Synthetics (10 page)

Chapter 14

“You did well.” Cole was debriefing me.

“I screwed up.”

“You displayed emotion and vulnerability; it is the best thing you could have done.”

I stopped talking. Recently it had dawned on me that I was pathetic; just the casual epiphany I know. I was a reaction to the situation. I know that for some people this would have spurred them onwards to a greater level of self-control but I was tired. Damn tired. The type of tired that envelops your mind with lethargy while your body continues at the pace of the world. I was a sleepwalker.

“Try not to look so glum...”

I felt like I had achieved something. It's no mean feat making yourself look sad when you have no facial features.

“You're going to a dinner party tomorrow. Full of congressmen and statesmen. Secretary Cosworth will be there.”

Oh joy.

***

Dinner.

Clean cut waiters; their smiles being the only curve in sight.

Delicate faced ladies whose foundation was a second skin hiding the smallest imperfection.

Square jawed men standing in triangles engaging in circular arguments.

I stood in the center. They fawned over me. They lusted over the idea which I embodied.

Immortality. Perfection.

God, if only they could see in my head. I was a bundle of nerves- figuratively and literally.

“May I touch you?”

“Can you fly?”

“So what strings does a man have to tug on to become like you?”

“It's like Doctor Who and those robot chaps.”

“If we melted you down how much would you fetch on the open market?”

“Angelic, simply angelic.”

“The human form perfected, such beauty.”

The parties, functions and presentations continued for months. I even got to lead the Christmas parade. It was pretty cool. I still hadn’t seen Stuart or Sasha since the integration.

***

“Er… Fletcher?”

“Yup, that’s me,” I said, getting to my feet.

“Um… my name is Amy and I’m the makeup artist…”

I was in the waiting room, ready to go on live TV for an interview.

“It’s standard protocol that I do each person’s makeup before they go on.”

I nodded, “Yeah I could use some lipstick.”

Amy stared at me, her mouth wide with uncertainty.

“I’m joking,” I added, “Don’t worry about it. Hopefully I’m not too shiny on camera.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Amy quickly, “I had better be going now. You’re on in five.”

“Thanks,” I called after her retreating form.

After pacing the room for a while another lady came in.

“Fletcher?”

“Yup,” I said, “that’s me.”

“You’re on,” she said, “This way please.”

After navigating a few corridors I was directed on stage.

“And here he is,” said the host, “The one we have all been waiting for. Would everyone please give a round of applause for Fletcher.”

I strode on, my optics struggling to cope with the flashing lights. It wasn’t until I had shaken the hosts hand and sat down on a couch that I noticed the silence. Not a single sound louder than a gasp emanated from the crowd. I saw a man, just off camera, waving a sign saying ‘APPLAUSE’ frantically.

Looking at the crowd, I said with a little wave, “Hi guys, I’m Fletcher.”

The crowd erupted in relieved applause. At least I didn’t sound like a monster.

“Well Fletcher,” said the host, “You can call me Dave. And I must say that you look amazing.”

I crossed my legs and slouched back on the couch.

“Cheers Dave. I’ve been working out.”

Dave nodded solemnly, “Yeah it shows.”

The man with the sign started to wave ‘LAUGHTER’ about. The crowd acquiesced and I began to relax.

“So tell us, Fletcher,” said Dave, “What exactly is a synthetic?”

“Well, say you have a leg amputated and you have to wear a prosthetic limb?”

“Yeah.”

“Well a synthetic is the extreme case of that.”

“So I think we need to make this clear for our audience Fletcher, you used to be one hundred percent human?”

“I’m still human, Dave.”

“Oh right,” said Dave, “Of course. My apologies.”

I laughed, “It’s fine. I still freak myself out when I look in the mirror. It does take some getting used to.”

“Yes, I bet it does. We usually offer our guests a beverage Fletcher…”

“Got any motor oil?”

“Um… we could…”

“I’m just kidding, I’m fine Dave.”

Dave nodded while pouring himself a glass of water. He was sweating.

“Our other guest for the night,” continued Dave, after downing the entire glass, “Is the rising star, comedian, actor and script writer, Hurley Banks.”

The crowd applauded as Hurley entered. He was a little man, barely five foot, with a smooth face and a crooked mouth.

“How ya doing Dave?” he said, shaking his hand. He then turned to me. “And hi there big guy.”

I stood and took his hand. “Fletcher,” I said, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure is all mine,” replied Hurley, taking a seat, “Ever since I heard about you synthetics I’ve wanted to meet one. I’ve got a few anatomical questions for you. Probably best left for after the show though.”

I laughed. “I’ve got more questions than you do.”

“You sound young,” said Hurley, ignoring the host, “How old are you?”

I paused, realizing that I had missed my own birthday. “Nearly twenty two.”

“Wow,” said Hurley, raising his eyebrows, “Got a girl? An eligible young man like you must be swamped with admirers.”

I laughed but stopped myself. I think my laugh made people uncomfortable.

“Not exactly,” I replied, “I think women view me more as an appliance than as a potential lover. I think I’d have more luck romancing a fridge.”

I got a genuine laugh from the crowd. The man didn’t even have to wave his sign this time. Dave, the host, was pouring himself another glass of water.

“So, Fletcher,” said Hurley. I guess he was controlling the interview now. “What are your plans for the future? And you got an especially long future to plan for, so I hear.”

The interviews got less awkward each time. I think people started to get used to the idea of me and see me less as a machine and more as a human. The problem was, that as time went on, I started to see myself less as a human and increasingly more as a machine. But hey, I was a celebrity now. Who can complain about fame?

***

One white morning, while I was moping around in my room, watching cartoons, Sasha arrived.

“Hello Fletcher.”

He was like my reflection except less embellished. His form looked sullen and drawn. It's as if age was superimposed from his mind onto his metallic features.

“Why?” I should have returned his greeting. Now I was just being rude. “You didn’t have to become a synthetic as well.”

“I was growing old... To continue with my work I had to. The investors have all undergone the integration. Stuart has as well. There are now sixteen synthetics in existence.”

“Stuart? I thought he might have changed his mind.”

Sasha halted his speech. He still sounded old. Probably for my benefit.

“Yes, Stuart as well. Something has happened.”

“What?” I was the master of the monosyllabic sentences today.

“One of the investors, Samara, did not take the integration too well. She has become... Dangerous. There are reports of killings. I should never have let them… I should have installed a failsafe or…”

“What can we do?” I asked, interrupting his guilt-ridden ramblings.

Quite frankly I had expected this. I already felt like I was in the middle of a horror movie so this was a logical development.

“We...”

“You could tell Kevin... The secretary of Homeland Security... He could get her.”

“No,” said Sasha firmly. He sat down on the couch beside me. “They do not know what they are up against. One of us must go. Before she does something terrible. Frederick offered, but I do not think it wise after what happened in Siberia. He has still not fully recovered.”

Something terrible? Hadn’t we already passed that stage?

“I'll go. Stuart might wanna come along too.” I still viewed Sasha as an old Grandpa sipping iced tea. He wasn't going after some mental cyborg chick. “It could be a nice little vacation.”

Sasha looked down. I was starting to notice how the lack of facial expressions affected communication. He could be crying for all I knew.

“She must be stopped soon. CANA won’t survive this. If the government gets evidence of such results they may forcefully terminate the project. You must keep this confidential. It is important that the public does not view synthetics as dangerous.”

I nodded. Was I an assassin now? Cool. Or crap. I didn’t know.

Sasha rose gingerly, as if age still plagued his joints.

“And Fletcher?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Stuart is in his room. You might want to go get reacquainted.

***

After Sasha had left, I headed over to Stuart’s room. With great concentration I knocked gently on the door.

“Stuart?” I called, “It’s me Fletcher. How you been man?”

There was no reply.

“Okay,” I said mainly to myself, “I’m coming in Stuart.”

I eased the door open and found myself in an empty room. It was silent except for the noise of running water coming from the bathroom.

“Stuart?” I said again as I opened the bathroom door.

“Hi Fletcher.”

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

There sat Stuart, now a seven-foot synthetic, holding his head in his hands while sitting on the toilet.

“The hell man,” I said, “What are you doing?”

“I just got nostalgic,” he said standing up, “It’s funny aye. There is so much stuff we can do now, but there is also so much stuff we can’t do.”

I laughed as we left the bathroom.

“So how have you been Stuart?”

I tried to sit on his bed but it buckled so I just sat on the floor.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

“All good,” said Stuart sitting on the floor opposite me, “I haven’t slept since I was integrated anyway.”

“Neither,” I said, “So how have you been?”

Stuart didn’t bother to answer my question and instead said, “It’s good to see you Staggers.”

“It’s good to see you too.”

“I still dream, you know,” he said.

“I thought you said you haven’t slept?”

“I know.” He looked out the window. “I haven’t slept.”

We lapsed into silence.

“I’m sorry about what happened Staggers. It hurt us all.”

I nodded.

“How you liking the new body?”

“Needs wings,” said Stuart.

“Sasha needs a favour from us.”

Stuart started tapping the floor.

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

“So are you in?”

Stuart turned his head to me.

“It’s paying my debt right? All this is paying my debt?”

“I don’t know Stuart.”

“It is Fletcher,” said Stuart getting to his feet. “This is important. CANA is important. We have to protect it.”

I got to my feet as well.

“Yes,” I said, “We do.”

***

Frederick tagged along for the jet ride over to Dubai, where apparently Samara was holed up in a high-rise apartment. Stuart was to meet us there. He had taken another jet, because apparently too many synthetics onboard an aircraft might screw with the navigation instruments.

“Freddy, my man,” I said, sauntering down the aisle, limp free. Yes, limp free. It was glorious.

Frederick did not even notice me. He just continued watching the TV. CANA was on. Word was getting around. No one knew about Frederick, Sasha, Stuart or the Investors, but everyone knew about me. I was a celebrity. I looked amazing on screen. Maybe I could make a career of it, after all this CANA stuff settled down.

“Thanks again,” I said, sitting across the aisle. He looked like he needed space.

I was riding a wave of pretentious pomposity. It felt good to be the envy of seven billion people.

I still didn't get what Sasha was thinking when he integrated the investors. He gave the most power hungry men and woman on earth more power. I guess it's just business. He needed capital and those were the terms. You can’t mix morality with business anyhow. That’s bad business. I did wonder when his dream of a better tomorrow would filter down to the rest of humanity. As always the individual tends to get lost in the big picture. That is, unless that individual is a tyrant painting a self-portrait. Then he is the big picture, but Sasha was no tyrant. He was an old man.