Artificial Heart

Prisha gulped down the lump in her throat and closed her eyes. She could hear his breathing now. It was very faint but it was there.

‘I think I panicked,’ she said, voice muffled behind the mask.

He didn’t respond.

‘I’m sorry. That was stupid.’ She turned her head, cheeks hot with embarrassment, but again he turned her face back. Prisha opened her eyes. He was gazing at her. The metal in his face gleamed against the soft light of the room.

His hand moved from her forehead. Prisha sucked in a surprised breath as he pressed the back of it against her cheek.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

He cocked his head. Frowned. The red in his mechanical eye went bright, then dimmed. He suddenly stepped back, hands at his sides. ‘Are you recovered?’

‘Yes.’ Slowly, she sat up. She pulled off the mask, then folded her arms around herself, feeling more vulnerable/uncomfortable/nervous/exhilarated/frightened—so many emotions—than she ever had in her whole damn life. You make me feel strange, Alf.

Crazy laughter bubbled up her throat. She was feeling giddy. She gripped her head at a sudden thump in her temples. So many things were happening. So many mental and emotional and physical things she couldn’t begin to describe. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry.

Had he pumped something into her via the mask?

Alf simply stood there, waiting patiently. Prisha swung her legs over the edge of the bench and stared down at her lap, unable to look at him. Unable to deal with that uncomfortable intensity in his gaze.

She almost wanted his helmet back.

‘What leaders, Alf?’ she said. She squeezed her hands between her thighs. ’Who are you talking about? We don’t have any world leaders.’

She suddenly thought of the UN, America, Europe, Britain. It had to be one of them. Or was there some kind of authority she knew nothing about? When it came to leadership, did he mean the most warlike, the most powerful, the most populated, the richest or the most diplomatic?

Who?

Her mind reeled. She massaged her temples.

‘You are in pain,’ he said.

‘Good observation.’ She smiled at him, then waved her hand. ‘Harmless headache.’

‘You are afraid of your own species,’ he said.

‘I guess you could say that. I’m just an ordinary person, Alf. If you needed someone to communicate with such important people, well … then, you should have taken an important person. Someone like them.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘I’m a nobody, Alf.’

‘So am I.’

Prisha shook her head. ‘You’re definitely not a nobody, Alf. You’re extraordinary.’

‘You are extraordinary, also.’

Warmth spread through Prisha’s chest. Such powerful words in his monotone voice. She dared to meet his gaze. He could not lie, she reminded herself. Not that it mattered; the truth was clear as day in his eyes. ’You wanted a normal person.’

Silent acknowledgement.

Her heart fluttered. ‘Why do you look at me like that, Alf?’

‘I do not know.’

A surprising answer. Prisha looked down at his bare hand. Her heart was thudding as she reached for it. He looked down too. She took it.

‘Are you sure you’re an alien? A machine?’ she said. ‘Because you’re more human than I am.’

There was nothing really different about his hand at all. He had four fingers and a thumb. The same textured skin. Similar in colour. The lines on his palm were different and his nails were more pointed and narrow. There was a little hair on his knuckles.

The she saw the metallic shine along the edge of his thumb. It disappeared beneath the sleeve of his suit.

‘Is a lot of you metal in there?’

‘62.2561%.’

Prisha opened her mouth, then closed it again. She chuckled.

‘You are happy,’ he said.

‘No, not happy—not that I’m unhappy!—it’s just, I had some thoughts, that’s all.’

‘Tell them to me.’

‘No. Uh-uh. Definitely not.’ Prisha bit down on her lip as she grew hot. Would he even understand? 62%. Did he even feel anything? He was gentle and patient but did he actually feel anything? He hadn’t let go of her hand. ‘What do you think of my hand, Alf?’

‘It is small.’ Prisha stifled a shiver as he smoothed the tip of his thumb over the edge of her thumb. ‘And smooth.’ He turned it over so the palm was facing up and stared, unmoving, quiet. Prisha wondered what his synthetic eye saw. She wondered more what his organic eye saw.

‘Fragile,’ he said.

‘Only because you’re a robot,’ she smiled. ’And I’m not that fragile.’

His forehead puckered. Releasing her hand, he stood back. ‘I am 35.065% organic.’

‘Okay,’ Prisha said quickly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.’ She stared up at him, surprised. ‘You’re not a robot, of course! Like I said, you’re more organic than most people I know.’

She wondered how much of his brain was artificial. My memories were erased …

How much of his heart …

‘Alf?’ He was looking strangely lost, like he didn’t know where to look or what to do. His brown eye was swinging in its socket. His synthetic eye kept flashing red. Prisha slid from the bench. ‘Alf? Are you okay?’

He stepped back as she stepped towards him. His brown eye locked onto hers. His synthetic eye dimmed. He straightened. ‘I am satisfactory.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘We must wait until seven hours sub Universal Time Coordinated.’

He turned and left the room. Prisha followed, keeping her distance as he sat at the console again. He was pulling on his glove, eyes pinned to the view ahead. The seat beside him remained open.

Gingerly, Prisha sat beside him. Their hips touched. It was several moments before she had the courage to look at him. She wanted to say something but the words wouldn’t come. She turned towards the window and baulked at the sight of Earth. That cold, heavy feeling leached into her stomach as she suddenly remembered what lay ahead of her.

This was going to be the biggest event in human history—and she was at the centre of it. Prisha closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. Why couldn’t it just be her and Alf? Why all this extra stuff?

‘What am I supposed to say?’ Prisha said.

‘It is only an introduction. Tell them about me. Tell them your experiences.’

‘But I know nothing about you.’

‘You know enough.’

Prisha exhaled deeply and opened her eyes. She could taste vomit. She studied the twinkling lights of so many cities. They reminded her of little glow worms buried on the surface of a dark cave wall. ‘What if I don’t want to?’

‘You must.’

‘Why?’

‘The survival of your civilisation may depend on it.’

Prisha whipped her head around. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Your planet is changing rapidly. Your species is slow to adapt.’

Prisha’s eyes felt so wide they felt like they were going to fall out of her head. Her heart raced. ‘We’re going to die?’

‘Unlikely. No. Not you as a species. As a civilisation.’ The twinkling lights of so many cities burned into Prisha’s retinas. ‘But many of you will die. Yes. Many like you.’

He turned to look at her. His brown eye was burning.

‘Why? Why do you care so much?’ she whispered.

You don’t think much of us, do you? she’d said the first time they’d met. What had changed?

He turned back to the window, hand tight around the lever.

‘You can help us, though?’

‘Yes.’

‘When? When’s the worst to come?’

‘I cannot compute that—but it is already happening. You already know …’

‘I suppose we do.’

‘You do nothing.’

’We do some,’ she protested feebly.

He snorted and it startled Prisha so much she jumped in her seat.

‘Don’t blame me,’ she said.

‘I do not blame you.’ His dark eye narrowed. ‘But if you refuse—’

‘—I was always going to help,’ she said quickly. ‘I merely asked.’

‘You are angry.’

‘No. Annoyed.’

‘With me?’

‘A little. But mostly with my species. With myself.’ Her hands fidgeted in her lap. ’We could be so much more. We could do so much more.’

‘Yes.’

Prisha looked down into her lap with a sniff as silence fell between them. She turned her head, stifling a yawn. What time was it? Her shoulders sagged.

‘You need rest.’

Now it was Prisha who snorted. ‘There’s no way I can now.’

‘I can help.’ He slowly rose from his seat.

‘No! No sedation! No weird alien drugs or experiments. You’ve already done enough to me.’

‘You must sleep. Recover.’

‘I don’t want to. Not yet.’

He was staring at her, waiting.

‘Okay! Jesus, Alf!’ She looked around the ship. ‘Um …’ She looked at the floor, then thought about the bench. She shivered.

‘I have a pod you can use.’

‘A pod?’ She baulked.

‘Similar to one of your beds.’

‘Oh. What about you? Where will you sleep?’

‘I have already slept and repaired.’

He stood and went over to the opposite wall. He waved his hand, there was a flash and a compartment slid open. He pulled out what looked similar to a bed.

‘You’re not going to push me in there are you?’ she asked, bending low as she peered inside the “pod”. There were lots of blinking lights. A computer screen. Tubes and wires.

‘Not if you do not want to.’

‘I do not want to.’

‘I will get your blanket.’

The bed was narrow with a shiny mattress. There was no pillow.

Prisha climbed awkwardly onto it. She stared up at the ceiling, feeling bizarre. How was she going to sleep like this? Not just because of the very basic and rather uncomfortable bed. But in a spaceship. With Alf so close. With what was going to happen tomorrow. Was it tomorrow?

Soon.

Prisha released a shuddering breath. She could not believe this was happening. Outrageous was not a big enough word.

‘Here,’ he said.

Prisha lifted her head so he could stuff a blanket under it as a makeshift pillow. ‘Thank you.’ He laid the second blanket over the top of her, taking a moment to adjust it and smooth it over her in a way that made her ping between the hipbones.

They locked eyes.

‘I’m really not tired.’

‘I will wake you,’ he said.

Prisha listened to his departing footsteps, heart pounding behind her ribs.