his eyes off the dash, but his lips were somewhere between a scowl and a frown. He reached into the cabinet and pulled out a multi-tool, and his phone continued to buzz, shaking its way from one side of the desk to the other.

"Would you like me to pick up the call?" Skorpi asked, and her father shook his head.

Zaharah had met Ms Sanders twice, once at one of her father's work events and again at one of her pocking games. She seemed nice enough, and dad often touted her as a brilliant scientist, the 700's leading bioengineer.

"You were answering calls on the train, but you're not gonna answer that one?" Zaharah nodded at the phone.

"We're on vacation." He held the buttons on the side of her arm and after a few seconds, the lights blinked out and her fingers fell limp.

She snorted. "You've been breaking mom's sacred rules since we left the house. And isn't she a friend of yours; you're always talking about how brilliant she is."

"Colleague, not friend. You know I don't use that term lightly," he said as he worked the first pin from her arm. "Aleesha is good, a giant in her field, commands respect and rightfully so." He popped out another pin. "But that's not always a good thing."

"You say it like it is."

He gave her a look, the look that told her he was about to dispense some epic dad wisdom. Or tell her the story of Icarus for the five millionth time. Zaharah was betting on the former. "Giants care nothing for the ants they step on."

Winner. "Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"You don't get to Aleesha's level without stepping on some people, Zaharah." Her father's voice took on a solemn tone, undercut by something Zaharah couldn't quite make out. Guilt? "In the work that we do, the research that we do, there comes a point where you hit a wall. And you can't get past that wall without breaking some established conventions. Aleesha has no problem breaking through those walls, with little regard for the damage she can and will do."

Zaharah raised an eyebrow, not at her father's words but at the ominous, chilling tone they carried—a far cry from his casual, easy-going manner. "You're talking about human experimentation? Isn't that illegal?"

"Well I was trying not to be so blunt about it." He pulled the last pin from her arm. "It's a touchy subject amongst my colleagues, guaranteed to devolve into a fight if it's brought up."

"So, Aleesha's been experi—"

"I didn't say that."

"But you implied it." She angled her head. "If she's breaking the law, why hasn't anyone reported her? Why haven't you?"

Her father stayed quiet and took his time setting the last pin aside. He wouldn't even look at her. The silence stretched between them, and the longer it dragged on the more Zaharah fidgeted. Pin and needles ran over her skin, and her palm grew slick with sweat.

"Dad? You're scaring me. Is there something going on we should be worried about?"

He tapped the blunt end of the multi-tool against the desk and met her eyes. "Have I ever told you the story of Icarus?"

"Only a million times." She rolled her eyes. "If you wanted me to drop it, you could just say so. No need for the torture."

"There's nothing to worry about, I promise. Except getting this arm off. Help me out." He took the unit with both hands, and Zaharah held her arm rigid while he unscrewed it. It clicked with every twist, the unit easing away from the metal plate and pin capping her stump.

Zaharah frowned at the old one. Some of her retired models hung on the wall in her room, including her first one, but her uncle took all the others back after giving her an upgrade, probably to upscale or recycle them. One was displayed in the Cylean Cybernetics tower for introducing some groundbreaking feature or another. They were just arms to her.

"All right." Dad lifted the new unit from its case. "This one is a little heavier but has better grip strength and reaction time." He slid it on the pin and followed the same procedure just backwards.

The metal was different on this one, had a slight purple cast to it, and the buttons were on top instead of along the sides. It reminded her a little of her first arm, minus the flowery decals. When she turned fifteen her uncle started making them less pretty and more practical.

"I'm going to power it on now. You may feel a small jolt or some tingling." He held down two of the buttons and the lights blinked to life.

She wiggled her fingers, curled her hand into a fist and twisted her wrist, then brought the unit up to her nose for a long sniff, taking the new arm smell deep into her lungs.

"How does it feel?" her dad asked.

"About the same as the last one." She clasped her hands together, and her metal palm registered the warmth of the real one. "It's fine I guess."

Her father tucked her old arm in the case. "Well when your uncle asks about it, be sure to say more than that. He worked very hard updating the specs and you know how he gets."

"Fine."

"We'll go over the specs and functions after dinner. I have a feeling your mom is going to break down that door at any moment." He grabbed Skorpi and set him in front of Zaharah. "I'll join you guys in a moment."

"Mom is going to string you and Mala up." She picked up her mechpet and set him on her shoulder. "I'll tell her you're on your way."

Her father nodded, his attention on the screen now. Its blue light tinged the grey hair peppering his cornrows and beard, and lines framed his eyes and mouth. Zaharah frowned. When did he start looking so... old? Her father was far from a spring chicken, but to her, he'd always seemed immortal. Like he'd always be around.

But the ominous edge to his tone still lingered and chilled the room. Part of her wanted to push the issue, force him to tell her what was going on, but she hated prying, especially after clear signs he didn't want to talk about it.

Zaharah tore her eyes away from her father and headed towards her room instead of the kitchen. An itch had settled in her fingers, the one she got when she needed to draw something, release some pent up anxiety. Mom hated when she sketched at the dinner table, but when the urge struck Zaharah, she couldn't ignore it.

"Do you hear that?" Skorpi asked, cutting into her thoughts.

Zaharah frowned, ready to tell him he was hallucinating, but then she heard it—a keening noise like metal rubbing against metal.

Skorpi gripped her shoulder tight. "It's coming from below us."

She turned on her heel to head back to the office, but didn't make it one step before a bang reverberated through the ship. Something slammed into her back hard enough to send her tumbling, ass-over-head, down the corridor.

Somewhere at the other end, she skidded to a stop, her skin burning and aching at the same time. Her ears rang, the high-pitched squeal almost drowning out the boat's alarms. She reached out, or tried to, for someone, something, for help, but neither her real nor fake arm budged. Her vision swam, and the hallway became a distorted amalgamation of colour that made her head spin.

"Help!" she screamed. It sounded like a scream in her head, but only a strangled whisper escaped her lips. Fear gripped her, sunk its cold nails into her flesh and sent her heart aflutter. She curled up, and her soft whimpers disappeared into the void of alarms.