The Cello

Martenot sat in his study, halfheartedly gripping a pungent cup of liquor, and staring at the docile figure seated on the rug before him. The whir of the huge rows of main frame in the next room had long since faded into the background for the him, currently replaced by the whir of his thoughts.

She was a pretty thing, this one; skin the color of jet fuel, and a human eye like a distant blue sun set in blackened space. Her mechanical eye was set with near perfect symmetry, and the pale blue of the backlight cast a strange glow across her features. Setting the mechanic - bone sutures that accurately took skill -- the skill of a highly trained surgeon and the brain of a meticulous technician.

He thought momentarily of the two children he had operated on today. In a week’s time they would be living out among the rest of them, stripped of their innate drive to do anything but obey, and the emotions that elicited those drives.

The removal of the left hemisphere of the brain, the insertion of the automated systems, the facial reconstruction, the limb replacement; it was his art form. He was good at what he did. The humans were not only functional, but oddly beautiful as well, in an asymmetrical, bastardly way. They were the children of nature and machine.

The scientist took another sip of the potent liquid, and let his eyes wander the human girl’s physique. For a moment he considered taking her, ravaging her as he had many others, but the thought of the physical effort it would require made his body feel heavier in his chair.

They were Masterpieces. Theremin could never understand this strange mix of paternal pride, scientific success, and strange emotionless lust. The man had never been able to see them as he did. Naturally, as a scientist, he had an ingrained drive to improve his creations -- to reach new levels of understanding and new heights of mechanical and biological beauty -- but the moment that screw faced, hot headed man opened his mouth, that drive was sucked right out of him. It was the difference between being drug along behind an aircraft and driving it. He found himself wanting to ravage human girls or dissect small earthen creatures! -- As beneath him as both those things were, he simply wanted to do anything but what the man insisted he do.

And yet, after all his griping, the humans were his prize invention; the ultimate manifestation of his genius. They occupied a great majority of his waking thoughts. Them, and his drinks.

He had accomplished what Theremin had asked him. Out of a desire to expand his reach, or just to avoid being spat on again, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he had found a way to preemptively counteract the emotional response with the antiserum. It hadn’t been about stronger serum, it had been about more invasive connection into what remained of the animals’ brains. It had been about tapping the most initial link in the chain of events that caused the sensations of joy -- anger -- sorrow. Essentially he had found a way to solve the problem at the top of the hill instead of the bottom. Really, he was surprised at himself for how long it had taken him to find the gland. After a hundred years he liked to think himself very familiar with human anatomy; more even than he was with his own.

Of course, there was a chance It had taken so long because he had subconsciously avoided it. Perhaps his logical mind had already come to the conclusion that, at some point, building robots from only mechanics instead of living things would be more economically sound. Theremin had grown so frenzied in his thirst for control, he had started to overlook things of a logical nature. Ironic as he desired nothing but logic to exist in his slave’s minds.

Martenot already knew that with the update, so much of the human process would be negated under the counteractive influence of the system, there was a great chance they would become largely despondent, or even completely useless. He knew the human brain well enough to know that obedience, much like disobedience, was fueled by the chemicals that caused emotion. Without them, even when commanded by an internal voice, the humans would likely not respond well --- or perhaps at all.

This was the truth of the matter. As a man that valued limits as much as he valued advancement, Martenot knew that there could be nothing done to ‘fix’ the issue Theremin had brought up without throwing off the delicate balance of things. He hadn’t tested his theories, of course, so there was nothing explicitly prohibiting a hopeful attitude, except for the fact that he was not generally very good at hopeful attitudes.

Martenot watched the girl’s eyes, one mechanical and one brilliantly human, wander the room in mild interest. Sometimes he wondered what it was like to be one of them. In all his extensive knowledge of how they worked he could still only wonder; wonder and observe, what it was like to live their lives - to be functioning at half mental capacity, and yet still be so alive.

He breathed a sigh, and set his cup down on the table beside him. The girl watched, her eyes lingering questioningly on the green liquid within it. At that moment he decided he would take her after all. Beneath him or not, he would need the comfort of her cries after enduring Theremin’s insufferable attitude.

Much to his displeasure, his boss did not yet know the update was ready to be tested. It had actually been ready for several days now, but for reasons not completely defined even to himself, Martenot hadn’t informed him. Working with the man for upwards of a hundred years, however, had given him a sixth sense for the outbursts, and one was coming. If he didn’t inform him tonight, the scientist would bear the brunt of it. - And deities forbid if he was forced to tell him during his one of his childish fits.

Sitting there in a puddle of his own procrastination, Martenot nearly began to favor the idea; just because of what it could mean. Could he make Theremin angry enough to ship him off this hell hole of a planet?

But no. He must.

With a soft grumble, Martenot rose from his chair.

“B6,” He grunted, “The time.”

“Ten forty-seven and thirty-eight seconds, Sir,” Came her immediate reply.

The scientist nodded to himself and started out of the room. Pausing momentarily at the door, he threw cold instructions back at the still form on his rug.

“Stay where you are. I’ll be back for you in under an hour.”

He didn’t wait to see if she acknowledged. Frankly, he didn’t care.