Transition Metals

As I swing my eyes towards the clear blue skies, I realise that the Moon is waning fast. By the time the Sun sets, the tides will push hard towards the island. I shudder with fear.

“Damn it, Vingt-Deux, do we have to buy you another set of replacement gears?” The sarcasm in Mars’ voice echoes across the metal-concrete of the island. 

I turn to address her. “Save it. We’ve got a new moon coming. Prepare for real tides.”

“Wasn’t that supposed to be tomorrow?” she asks. Narrowing in on her eyes, I see the fear in them. 

What hasn’t been prepared yet?

“Tomorrow? The tides are coming tomorrow?” The higher register of that fool of a friend we call James reminds me that he is unprepared. Yet again. I swear the lad procrastinates on every task laid before him. He starts running to me.

“Are you lying again?” 

Like there was a first time.

“Why would I be? What do I have to gain from telling you that we will be drying algae from our ears tomorrow?”

“I would ‘do my work’, as you always want me to.”

“Sure you would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You never work. Always busy socialising with others, you never have any time to even clean parts of the deck.”

“As if that would be pertinent. Without social connections to the flying merchants, we would never be able to buy you the parts you need, or us any of the necessary supplies. And I’ve never seen you talk to one of them before.”

The line strikes through my circuitry. Sometimes it’s just difficult to speak with others. A metal exterior just makes matters worse. The titanium alloy shell repels humans, leaving them without empathy, without trust. So I started wearing the human shell. Cost me a pretty penny, and it somewhat works. But there still lies the boundary between us.

If only I were human. I could finally communicate with the people around me.

I hear the others start to talk again. Time to return to work. I drop my head, lower the socket wrench, and tighten the bolts on the edge of the island. 

By the time my work on the north corner of the island is done, by the time all the metal has been checked and fitted into its respective parts, another helicopter arrives. To know that they will squeeze us on prices requires little mental effort. Even James knows that. 

Still the allure of the giant black beast with over-extended arms pulls me in, and I run to its cavern. A big man sits behind the low side, perched as only a rich merchant can on a machine gun. The confidence radiates out from him, enticing me to his prices. He wins the first engagement in this trading war, causing me to drop my head.

Without pause, Mars looks back at me, rolling her eyebrows sideways to remind me that the theories of commercial engagement don’t apply on an oil platform in the ocean. I refuse to respond in kind. She has to be wrong.

“Ayy, another traveler lives on this island!” booms the Merchant, laughing heartily. “What can I get for you? Are you looking for a new set of tools?” 

I shake my head. He eyes the old socket wrench, considering. Eyes follow my person, scanning me for something of importance. It’s oppressive. I feel so seen, so watched by the forces around me. 

“How about another hand? That one looks like it’s been through some storms.”

How did he know? How could he know? There’s no way he can. The mask is too good.

I drop the electrical pulses. Only the absolute calm can bring me an advantage here.

“How much for one?” I say, voice flatter than the ocean out there.

“Ah, that would depend on the hand that you would want to buy. I have a few here,” he says, pulling out three of varying sizes and sophistications. “There’s the classic US-made hand, of good quality, but maybe not the best fit for you, that you can have for a cheap half pound of class two metals.”

“I’ll consider it. What else do you have?”

“I’ll sell you this hand,” he waves it around like a vigilant prophet, “for a cheap pound of class three metals. It’s a handmade from Korea, and has the quality of an old Swiss watch.”

“That is much more agreeable. But what is the last hand?”

“This is a real marvel. But I gotta warn you, I’ve been saving this for a buyer in the southern part of this gulf. So unless you can outbid them, there’s no need to tell you about it.”

“I’ve got enough. Let’s hear the details.”

The others are already done with their trading for the day, so if I screw something up here they can’t blame me for it. Plus they know this ruse too well. All of us are flat broke, and this rig only has class one metals anyways, so there’s not much to sell.

The Merchant’s face lights up, and his internal gears turn. He ponders the new asking price. “This marvel of engineering can mold itself to your body type, and can function just like a real human hand. Plus it’s heat-resistant, made of superconducting nerve conduits, and able to carry half a pound of low caliber ammunition within the fingers. Perfect for self defense when nearby humans get annoyed.”

He’s sold. I could probably get this on credit if all works out well.

“And what are you asking for it? I realise that you are working on a slim margin here, so name your price.”

“Only a low, low price of a pound. A pound of class four metals of course.”

With the modern conversion rates between metal classes, there’s no way the helicopter could fly if I paid in class two metals. It’s over. 

“I’m not sure if that will fly.”

“I won’t accept a cent less. Come on now, it’s what you need.”

It’s so necessary that I need to steal it.

“I’m sorry it’s just too expensive.”

His face pickles. He knows that the poor scavenger’s ruse has been pulled on him. Snapping up the wares that still lie in front of him, he says “Always a swindler, aren’t we? Always knew that androids would fake their way into human society and steal from the best of us.”

I watch my dreams of becoming a perfect human rise into the empty air, thundering down their rage like a metronomic god.

[## storms coming and it unites them all finally and destroys much of MCs skin]

As if I needed another piece of good luck in my life, the seas rose and the grey clouds gathered shortly after the black bird left. The chemical receptors in my nose noticed ozone. Because of this, we all rushed around the island, hiding our new-bought goods and securing what little we could before meeting back inside one of the towers to discuss our plans for the storm.

Hiding in what little candlelight we could spare, Jamie speaks first, “We have to bunk in here for this storm. Nothing’s bolted down out there.”

“We all know that our safety doesn’t matter here,” Mars says. “It’s too dangerous to lose anything on this platform.”

“Say what you like, but my life is more important than a few pounds of cheap metal.”

“If we lose too much, if we have to buy too much, we’ll be stuck here, unable to pay for tickets out of here. Won’t that make you unhappy?”

“Mars,” I cut in, “we understand that this is your home, but you and Jamie will die if you stay out there. It’s better to live, and if we have to sell the island itself to eat, so it will be. A chunk of metal in the ocean can’t last forever.”

“So what do we do then?” she asks. Her voice rises as her chin falls, mocking all of my words.

“If the storm winds pick up above 20 mph, you are to go inside. I’ll hold down everything else while I can.”

“Finally pulling your weight,” Jamie laughs.

The winds start to batter audibly against the walls, and we exit the tower. Rain is thrown across the metal of the platform, bouncing harmlessly into structures and equipment. Small objects start to float across the platform, but they hold so little momentum that they fall back down with a sigh.

Mars takes command, preparing to run the organization of our own defense. “Vingt-Deux, to the left! The antenna tower is already starting to rattle,” she begins.

I hate it when she catches something simple like that before I do. But I rush over to the tower, and begin to fit the bolts down again. Reaching into the emergency bag, I grab more metal to reinforce the base, praying that it holds as I lay each piece down and bind it in place. As I finish, Jamie calls out for help. So I turn and sprint to the pile of rubble slowly engulfing him. 

“Don’t throw all of the metal away!”

“Then take these metals inside!”

Mars is unamused. She’s already carting barrels of more precious metals into the safer storage units. But even she’s struggling to move the barrels in the wind. So I throw the last of the metal off of Jamie. He stands up too fast, and is blown back by the wind. Checking the wind is a stupid task at this point, but the pinwheel I keep rotates fast. The winds have to be above the 20 mph I set as a safe limit. 

“You two need to get inside!”

Jamie concedes. He looks to our greenhouse, and painfully looks back to me, before disappearing into the storage. Mars follows after, reminding me to take care of the valuables by the greenhouse. At least all of the tasks are in the same area. Hopefully those two bar the door.

The next hour passes without too many problems, with the notable exception of the greenhouse. It needed to be covered and protected, as glass isn’t one of those materials that survives impacts from winds. At least I can board it up quickly. A cheap metal casing holds well in light winds and doesn’t corrode because of wind. Until the winds pick up. 

I feel the impacts of raindrops on my arms, and notice that the weather has become dangerous. Time to cover the last of the buildings. The storage shed needs to be held in place. I check the bolts holding it into the deck, and all five hold. Good. 

Where can I help build a wall? What can I use? 

No scrap metal remains. Mars is good at her job, and it is gone, hidden inside of a door that I cannot open. I start to pace, working hard to avoid the rushing sounds of oncoming objects. Each one could mean certain death. It turns into a dance, if a little macabre. I scan the island again, hoping to see something to use as a shield, but alas, nothing stands out. This would be acceptable until a noticeable piece of shrapnel hurdles itself toward the storage door. Large enough to break the door, it would leave them under attack from the other winds, rain, and flying objects. Unless some titanium stopped it. With no other choice to protect the humans, I run to intercept, and half tackle the object into the ground. 

Why was I given pain receptors? 

The world fades.

I am shaken awake by James and Mars. It seems they have forgotten the basic rule of electric recharge. I need electricity to restart my systems after a shutdown. Without any sort of electrical charge, my circulatory system just doesn’t run. Once I sit up, I realise that Mars has the D-battery. Also my skin is gone from the upper right side, and only a frame of metal remains. The skin around the border is nicely serrated, and parts of it would cut bread easily.

“So that’s what an android can do, huh,” Jamie says, nodding. He bows to me slightly, before pulling some aluminium and a knife out of his side bag. “Do you need either of these?”

The generosity causes me to recoil. 

“It’s chill. Have what you need. It’s more than deserved.”

Mars says, “You did save us back there, and we never realised that you could do something like that.”

“That’s what happens,” I croak, “When you see me as a human. I’m terrible at being that, apparently.”

Looking at the metal jutting from my body, I feel a jolt. It finally fits. The human skin has never really felt right, for it was always itchy somehow. But seeing the metal that comprises my skeleton for the first time lights a smile across my face. It looks so much more like me. I take the knife, and begin to saw through the ruined shell. The bones beneath are bent and twisted, but they would stand on their own.

“Are you sure you want to get rid of your skin like that?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t fit. Besides, I am an android. It fits better to my self-perception.”

“Without a shell, more like a robot,” James attempts a joke.

“Android,” I reply. “There’s a marked difference between the two. I still have a general human form.”

“Ohhhhh,” he says, like he finally understands. “Do you need help getting off your old skin?”

I nod. With the three of us, the charred remains of my skin are removed quickly. I struggle to stand because of a torso piece, but I make it to my feet and gaze back out at the ocean. It stands stock still, clear of all clouds and waves. 

Turning to the others, I ask, “Shall we begin to clean up the island?”

“We’ve already finished it,” Mars says. “Let’s sit and eat. It’s time to socialise with you. Next time you need replacement gears, I do want to have them ready, in the right size.”