Andrew Mackay - Pink Symphony

The beeps feathered out into a constant flat line noise.

“Moment of truth, Rabinovich, my friend,” Jaycee said.

Tor rolled onto his side, his neck pushed up at an awkward angle against the cylinder jamming against the floor. He closed his eyes, adjusted his breathing and accepted his fate.

“I’m ready.”

SWISH-CLUNK !

The Decapidisc unbolted, separating out into a metal ‘3’ shape. The whirring inner blades sluiced together, nicking his skin as it clanged to the floor.

Nanoseconds away from death.

Tor thought he’d been executed. His eyelids opened, scraping away the tears. His Decapidisc danced around his feet.

“Am I d-dead?”

“No,” Jaycee showed him his glove, “You’re not dead. But we got the truth out of you, and that’s all that matters.”

Tor fell to his knees and burst into tears, “I wish you’d killed me.”

“So do we. But we’re not mercenaries,” Tripp offered the man his hand, “Get up.”

“I can’t stand this any longer,” Wool said, “Stop torturing this poor man.”

Tor wrapped his arms around Tripp and hugged him as tightly as possibly, “Thank you. Thank you.”

“It’s okay. We’re not the bad guys,” Tripp pushed the confused and discombobulated man away from him. “You and that boyfriend of yours have that all sewn up. Next time, though, you won’t be so lucky.”

“I understand.”

“The only reason you’re alive is because you know how to operate the communications panel and Manuel. Remember that.”

“Pick up the Decapidisc, Viktor,” Jaycee said.

The man did as instructed and swiped the metal execution device from the floor.

“Now, clamped it back around your neck.”

“No, please. Don’t make me wear that—”

“—I said put it back on!” Jaycee screamed in the man’s face. “Do it. Now.”

With a great deal of reluctance, Tor slid the neck hole under his chin and clamped the disc shut. He looked utterly miserable and deflated with the compliance device around his neck once again.

“Right, that’s enough,” Tripp said. “Tor, you stay here and run a diagnostic on Manuel. Find out precisely where we are.”

Tor kept his head hung. The best he could do was nod his head in acknowledgment of his Captain’s order.

“Wool, come with me to N-Vigorate.”

“What are we doing?”

Tripp made his way out of the control deck. “We need to wake Bonnie up. We don’t know anything about where we are. The air out there could be toxic. It certainly seems to be having a strange effect on cats and dead people, anyway. Jaycee?”

“Yeah.”

“Go and wake up Tor’s boyfriend in N-Carcerate. Bring him straight back to the control deck and fill him in on what’s happened.”

“You want me to tell him everything ?”

“He’ll find out sooner or later, so yes. Tell him everything,” Tripp opened the door and let Wool through, “Tell him if we need to fight for whatever reason that he’s first in the firing line. Like a human shield, kinda thing.”

“My pleasure,” Jaycee stormed toward the door and threw Tor a look of evil joy. “You better be here when I get back.”

“I will,” Tor turned to the communication panel and continued his work. “Manuel, run oxygen level diagnostic, please.”

Jaycee reached Trip and walked through the door with him. “Oh, and… Jaycee?”

“Yeah?”

“When you wake up Baldron, try not to batter him too badly, okay?”

“Who, me ?” Jaycee snorted and punched his knuckles together, “The thought never even entered my mind.”

A wave of hurried, muffled voices flew around the darkness. The feeling of an expanding coat hanger pushing through her internal organs was getting too much.

“She’s losing consciousness,” a female voice flew into the air, “Dr. Whitaker? Can you hear me?”

A horizontal sliver of light burst across the darkness, revealing a blurred vision of a delivery nurse. Bonnie opened her eyelids and looked at the floor to find her knees splayed across flooded, spongy floor.

“Welcome back, Dr. Whitaker,” the nurse said, holding her up by her left arm. The image of the woman focused into crystal clarity. The bottom half of her body remained blurred through the plastic casing attached to her face.

An oxygen mask.

“Level off the gas, please,” said another nurse, who kept an eye on a monitor to the left. “No need for the Entonox. She’s doing fine on her own.”

“Keep pushing, Bonnie,” the delivery nurse said, holding her hands out between her legs, “Nearly there.”

Bonnie tilted her head to the right. Holding her hand was her husband, Troy, doing his best to keep her calm. “You’re doing great, Bonnie.”

Bonnie’s cries fogged up the oxygen mask. Her stomach felt like it had been stuffed with a thousand lit fireworks. She bent her knees apart and tried to push said fireworks out from between her legs.

A man’s voice echoed around her head as she suffered her birthing pains, “Good people, it is our pleasure to introduce to you the next level in the Androgyne series. The third generation.”

The USARIC 2110 summit – attended by all twelve board members and their guests – was the highlight of the company’s year.

In his late twenties, the devastatingly handsome Xavier Manning spoke to the audience from the stage. Two twenty year-old women stood either side of him in black underwear.

“The Androgyne Series Three model is an ultra-simple machine. In every way, vastly superior to its previous incarnation. Take a look at both my friends, here. One of them is a genuine human being, born of flesh and blood. The other is not. Can you tell which is which?”

The first woman stepped forward and place her hands on her hip, posing for the audience.

In the front row, Maar Sheck felt along his forearm, pushing the ink around and taking a keen interest in the display.

The second woman stepped forward and turned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees for the crowd of onlookers.

True enough, it was impossible to tell the difference between the two women. Xavier found the audience’s awe most amusing.

A diagram of what looked like a human body appeared on the screen behind him.

“What a difference advancements in technology makes. No more amnesia, except for where it counts. The Androgyne Series Three comes equipped with a fully customizable remit. You need an engineer to carry out tasks for you? You got it.”

Xavier lifted the back of the first model’s hair and lifted it up. He opened a plate in the back of her neck and pressed a button. “Sleep, Bonnie.”

The woman’s head faced down, appearing to be offline. He turned to the second woman and smiled. “So, I guess you figured out which one was the genuine woman, huh?”

The audience giggled. Maar turned to Dimitri and whispered in his ear. “This is incrediful .”

“I know. We should consider stocking future ventures with them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think of the savings on life insurance, if nothing else. If something happens, the repair bill will be a lot cheaper than the insurance pay-out.”

“I see you’re thinking what I’m thinking, Dimitri.”

The USARIC chiefs turned to the stage to see the second woman turn her back to Xavier. He reached for the back of her head.

“Well, everyone, you chose wrong. Belinda, here, is also a series three unit.”

He lifted her hair and revealed a removable panel. The casing slid across her neck, revealing the circuitry inside. Her scalp slid off into Xavier’s hands.