Dawn of the Cyborg

by Marie Dry

  “Do you have artificial components?” she asked with care.

  “My skeleton is a type of alloy, created to last and strengthen me.”

  “And the rest? Your brain?”

  “I have an organic brain with a CPU built in.”

  “You said you killed the Tunrians who betrayed you. How long have you lived before that?”

  “I was a hundred and ninety years old when I killed my creator.”

  She frantically searched for a way to steer the conversation in another direction. Talking about killing his creator could not lead to anything good. “How did you find us? There must be other habitable planets you can go to?”

  “The Tunrians inhabited their planet for a longer period than humans have done. By the time they changed the way they were destroying their planet, it was too late.”

  “Are you saying that is why they built the ships? Because they need our resources?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did they know about Earth?”

  “A probe called voyager.”

  Aurora recognized the name. Her eidetic memory didn’t allow her to forget anything. Remembering information like this was helpful. Recalling every moment of her childhood with vivid clarity--not so much. “They should’ve run out of power by now, they were sent more than a century ago.” In the end, human curiosity and ingenuity had condemned their species.

  He motioned to the food on her plate. “You have not eaten the optimum amount for your height and age.”

  She took a small bite. Trust a cyborg to calculate how much she needed to eat. She’d learned that if she took small bites and carefully chewed the food no one realized how much she ate. Or to be more precise, how little.

  That wasn’t going to work with Balthazar. She’d realized long ago that people didn’t want to know about her search for her sister. They didn’t want to know why she could barely stomach looking at food, let alone eat it. “Where did you get the food?” she asked hoping to distract him from calculating how much she should eat.

  “I procured it.”

  “How, did you order online or go to a supermarket?” Her joke fell flat. It was odd speaking to someone who didn’t catch nuances or knew humor and who probably had never been in a supermarket.

  “I sent two soldiers to the president to demand he hand over what you need to be fed to remain at optimal health.”

  She put a miniscule amount of the mashed food on her fork. “Why don’t you trade for food and supplies? It will create some good will for you among humans.”

  He took another huge bite, spoke while he chewed and swallowed. “I do not create good will. I take what I want.”

  “I thought you wanted to be a person with a soul. A person with a soul has pride. He pays or trades for food and supplies.”

  She’d have to teach him not to talk with his mouth full of food. It really wasn’t a pleasant sight.

  He looked up from studying his plate, his gaze so sharp she feared he might cut her in two. He leaned over and she had to resist the urge to jump up to get away from him. “Do not treat me as if I have no intelligence. I know what you are doing.”

  She licked her dry lips. “All I want is for you to talk to the president about trading for food and other things you need. Wouldn’t you prefer to be a trader rather than a thief?” If she could get the two of them to agree to some kind of peace, maybe she could get back to Earth and find Ter.

  Again that sound, like thunder in the distance, came from his chest. He stood, a slow deliberate movement. “You call me a thief?”

  “No, I’m sorry. Of course, you’re not a thief. You’re a ruthless invader.” She couldn’t stop the sarcasm and thanked her lucky stars it went over his head.

  “Why is it so important to you that I trade for food?”

  Ruthless invader didn’t trigger any hostile reaction from him? She shook her head and searched for a reason that would appeal to his logic. She’d never told anyone about the days she mostly went hungry, about the tragic results of the last time she stole food. The way he took what he wanted reminded her of a period in her life she’d been trying very hard to forget.

  “It’s something I can help with. I can go to Earth and talk to farmers. Or I can shop for it in the supermarkets. It would be wonderful if all of us can eat it together in your dining room. I believe it’s called a mess hall on board a ship.”

  “You will never go back to Earth. You are mine, and when you give my soul to me, we will be as one.”

  She wanted to bang her head against the table. Not that again.

  He pointed at her plate. “You will eat this food now.”

  Aurora looked down at the sloppy mess on her plate and lost her appetite. She forced herself to take another small bite of the half-pulped, half-burned mess and took a large gulp of wine to get it down her throat. She’d have to let him know she preferred water in the daytime. She forced more food down her throat, thankful he’d stepped off the subject of souls.

  “I will think of this trade,” he said, magnanimous.

  Aurora forced a smile and took a minute bite of the awful food. “Can we eat in the mess hall with all the other cyborgs?”

  “Why?” Clear suspicion.

  She tried to look innocent. “I would like to meet the people who are important to you.”

  “You want to get to know us and find our weakness.”

  That too, but she wasn’t about to admit to that. “I just want to get to know you and your people. Don’t you trust me?”

  She took another small bite. Today, even more than usual, the thought of stuffing herself full of food revolted her. Was Ter hungry? Did she have food, a safe place to sleep?

  “You have proven that you cannot be trusted.”

  “I’m just thinking how wonderful it would be if we all ate together, if I could talk to your men. I’ve never met someone from another planet before.” She was starting to sound like a broken record, but she wasn’t about to tell him of that terrible day she stolen food. Not after the way he’d refused to let her go when she told him about Ter.

  Aurora pushed her plate away.

  She jumped when he touched her cheek. She’d forgotten where she was. “Why are you having tears?”

  Aurora swiped at her cheeks. It had been years since she cried over that day. Since she cried at all. Why would her emotions betray her now? “Something got into my eyes, that’s all.”

  “Is it because you want to eat in the mess hall with all the cyborgs.”

  So he knew the significance of tears. But he got it wrong, and she wasn’t about to explain to him why she cried. Not when he’d flatly refused to let her help her sister.

  “Yes, that’s it.” Why the hesitation about the other cyborgs? It could be jealousy, but she had the sense something else was at play. “Do cyborgs cry?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t had the opportunity to cry.”

  “I will think on this.” He took her arm and led her to the door. “I have decided that you may accompany me for a few hours, but then you will return to your room.”

  “Thank you, I’d love to see more of the ship.” She had the oddest sense that he wanted to impress her. And she was going stir crazy, cooped up in that cabin.

  He took her through several corridors to a room with walls that moved--almost breathing--and symbols and scratches appeared and disappeared. Again, she had that sensation of being in a lung.

  “Is the ship alive?” She’d seen science fiction movies about organic ships, and the way the walls moved made it feel as if she was in a living sentient being.

  “It is organic in nature, but not self-aware.” He turned to her. “I am self-aware.”

  “I know you’re not a machine, Balthazar. Do you use codes, like with human computers, to give commands?”

  “The ship will not accept commands from you.”

  “I was just curious. I don’t know your language so I can’t even try to give the ship commands.” Yet.r />
  He seated her on a bench that looked as if it was made of the same material as the ship. This room could do with some of the opulence of the bedroom she slept in.

  Aurora thought he might be embarrassed about his insistence that he was self-aware. She couldn’t fathom what it must feel like to know you came off an assembly line.

  “You will not speak. I am working now.” With that, he went to the wall and stood facing it without moving. Aurora could honestly say she’d seen few things creepier than the cyborg standing there without moving for what felt like hours. She really needed to get her watch to work.

  “Is this your office?”

  “Do not speak,” he said without turning to face her.

  It only took about fifteen minutes to figure out why he was willing for her to see this. Nothing she saw made sense. He could reveal the biggest secret right in front of her, and she wouldn’t know. The symbols on the monitors meant nothing to her.

  She did notice that one section of the wall had the same human nature program playing on a continuous loop--a nature program on wasps.

  Maybe she could pass the time by figuring out the tattoos on the wall. This inactivity was slowly driving her out of her mind. She got up and wandered around, made to touch the wall.

  He turned to face her. “Return to your seat.”

  Or maybe not. She went back to the chair. She was about to ask him to please let her walk around again when he suddenly turned.

  “I will take you to your cabin.”

  Aurora got up and stretched, his gaze riveted on her breasts, uplifted by her movement. She checked her instinctive need to pull in on herself. As soon as she figured out what he thought a soul was, she’d have to seduce him. When she came out of the stretch, he took her arm and steered her into the corridor.

  “Could you have my watch fixed? It just stopped working.” She walked into the lift, and now she was sure it moved horizontally as well as vertically.

  He took the watch off her wrist, his fingers rough against her skin, staring down at it, turning it over. “I will have it corrected,” he said.

  “How do you keep time?” She hadn’t seen him carry anything that looked as if it told time.

  “Cyborg,” he said cryptically.

  “What does that mean? You swallowed a watch?” Her joke fell flat. He didn’t react.

  The door opened, and they stepped into the corridor. It was only when they came to the double doors that she knew where she was. “I’d love to learn those symbols flashing on the walls. When you allow me to walk to the observation deck by myself, it would be great if I could follow directions.”

  “I do not wish you to read the directions, and you will never be allowed to move on the ship unaccompanied.”

  “I can see that.” Again her sarcasm went over his head. She went to the bed and sat down. “When will you let me out again?”

  “My soldiers are procuring food for you in the manner you demanded.”

  “They traded for food, is that what you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled at him. Suddenly this day didn’t seem so dreary and without sunshine. “That fast? How did they know I wanted them to trade for food? I didn’t see you talk to them.”

  She didn’t see him give a command, but suddenly an image hovered in front of her, showing five tinners approaching a human farmer and what looked like his sons--she could see the family resemblance. They all stood stock still, and she thought they might be frozen with fear. She didn’t blame them. If five tinners walked up to her, she’d have an unfortunate accident with her underwear.

  “I didn’t think you’d do it this soon.” This kind of speed didn’t bode well for humans if they ever started an all-out war. While humans had to use their communications networks, networks that were vulnerable to sabotage, the tinners could talk directly to each other.

  “We are efficient.”

  “Tunrians certainly are impressively efficient.”

  He stepped into her space, towered over her with clenched fists. “I am not a Tunrian. You will never call me that again.”

  She held up her hands. “All right, you said earlier that Balthazar was a solid Tunrian name. That’s why I called you a--uhm--that.”

  A flame started behind his eyes. If she knew where to find one, she’d go for a fire extinguisher. “I am a cyborg. My brothers and I are superior beings to those copies of copies thinking they could put off-switch commands in us and control us.”

  “Copies of copies?” she asked to hide her excitement at what he’d just revealed to her. They had an off switch. For the first time, she believed she might be successful.

  “The Tunrians are ruled by a society of clones. Becoming clones was meant to solve their over-population problem and allow them unlimited life spans.” His shrug was eerily human. “Cloning technology has built-in problems.”

  “Do you have cloned DNA?” The Tunrians are clones? She couldn’t imagine a species that cloned themselves--that had no children to brighten their lives.

  He stepped forward and lifted her against the wall, his face so close to hers their noses almost touched. “You are here for me to study you, not the other way around.”

  “All right, I’m sorry.” She hated having to put on that conciliatory tone. She’d been the grand master of the foundation for almost ten years now and, obviously, became too used to being kowtowed to. Maybe this would be good for her soul. If she got back to Earth alive.

  He held her securely against the wall, his arms not even trembling at having to hold her weight steady. “You will observe my soldiers trading and correct their behavior.”

  “What exactly do you mean correct their behavior?”

  “You will teach them the right way to speak, the way you taught me conversation.”

  “All right, I can do that. Uhm, when exactly am I supposed to teach them?” She tried to look eager to start.

  “You will observe the soldiers trading. Tonight when we have dinner in the mess hall, you will tell them their mistakes.”

  That was sure to make her popular.

  On the wall, the tinners reached the farmer and his sons.

  CHAPTER 8

  “We came to trade for food,” a tinner said in a metallic, monotone voice that would scare any rational being even more--no, not a tinner, a cyborg. Tonight, she’d probably sit close to him in the mess hall. She couldn’t see them as tin men anymore. If they were anything like Balthazar, they worked their guts out to become people in their own right. They might be the enemy, but they were also people--albeit funny looking ones, but still people.

  “How did you record this meeting?” Aurora asked.

  The space station used to be two hundred and forty miles above Earth. Assuming this ship was using the same orbit, how did they get such a clear picture and sound?

  “We record and monitor from here.”

  Aurora closed her eyes. What could Earth do against technology like that? The satellites orbiting Earth used to be able to take detailed images of virtually anything or anyone on Earth. Balthazar had shot that technology all to hell.

  “W--what do you w--want to trade?” the poor farmer asked. He was inching to the left, and she caught her breath when she realized he was inching toward a weapon.

  “We will trade clothes. We noticed yours are falling off your bodies.” One of the cyborgs went to stand next to the old fashioned shotgun.

  The farmer stood a little straighter, but she saw the shrewd look he sent the cyborg.

  “Where do you get clothes?” she asked Balthazar.

  “We have an antimatter duplicator on board.”

  The farmer still inched toward the weapon, but now there was a crafty look on his face.

  “This food is meant for several starving humans. Clothes wouldn’t be enough trade.”

  Yep, definitely crafty. His clothes might be worn, but they were of good quality. And the farm equipment in the background appeared expensive and in good condition.


  “What do you require?” the cyborg asked. His tone gave no indication as to what he was willing to give up for the farmer’s produce.

  “Clothes, tools, and an agreement not to bomb us.”

  The cyborg stood quiet, and she thought he might be getting orders. She didn’t even want to consider that they could talk to each other over such a long distance. The cyborg on the ground saluted the farmer. “Your terms are agreeable. We will return every week for more food.”

  “As long as you leave our women alone, we are willing to trade with you every week.”

  The cyborg cocked his head. “We trade for food. We do not eat women.”

  The farmer didn’t blink an eye. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  Aurora suppressed a smile. Very slick farmer, that. No doubt he would demand more every week and milk the cyborgs for everything they were worth. The news of this would spread, and maybe more humans would want to trade with the cyborgs. Who knows, maybe the cyborgs might enjoy trade better than war? Maybe she wouldn’t have to use the picos on Balthazar. The wall returned to its normal color. Tattoos pulsed on it.

  “The president requests to talk to you,” Balthazar said.

  She turned to him. Eager. Maybe the president had news of Ter.

  A rough noise started low in Balthazar’s throat. “You will tell him he cannot have you back, You are staying on the ship.”

  She still smarted at his refusal to go let her go back to Earth to search for Ter. Then he turned around and refused to trust her for having stuff in her luggage that she didn’t put there in the first place. “All right.”

  The wall pulsed again, became solid and shiny, and the president stood in front of her, life-size and so real she had to resist the urge to touch him.

  “You are well, Aurora?”

  She stepped closer, leaned up on her toes. “I’m fine. Did you find my sister?”

  He looked down at something in his hand, seemed undecided, but then he held it up for her to see.

  It was the bow of a violin. Her heart stuttered like a sudden pause in a symphony. Ter played the violin. She had it with her the day they tried to escape. Aurora’s heart stopped beating for several seconds, her breath coming in choppy bursts. The bow was old and frayed. Ter wouldn’t be able to use it. Did she still have her violin? Did the monsters at least allow her that small comfort? The part of the bow used to regulate tension, what Ter used to call a frog, was pink. Ter always used a bow with a pink frog.