Wet weather. Wonderful. Just bloody wonderful.
I pulled my hood closer over my head. It took a lot for stainless steel to rust, but I had been warned with tales of others going home on a rainy night and waking up as a statue. Stiff, unmoving, less than whatever less than human was. Good for nothing but scrap.
I leapt against the fence as a hover car oozing techno dashed past. The magnetism keeping the vehicle off the road sent a puddle sloshing over the footpath missing me by an inch. Laughter from the passengers told me their intentions. I flipped them off as they sped into the distance, then I kept trudging onward.
After copping crap like this for the past two weeks, I decided enough was enough. My family told me to stay, but deep down, I knew what they were really thinking. The clan of a famous newscaster having a metal-skinned son was embarrassing enough. Time to back your bags and get your bolted backside out of here. That’s what I read in their eyes.
The overabundance of iron in the country’s earth was now serving a different purpose instead of a key export. People facing terminal illness, old age or an ugly stranger in the mirror were now offered a choice. They could undergo a process where their brain was put into a metal replica of their old body. Androids, they called them. And boy, oh boy did they cop it from ‘the humans.’
In the top-left corner of my new vision, fluorescent blue digits displayed the time. 7:30 p.m. I had to find somewhere to stay if I didn’t want to end up as the new bonnet on a Commodore.
I still remember waking up a month ago on the surgeon’s table to find myself a stranger. My skin had become a polished chrome surface, my hair swapped out for metallic-fibers and my face a black visor with blue LEDs for eyes and a mouth. The only human part of me left was a brain suspended in a substance like apple juice. If you looked close enough, you could see it behind my screen, floating there like an alien piloting a spaceship.
Minutes ago, I had been enjoying myself with my mates, printing our marks along the trains nestled in the subway. Next thing I knew, we were escaping, and the lights of the midnight express were the last thing I saw. Now, my mates, who talked me into that adventure wanted nothing to do with me and my metal mug.
I turned and looked solemnly at the Steampunk Wallaby, the pub where we celebrated Dad’s sixtieth. It had been only a few days before the train took away my humanity. That had been the last time I was able to eat or drink. The closest thing I got was a clear liquid that went into my brain tank and an extension lead in my foot.
I felt like walking in just for a laugh, imagining the familiar scenario.
‘One beer please, mate.’
‘Very funny, Chrome Dome,’ the bartender would answer.
‘Please?’
‘It’s not like that, mate. We literally can’t serve ya. How you s’posed to drink if you don’t have a mouth? Waste of beer that would be.’
‘Oi, you,’ a voice hollered. I was pulled back into reality. A bloke with wild grey hair and leathery skin was standing out at the front of the pub beckoning to me. His other hand held the door open.
‘You’ll rust out there. Come in and I’ll get you a towel,’ he said.
***
The bar was just like I remembered it. Spiderwebs of copper pipes lined the brick walls. Wooden barrels and oil drums substituted tables and chairs. Warm lights spotted with dead moths cast a dirty glow over the scene. Only a few people were in tonight, all passed out drunk except one guy swiping at a phone. All were human.
I dried myself off, weaving the towel between my joints. The doctor’s warnings from the first week of my rehab as an android jabbed at my brain like wasps.
‘Be careful around water,’ she had said. ‘If your joints rust, there goes your limbs.’
Like I haven’t lost anything else, genius, my mind shot back.
The guy who brought me in turned out to be the bartender. He rummaged around underneath the bench, then hauled a plastic case in front of me. When he opened it, I was greeted by a collection of batteries.
‘Drink up, cobber,’ he said.
‘Are you taking the piss?’ I snarled.
‘Trust me.’
Hoping everyone else in the bar was too drunk to notice, I selected a thin double-A and put the tip to my digital mouth like I was sipping a shot. Instead of a small zap, I was greeted with a sweet taste like a lemon cruiser.
‘How is it?’ the bartender asked.
I was too stunned to answer.
‘How about something top shelf?’ he asked and hauled out a car battery.
‘Uh… I’m right, mate,’ I said and sipped a bit more from the battery. After a few more sips, the taste from the end had vanished. ‘How did I-’
‘Your screen has a terminal behind it,’ someone interrupted. It was the phone swiper, who had sat next to me. He had chestnut skin, a bony frame under his grey suit and dark eyes that contrasted with his chalky hair. His tie was an intricate pattern of red, yellow and black and he wore a gold pin across his heart.
‘In English, please?’ I said.
‘The terminal is where electricity from the battery is absorbed,’ the suit guy explained. ‘Depending on the voltage and chemicals, the energy will taste different.’ He motioned to the bartender. ‘Another usual please, Connelly.’
‘Right at you, Coops,’ Connelly said, and set off to make the drink. The guy turned to me and held out a warm hand.
‘Oscar Cooper,’ he said.
‘Colby Grace,’ I answered, ignoring the handshake.
‘How long have you been an android, Colby?’ Oscar asked.
‘None of your business,’ I growled before sucking a citrusy nine-volt.
‘Actually, it is,’ Oscar answered as he handed me a business card. ‘I’m from MINOS.’
‘The mining company?’
‘Yes. The mining company.’
Oscar handed me a business card. The company’s scarlet wordmark was displayed over a silver background, with the acronym’s translation below. Mining Industry Nexus Oceanic Sector.
In my mind, I corrected myself. These people were no company. I remembered an interview Dad had with one of their higher ups weeks ago. When MINOS began producing the most iron ore in the country, competitors were either assimilated into their steel grip or left to count their days until bankruptcy. In short, they were a monopoly.
‘In the Wurundjeri branch, we’re always looking for new workers,’ Oscar explained. ‘We are especially proud of our diverse employment rate. Our branch employs more androids than any other company in the country.’
‘Why should I work for you?’ I asked.
‘No experience is necessary,’ said Oscar. ‘You will be paid maximum wage. Onsite accommodation is provided. I presume you have only been an android for a week? Two weeks?’
I remained silent.
‘This is your chance to learn about your new body,’ Oscar answered, to which I snapped.
‘I didn’t ask to become a bloody robot!’ I hissed. ‘My old man tries to save my life by turning me into… into this thing,’ I motioned to my iron arms. ‘Weeks later, I’m this.’ I motioned to the empty batteries I had drained. ‘Rubbish!’
‘I want to help you,’ Oscar said.
‘No,’ I spat, ‘I know what you “humans” want. You just want me to be another brick in your ivory towers. You would never know the kind of bull people give me for being different.’
Oscar shot me a glare that could have refrozen Antarctica.
‘I would never know?’ he snarled. Oscar tapped at the pin over his pocket. Looking closer, I could now see the tiny inscription that read, Wurundjeri Elder. My eyes widened.
‘I… I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have-’
I was cut off by a cough. Connelly stood nearby, awkwardly holding a wineglass with amber liquid in one hand, and in the other, an EFTPOS machine.
‘Ah, thank you, Connelly,’ Oscar said. He accepted the glass and swiped a card against the machine. Conelly excused himself and left. Oscar held the glass to his wrinkled lips and took a long sip. When he was done he turned to me. I had my eyes on the glass.
‘You want some?’ Oscar asked me.
‘I… I can’t drink,’ I said.
‘Answer my question, Colby,’ Oscar snapped. ‘Do you want some of my drink?’
‘…Yes. I… I want some of your drink.’
‘Good,’ Oscar said before he finished the glass. ‘You’re honest. That means your apology was genuine, yes?’
I nodded.
‘So, do you accept my proposal?’ Oscar said. He extended his hand a second time.
My eyes flickered between his weather-beaten palm and that surly face. Then I watched my silver fingers extend to shake their fleshy counterparts.