Artificial Heart
12

‘I am here,’ Prisha repeated. ‘Just because I’m the one stupid enough to creep onto your spaceship.’ She shook her head.

‘Will you do it?’

‘If I do it, does that mean I get to stay up here with you a little longer?’

‘Yes.’

Prisha looked away, trying her best not to reveal how much the thought exhilarated and petrified her. Spending time with Alf. Cruising around on his spaceship. Becoming the mouthpiece for alien-human relations. To be so significant. So special. To be a part of history.

Holy shit.

It was a big ask. A mammoth task. Prisha’s hands shook and she squashed them under her armpits. ‘I’ll do it if you give something to me in return.’

‘What?’

‘Take off your helmet. Show yourself to me. I deserve as much.’

He didn’t move. Prisha waited. He was peering up at her, hands still braced upon his knees, visor vacant and bright against the light. Prisha stepped back with a start as he suddenly stood. Her eyes widened as he reached for his helmet. Her heartbeat quickened.

The alien paused, then lowered his hands. ‘You are frightened.’

‘No, I’m not!’

‘Later.’

’Alf! That’s the deal! How can I tell my own species what you’re like when I can’t even see what you’re like?’

Prisha swallowed again, wondering what could be so bad under his helmet that he should hesitate. So many possibilities. So many horrors. So many nightmares. Prisha’s hand shook as she wiped her mouth. His appearance didn’t matter, she told herself. He was patient and gentle, and that was the most important thing. She could handle it. She could handle it even if he possessed the crab-face of Predator.

I will handle it.

Alf raised his hands again. Prisha’s heart returned to its fast pounding as he reached beneath his neck and unlatched something. There was a faint hiss. Slowly, he eased his helmet off.

He held it under his arm.

Prisha stared. Her heart slowed. ’That’s not so bad. You’re—you’re kind of human.’ Much more like Terminator than Predator. That was definitely a good thing. Relief swept over her. She even smiled.

‘Our species have similar origins,’ he confirmed.

‘We do? How?’

‘You will learn.’

Prisha’s eyes couldn’t help darting over his face. Alf stood stock still, allowing her to study him shamelessly, unembarrassed, seemingly unconcerned by what she might think. He was definitely part machine. It was obvious. Over a third of his face was built with some kind of metal. It seemed to have grown into the skin. Or was it the skin growing into the metal? Uneven patches of it spread as far as the edge of his nose and as low as his jaw.

But it was his left eye that really shocked her. It was pushed deep into his head, a dull red glow. It was twitching very inorganically. Prisha reached up to grab her throat, stopped herself and dropped her hand back down.

Prisha looked to his mouth which was otherwise normal. Soft lips—she saw that. The only softness about him. As for his right eye—it was hard to look at. Not because there was something strange and frightening about it—completely opposite, in fact. It was because it was so normal. Human. A deep brown that looked at her with an intensity that made her feel uncomfortable. He had thick, dark eye lashes that made it look as soft as it was intent.

She was wrong. His lips weren’t the only soft things about him.

Prisha cleared her throat as she looked back into his mechanical eye. The easy eye. She could have laughed. The irony. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘No.’

‘Why? Why are you like this?’

‘Survival. It is how my species once continued. When parts of our bodies wore out, we replaced it with synthetic technology.’

’Once continued?’

‘Technology has progressed. Now, instead of living in the same partially synthesised body forever, replacing it continuously as tissues die, we download our consciousness into a fully grown organic clone of ourselves.’

’You grow yourselves? You grow human beings? I mean … beings like you?’ Prisha suddenly imagined millions of capsules filled with sleeping shiny new adults being fed through tubes. ‘So you never die?’

‘We can. If we are damaged extensively enough. If there is no backup.’

Backup. Like a computer. Like a hard drive. ’So, you can’t die. If there is a … er… backup.’

‘Not unless we choose to.’

‘Who would choose to?’

He didn’t answer.

’But what about you? Why are you still like this? What about your organic body?’

‘I have an organic replicant. It was he who commanded me to collect data from this region.’

‘Organic replicant,’ she murmured. She looked at him with a start. ’You-you commanded yourself?’

‘The newer version of myself. The more advanced version.’

Prisha blinked rapidly. ’But then if he’s alive what about you? I mean … why are you alive?’ Prisha snapped her mouth shut. Was that insensitive?

Alf didn’t notice. ‘I am dispensable. Useful. I survive in territories my organic replicant cannot.’

’H-how many of you have there been? How old are you?’

‘I am the oldest. The original version. I cannot calculate how many of your planetary years. I am not privy to how many versions there have been of me.’ He paused. ‘Several.’

The original version.

She frowned as she studied him. Short dark bristly hair. It was hard to tell if he was greying. There was a bald patch above the left ear where more of that metal shone through. His eyebrows were thick and sat low over his eyes, though half his left one vanished into the metal.

Prisha shook her head, confused. ‘But you’re not old. Shouldn’t you be old?’ She dared to reach out and touch the hard muscle of his right arm. And it felt like real muscle, not metal. He didn’t move. He didn’t pull away.

‘I began synthetic reconstruction before I reached aged maturity.’

‘Why?’

‘I was gravely injured and destined to die.’

’Oh.’

‘My synthetic material also retards the ageing process of my organic tissue,’ he continued.

Prisha frowned. ‘That’s terrible, Alf.’

He cocked his head. Both his eyes blinked, though the left a touch slower than the right. ‘What is terrible?’

’That you had to go through that. That you kind of … died so young. A horrible thing to go through—I would imagine.’

He looked down at her hand. Prisha quickly let him go. She folded her hands awkwardly in front of her lap. Looking down at her feet, she forced a wobbly smile. ‘It’s good to finally know you, Alf.’

‘It is good to know you too, Prisha,’ he said.

Prisha held back a shiver as her skin erupted with goose bumps. It was the second time he’d used her name—and it was weird … Somehow even stranger than the first time.

Stranger and weird …

And awesome …

And …

Prisha blushed. ‘But doesn’t that mean you had a name once? A real name, I mean? When you were alive?’

‘Most probably. But I cannot recall it. My memories were erased when I became a drone.’

‘Erased?’ Her eyebrows shot up. ‘So, you don’t remember anything of your original life?’

‘No.’

‘But that’s awful! How can they do that?’

‘Do what?’

’Do that to you! Erase all that you are! Don’t they care about you at all? Your people? Your new self?’

He stared at her like he didn’t understand the question. ‘It is the best way. No attachments, no memories, no yearnings makes me an efficient drone.’

Prisha shivered at his apathy. There were too many questions. Too many mysteries. Too many dreadful possibilities to fill the whole damn universe.

‘So, what do we do now? What’s the plan?’ she asked.

He went back to his console, setting his helmet down. Prisha followed and sat down beside him. Again, like always, their hips were touching. Feeling hot, Prisha released a breath as she shook out her shirt.

‘You are uncomfortable,’ he said.

‘No. I’m fine.’ She smiled at him, then looked towards the window. ‘So … how do we begin?’

‘We wait until night falls.’

‘What do you mean? It’s night already.’

‘Not at our destination.’

‘Our-our destination? Where are we going?’ She swallowed. ‘Why are we going there?’

‘To meet your leaders.’

Prisha’s eyebrows shot up. ‘My leaders? W-why?’

‘To communicate.’

Prisha stared at him. ‘N-now?’

‘When night falls.’

Prisha blinked at him. ’You want me to communicate with my … with my leaders?’

‘I have set up a meeting point. Seven hours sub Universal Time Coordinated.’

Prisha made a choking noise. Her skin prickled. Her teeth chattered. From feeling so hot, she suddenly felt very cold.

‘You are frightened,’ he observed.

‘Damn straight I’m frightened!’ she exploded. ’I can’t talk with them!’

‘Why not?’

‘What the hell am I supposed to say?’

‘You are angry.’

‘Yes, I’m angry! Wouldn’t you be?!’ Prisha was finding it hard to breath. Grabbing her head, she bent over her lap, closing her eyes as she tried to draw down some air. ‘What’s wrong with me? I feel-I feel s-sick.’

Big warm hands gripped her shoulders. She could hear Alf’s voice but it was oddly muffled, as though he were speaking from a distance.

‘I’m okay. Just give me a minute,’ she gasped.

Her eyes were open but all she could see was black.

His hands pulled away. Then she was moving, lifting right out of the chair, as though she were floating. Her head lolled strangely and she realised that Alf was carrying her. There was a ceiling with tubes and lights—a familiar one. He lowered her. A familiar hard bench pressed against her back.

He put something over her face—a mask. Prisha tried to sit up but he pushed her back down. No restraints this time. He was standing by the bench, forehead puckered.

Prisha’s heart was beating fast but the coldness was easing. The cold sweat was drying up. Her breathing slowed. Prisha looked away, embarrassed. Firm but gentle fingers took her chin and turned her face back. Alf’s left eye seemed to burn a deeper red. His right eye burned with an intensity that was deeper still.

Prisha watched as he slid off one of his gloves.

He rested his warm hand upon her forehead.

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