Creative Writing Piece #2

This is a rewriting of my last piece as a piece of genre fiction.

R053 was incredible. From afar, it was nigh on impossible to tell what she was. The polymesh fibre stretched over her slender cage was the perfect replica of a human epidermis. Her hair was the deepest brown; it was hair as well, one of the last examples of human hair harvested from Earth. It was only when one got close that her origin was given away. Under her  skin could be seen the colourful pulsation of transmitter liquid and the cogs that allowed her to interact, move and  emote (as much as she was programmed to). Despite being a near seamless copy of an earth human she was lonely for she was the last creation to look as she did and there had always been a derogatory opinion of the crawlers. Despite her technology being some of the most advanced in the cosmos, due to her aesthetics she was forever to be associated with the inferiority of Earth tech.

When we meet R053 she is speeding towards a supernova to get her fix of death. Not that she herself hoped to deactivate. On the contrary this death was to make her feel more alive than anything there was to experience in the vast vastness that was the Universe. When a star dies, the gases pour out in a swirling vortex and surround those who were near-by. It was this fix that R053 craved. Something about the way she was put together, and the porous nature of polymesh, meant that the gases seeped into her core and had a magnificent effect. Parts of her mechanism were sped up, while others slowed almost to a stop and she was left with a feeling that was hard to describe. It cannot be compared to ‘gravity’ that her muses lived with, as this was an alien concept to our roaming space pirate, but as if she was suspended in a vortex, frozen in an instant and she was able to watch the events around her as a fly on the wall; an omniscient view.

She could tell she was getting nearer as the billboards came into view, the usual “Teleport here to kick the gas habit” bullshit that sprang up as you approached a death camp. The intergalactic patrols were highly disappointed about the destruction of natural heritage to be used in such a way but the UParl had never managed to pass a stature outlawing it. She thought to herself that she would rather hyper and hypo-mechinate and combust than have to live without the buzz. It seemed to fill the space between the lumps of metal inside her.

 As she pulled up into the bike-dock she could tell there wasn’t much waiting to be done, it was nearly ready. The colours and pulsations of the supernova were becoming more erratic. Suddenly, it blew and R053 felt everything rushing towards her and the suspension hit.

***

Disorientation was all R053 could think when she woke up strapped to the regulator. It took a moment for her to realise she was in the repair bay. Again. Shit. She knew was this meant. Involuntary Cryo Treatment.  It had become policy that any person who ended up in the centre more than 4 times in a set period was frozen until there was a remedy for whatever ailment was inflicting them. She was never to feel as wonderful again. She has no choice. Panic flooded her circuit boards and all she could think of was escape. She could tell this was a futile idea but the idea of Cyro Treatment was detestable and fearful to her. It was impossible to tell what civilisation she would be woken up into. What would others think of her then? Would the human race that she was based on still be such a laughing stock? Would she even be recognisable?

A Squelly Doctor walked in and began wheeling her regulator down the corridor. It was apparent there was to be no consultation; R053 was too much of a regular to deserve an opinion on the matter. His long jellyfish like tentacles wrapped around her arms, holding them in place with the huge suckers on the inside of them. The turned the corner and there in front of her were the rows and rows of pods, mostly empty she notes. The man told her that she was at her pod, and someone would meet her on the other side one day; hopefully.

There was no concept of time for R053 which she was frozen. She had no idea of how much or little time has passed while she was in the pod.  To her, it was as if she had blinked for no longer than a split second, but the door to her pod was opening and someone was stood there.

“Ah, patient…. R053. Welcome back.” The voice was creamy and seemed to flood into her audio converters like swirling galaxies. It was like nothing she had ever heard before and when her visual conductors had finally adjusted, she realised she had never seen anything like the person stood in front of her either. Tall frame, lilac skin, azure eyes, slender yet broad in all the right places. Who was this? What was this? When was this? There were so many questions flooding her that she feared she would short circuit.

“Don’t worry,” the voice continued, “the sensations you are experiencing are completely normal. I have simply chose not to answer your questions yet so as to not pack too much new information into your processor at once. There is a now a cure for your… problem and we will be ready to fix you shortly.”

R053 didn’t know how to feel. She realised she would never again experience that tugging, yearning sensation that came from waiting for the news to report another expected Supernova.  There was something else though. She couldn’t place it. It was like there was something else inside her, which seemed impossible. She hadn’t been tampered with had she? No. This place, despite its reputation, seemed too moral for that. It was almost as if this person stood in front of her had altered her in some way. What was happening to her?

“Will… will you be performing the procedure?”

“No, I won’t. I understand you would feel safer if it was a known figure, and at this moment in time, I am all you know.”

“You’re all I want to know…” R053 realised she was wrong when she thought she would never feel as wonderful as gas made her feel. This was real, this was wonderful.