“I don’t know. That you were injured, I suppose. That’s what we’re told about cyborgs—that fatally injured soldiers are transformed into?—”
“A more useful form? That was mostly true, at least at the beginning, but there have always been volunteers. I was wounded.” He held up his silver metal hand. “But the injury certainly wasn’t fatal. I was offered the opportunity and I took it.”
She studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. There was no pity there, just curiosity and something else he couldn’t quite identify.
“Do you regret it?”
Despite the blinding agony of the transformation, becoming a cyborg had given him a purpose, had given him a new world with an endless expanse of desert and sky and mountain. He’d thought he would miss Earth, but he found he preferred the freedom of Mars. He hadn’t missed the opportunity for a relationship either—he was used to being on his own. At least he hadn’t missed it until now.
“Not usually,” he said finally, and perhaps she understood what he meant because her face softened.
The wind howled outside, dust particles scraping against the station’s metal exterior. Roland’s digging created a steady rhythm beneath them, a counterpoint to the storm’s chaos. He found himself wanting to fill the silence between them, to explain himself to her in a way he’d never felt compelled to do with anyone else.
“I grew up on one of the factory farms in what used to be the American Midwest,” he said suddenly. “My family had been farmers for generations, but one of the megacorps took over our land. My father managed one of their wheat sectors.”
She settled more comfortably on the rover’s running board, watching him intently. The intensity of her focus made something twist inside him.
“Was it a good childhood?”
“A simple one. A lot less crowded than one of the city complexes.” He looked down at his silver hand, flexing the fingers. “I learned early that life meant growth and death in equal measure. The wheat grew, was harvested, died, and grew again. Everything had its purpose.”
“So how did you end up in the military?”
He gave a humorless laugh. “The drought of ‘47. The corporations decided it was cheaper to let our sector fail than to irrigate it. We lost everything, and the loss killed my father. I heard afterwards that they replaced it with one of the algae farms.” The memory still burned, even after all these years. “The military was recruiting heavily then. Three meals a day and a roof over my head seemed like a good deal.”
“And was it?”
“At first.” He leaned against the rover. “I was good at following orders and good at the physical demands. I rose through the ranks quickly.”
“Special forces?”
“Something like that.” He didn’t elaborate. Some parts of his past were still classified and most of it he didn’t care to remember anyway. “I led reconnaissance missions in disputed territories. My team would go in first, assess the situation, and neutralize threats.”
He watched her face carefully, looking for signs of revulsion, but she just nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“After eight years, I’d seen enough death. Caused enough of it.” He looked away from her, focusing on the wall. In his early years he’d been convinced that he was doing the right thing, but he’d lost that certainty as the years wore on. “When I lost my hand and was offered the opportunity to undergo the transformation, I thought it would be a better alternative.”
“Is it?”
He flexed his hand again. “Most of the time. I’m stronger and faster, I heal very quickly, and my senses are far more effective.”
“But?”
“But I am no longer a man.”
“What are you then?”
“A machine,” he said roughly, not quite meeting her eyes.
“You are not a machine,” she said, and the vehemence in her voice took him by surprise.
“But I’m not human.”
She reached out and laid her hand over his, sending a jolt of electricity through his system. Her skin was warm and soft and incredibly delicate compared to his own. He knew the strength in his cybernetic muscles, the ability to crush the slender bones in her fingers, and he fought back a surge of panic. He would never hurt her, he knew that, but the fact that he could frightened him.
“Does it really matter what you are?,” she said softly. “You’re still a person.”
“Maybe.”
