Machine Man (serial)

I followed a Better Future van up the ramp. It moved slowly, as if afraid of leaving me behind. I felt insulted. Didn’t they know what I was? Kick it, suggested my parts, or some sentiment to that effect.

“Dr. Neumann? This is Jason. Can you hear me?”

I looked down. I had a speaker near my liver. Actually, I had a speaker where I used to have a liver. “Yes.”

“We’re almost at the top. Are you ready for some acceleration?”

“Yes. Yes.”

The van sprang ahead. I didn’t need to instruct the Contours: they shifted into a lope by themselves. It was a world away from the first time I’d ridden out on artificial legs, when they had tried to shake every bone in my body out through the top of my head. Improvements to the gait model, shock absorption through the torso, or the fact that I had fewer bones; whichever was to thank for it, I was no longer risking serious neck damage with every step.

“The other cars will pull alongside and form a cordon to screen you from emergency services.”

A rectangle of light appeared. As the ramp broadened, Hummers slid up on each side. Then we were outside, and fresh air slapped me in the face. We turned onto the road and I got too close to the Hummer on the left: my gun-arm brushed it. It rocked; its tires squealed.

That was deliberate, I said. Wasn’t it? Because I had written some of this software: collision avoidance was not that hard. My parts were silent. But I knew what they wanted. Okay, I said. Okay, then.

I veered left. My gun-arm touched the side of the Hummer. I pushed, gentle but firm. It fought back; white smoke streamed from its tires. My Jason-speaker barked unintelligibly. I pushed the Hummer again, harder, until it popped out of formation and spun in a smoking half-circle. I accelerated through the gap and then I was running, wind blasting past me, leaving them all behind, and that feeling, it was pure joy.

161.