By Caleb A. Robinson
When I woke, I could feel each fiber of the plasticky hospital sheet covering me. But it was distant, almost like someone else was feeling it.
I pulled off the sheet and stared at two human-looking legs. I dug my fingernails into my right quadriceps hard enough to make it bleed but felt no pain. It barely left a mark. I swore and put the sheet back.
Did they even try to save the old one?
I vaguely remembered someone shouting my name as rocks tumbled down and dust erupted from every surface of the cave we were excavating. It was a travesty, that cave buckling right when we saw the geode. Not to mention the fake leg. Another one.
A sudden spike of fear shot through me. Would the new leg be enough to push me over the threshold? Surely not. I tried to relax.
I checked my watch for the date, realizing I might have been out for a bit. As long as I didn’t miss Mother’s Day, Annamarie would understand.
I was relieved to see I hadn’t. But…
“Caretaker’s Day?” I read aloud.
I smacked the device a few times with my palm, but the text didn’t change.
The door swung inward, and the doctor strolled in. Though it looked like a man, I knew right away that it was a Synthie. Excuse me, a Synthezoid.
Figures, I thought. The Org trusts Synthies to do surgery but not to get their precious stones from the ground.
“Good morning!” Its voice was a notch too cheerful for my mood.
“When do I get to go home?”
It smiled understandingly. Like it knows what this is like. “All in good time. I’m here to test your neural connections. May I?”
I grunted my assent and cooperated as best I could until it was done prodding me.
“Well, you appear healthy,” it exclaimed. “And it looks like we’ve finally answered the question.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “What question?”
“That of the ship of Theseus,” it said enthusiastically.
The name made me pause. “What?”
“It was a wooden ship. They slowly replaced every part of it.” A chill ran down my neck. “The question was whether it was still the same ship after none of the original parts were left.”
I stood. “What are you getting at?”
“I meant that we both… I didn’t mean to alarm you.” The Synthie shifted nervously. “We need to finish your examination.”
“No,” I snapped.
I stumbled a little as I headed toward the door.
“For your own—”
“Screw your examination!” I pushed past the doctor and yanked open the door.
The Synthie grabbed my arm. I turned and punched it in the face, expecting the impact to wreck my knuckles. The synthetic nose folded in against my fist. The doctor stumbled backward. I didn’t have time to be surprised.
I ran.
An alarm started blaring just as I reached the exit. A Synthie cop jumped up from its station and barred my way.
“Let me through,” I growled.
Its mustache twitched. “I can’t do that.”
“Org rules state that you have to let me through,” I said.
Two other cops marched down the hall.
“Synthezoid authorities can’t detain a human against his will!” I shouted.
The other cops grabbed my arms. I tried to shake them loose, but it was useless.
“A Synthezoid authority has the same authority over a Synthezoid as a human authority has over a human,” the Synthie cop quoted back to me.
“What?”
They turned me around.
“Get your hands off me! I’m not a Synthie.”
They forced me to my knees.
“I’m not a Synthezoid!”
The doctor caught up, frowning sadly. It looked like a freak with its nose still crooked. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.” It rubbed its forehead. “You are a Synthezoid now. You passed the threshold.”
I stopped struggling. “What?”
“You’re 50.9 percent synthetic. Now I know—”
“I should be under the limit.” My voice shook. “Two legs and an arm aren’t enough!”
The doctor looked at my hand. The hand that had broken its synthetic nose with no problem. “We didn’t replace just your leg.”
The words sucked the air out of my lungs.
“I want a scan,” I said numbly.
The doctor nodded and pulled out a handheld scanner. It aimed it at me and pressed a button. A cheerful voice chimed, “Subject is 50.9 percent synthetic.”
As when I woke, I felt both numb and like I could sense everything—the linoleum floors under my toes as they dragged me back down the hall, the cool air of the AC units, and the strong but now more relaxed fingers gripping my biceps.
Caretaker’s Day. That’s what Synthies called Mother’s Day because they didn’t have mothers.
But I did. And a wife.
Something snapped inside me.
I tore free from the cops and grabbed the gun from one’s holster before throwing my weight against the other. We hit the ground. I rolled, jumped up, and pointed the gun at my new hand.
Everyone froze.
The doctor’s eyes grew wide with horror. “Think about—”
I pulled the trigger.
The expected pain flashed then was gone. So was my pinky finger.
The cops started toward me.
“I want a scan,” I yelled.
They stopped.
The doctor slowly raised the scanner. “Subject is 50.4 percent synthetic.”
The cops lunged.
“Stop!” the doctor pleaded.
I pulled the trigger again.
Silence.
The doctor raised its scanner. “Subject is 49.9 percent synthetic.”
The Synthezoids looked at each other.
I smiled at them.
They stepped aside.
“This wooden ship still has a few of its original parts,” I said as I walked past.
“We could have found you a new job,” the doctor said behind me.
I looked back. “It’s not just the job.”
The doctor’s eyes grew misty. “I know.”
I turned and kept walking. Better a human with eight fingers than a Synthie with ten.
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Great sci fi story! I imagine the narrator telling his grandkids one day about how he lost those fingers to keep his humanity.
Mesmerizing story! And a bit chilling! When do we cease to be us?
Loved the comparison to the Ship of Theseus. Well done!
Very good! Loved the ending!
So many little plot twists in so few words! I love the reference to the thought experiment but in a sci-fi world!