First Gen

Parts. Always the search for parts. We each have different methods of searching. Search, we all do. From the back of Block 1 Scrap Cubicle C, my eyes scan the concrete floor, empty. The scavengers have gone by now and with them, every odd or end has disappeared too. What remains are eight wooden chairs set up around the perimeter of the room - Cubicle C. It is one of many large, grey rooms, of many large, grey Blocks. Even-numbered Blocks for civilians, odd-numbered Blocks for scrap. All grey.

I shift uncomfortably, my tailbone, once bruised as a teenager skiing centuries ago, radiates a phantom ache I know is not possible now. My tailbone was one of the first pieces of my anatomy I swapped out when Neo Humanoidism was officialized. Whatever aching that exists is only in my mind… a recent development.

Across from me, other Z-class semi-bionic citizens stare into the nothingness at the centre of the room.

Block 2’s Resident Engineer IV was the first to suggest the support group during my annual check-up.

Right after it was confirmed that First Generation Neo Humanoid parts could no longer be produced, many First Gens were opting to self-donate. Resident Engineer IV asked if I’d had any thoughts of suicide lately. I lied and told him, no.

Back then it was only partly a lie. I hadn’t made any plans to self-donate though, which is really what Resident Engineer IV wanted to know.

But yes, I’d thought about it.

What First Gen hadn’t considered self-donation seriously after the news hit? Resources used to make the parts needed for First Gens had depleted. If you weren’t fully bionic, there was no way to upgrade the First Gen parts without killing the remaining human aspect of the Neo Humanoid. Options were, replace the remaining human parts voluntarily and go full-bionic or let those same parts die off naturally like they would have 200 years ago. In some ways, self-donation sounded like the most dignified way for a First Gen semi-bionic to go. No, I didn’t want that, though.

Resident Engineer IV told me that denial was a natural part of grief.

He reminded me that if I wasn’t interested in self-donation, I was welcome to ask him about their Z-class Next Evolution Foundation to explore my fully-financed, fully-bionic options. I smiled. I knew all about Next Evo. Had even witnessed the fruits of its charity first-hand myself in Block 2.

But I had Aura.

And besides, we were all still stuck together in Block 2, fully-bionic or not, so long as we were Z-class.

That was the point in the check up when Resident Engineer IV implemented a heavy suggestion for the support group into my program update. Ever since, I’ve found myself in a chair around the perimeter of Block 1 Cubicle C staring at the centre of an empty room for two hours, five days a week. That began four years ago.

At the beginning, there were more than eight chairs, and there was more than just Cubicle C. Due to the efficacy of the support groups, the numbers of attendees had gone down drastically over the years. Many had opted to self-donate or use Next Evo to fund their fully-bionic transformation. Each time a member of the support group self-donated, we were doled out their parts - a kind of consolidatory first dibs. Once friends and family from humanhood, then comrades in bionic evolution, now disassembled pieces to be welded on and re-programmed into those who remained.

Each week, there were fewer Z-class semi-bionics and fewer parts. Little was said during the support groups, even after they started being raided by scavengers. Once word was out that the support groups got first dibs on donated parts, there was no controlling the crowds. Still, as per our programming, we showed up to Cubicle C and sat in our seats and watched metal and flesh collide as neighbours attacked each other for a new heart, a new spine, a new set of lungs.

Before then, any talking done was mostly about the years prior to Neo Humanoidism.

My favourite stories to tell were of being pregnant with Aura. That small kick, the splitting pain of childbirth, the softness of her newborn skin against my breast. Things from a past life, fossilized in chrome. Ancient, human things.

We talked about the transition to Neo Humanoidism in the support group too. Those conversations were my least favourite, although probably, they're the most important. At least that’s what Resident Engineer II used to say. When he asked us about the years leading up to Neo Humanoidism and our decision to convert, our answers were different. Our answers have a common denominator though: we all wanted to live.

Not that those who didn’t convert didn’t want to live. All of us in the support groups fall over ourselves to clarify that too, the still-human function of empathy not yet a thing of the past in most semi-bionics. None of us wanted to speak ill of the dead, no matter how distant or dead they might be.

I used to talk about Michael. How he hadn't converted for this very reason - the problem all of us First Gens were facing now, that is. Although, Michael didn’t think the halt in production of First Gen parts would have to do with a depletion of natural resources, no. He'd said it would be a result of planned obsolescence. Michael used to say it was the way “they” would fully introduce robots… it would be presented as a choice, he’d said. Coercion is what he called it; drip marketing; propaganda. He was always raving about those types of things.

That was why he was dead now.

That’s what I told myself. It’s what Resident Engineer II told me when I shared my memories of Michael with the group. Michael was too stubborn to adjust, the way the human species had in order to survive for millennia.

I used to nod my head… It was the narrative I needed in order to live with missing him. Michael would have known, it was the nod I needed to keep bobbing along in order to survive. He would have known, but he wouldn’t have been happy.

Two-hundred years later, anyone who hadn’t decided to convert to Neo Humanoidism was naturally long-dead. Michael, included. I would have joined him if it hadn’t been for Aura. Aura, with her crippling anxiety and bad knee at thirty was among the first to sign up for Neo Humanoid transplants. If Aura was to last forever, I wanted to last forever with her. Michael, as much as I loved him, be damned.

Appointment by appointment, Aura and I replaced our aging parts with pieces of metal and robotically automated bursts of electricity and slow-released collagen. Not only did the new parts replace the old ones, they helped keep any remaining human elements possible alive, as well. The brain in particular was known to last an alarmingly long time. It was only the body, the failure to absorb nutrients, to regenerate, to hydrate and self-regulate with age that was the problem. The brain could feed on untapped energy for centuries if only it had the right vehicle. Did you know the Original Humans were only able to use 10 percent of their brain power?

Those parts of the brain that did eventually fail could be replaced, but only ever once. After that, the only option was to scrape the whole thing out and go full-bionic. From there, Resident Engineer I would upload The Golden Transcript to your bionic brain. That way, you would wake up with all of human’s history, remembered. You would arise from your human ashes like a phoenix; that’s what Next Evo promised.

Of course, there were other options too. The option to remember your family’s history, your identity, your personality for example cost a pretty penny extra. To upload your own personal history to the Golden Transcript would mean journeying to the Golden Transcript yourself in the first place. Next Evo didn’t cover a trip to the Golden Transcript; only the operation to become fully bionic, itself.

Next Evo was a charity foundation, set up by the government. It was a way to ensure that as many people who wanted to convert to full Neo Humanoidism could, without worrying about cost. Each A-class semi-bionic citizen who underwent full-bionic transformation was obligated to donate the cost of a second full-bionic surgery to the Next Evo fund. This ensured Z-class citizens also had the option to convert. Altruism is what Next Evo called it. Slavery is what Michael called it.

Dotta was one of Next Evo’s prized Z-class candidates. Perfect, sleek, smiling, Dotta was always hard away at work, scrubbing floors, washing windows, and listening in on conversations around the Z-class Blocks to report back to the Resident Engineers. Dotta was a prime example of what A-class citizens were funding when their money went to the Next Evolution Foundation.

At night, Dotta and her daughter, Delta slept in the bunk next to mine and Aura’s. Her daughter, a First Gen semi-bionic like Aura and I, kicked her mother’s bunk above her. Dotta made no response. Delta cried until she fell asleep.

In the mornings, Delta would sit beside Aura and I at the support groups. Dotta swept the floors outside Block 1 Cubicle C, back and forth for hours, listening, recording, and reporting the conversations back to head office to analyze alongside Resident Engineer II's notes.

One evening last spring, Dotta came in to see us in Cubicle C. She tilted her head in a polite smile. She laughed, "I don't understand why you all still resist. Can't you feel it in the air? You can't expect Mother Earth to remain semi-bionic forever with you. Can't you tell, she needs an upgrade too? And with Next Evo, you can join her, free of cost!"

That was the first time she recited her speech. Afterwards, she came every night to repeat the same thing while news of the West Coast burning played on repeat throughout the Blocks.

Last month, Delta stopped coming to the support groups.

When Resident Engineer II brought out Delta's parts for the support group to look through, Aura grabbed a heel. Aura didn't need a heel. She shrugged and said it might make a half-decent kneecap when the time came.

Aura slept with Delta's heel under her pillow and talked to it in the middle of the night.

Dotta swept the floor.

It was why today, in Block 1 Cubicle C with eight chairs left, I knew something was wrong when Delta’s heel was missing from Aura's bunk. Why, when Aura's seat at the support group was empty, what remains of my stomach opened up into an empty pit. How, when Resident Engineer II came to offer me first dibs on Aura's donated parts, I could look into the wet cardboard box of my daughter’s pieces and coldly pluck her emerald eyes from the collection.

After the scavengers left, I stared at the empty concrete in the centre of Cubicle C. Dotta came in. She began, "I don't understand why you all still resist..."

I cut her off and instead asked her to bring me to see Resident Engineer IV.

In his office, I sit and wait for him to pull out his fan of pamphlets and flyers. He talks to me about Next Evo, pointing to its bright pink logo and peaceful branding. He tells me about how Resident Engineer III would be the one to take me through my next steps with Next Evo, how he would help me find what my optimal place in society would be after surgery.

My eyes, the same ones Aura inherited, wander to a pamphlet of a scroll, glowing gold. Resident Engineer IV hasn't mentioned the Golden Transcript; it's not something most Z-class citizens would ask about. Still, I ask.

Resident Engineer IV hands me the Golden Transcript package. I ask, "Would it be possible to upload my family's history to the Golden Transcript, even if I choose to self-donate?"

Resident Engineer IV pauses. He responds, "Yes, however, I do not see the point of this. You have no remaining kin?"

I look down. I tell him, "I know it won't matter to anyone. I just want people of the future - bionics, I suppose - to know we were here. That we tried. We really tried. It's what Michael said he wanted if it ever came to this."

Resident Engineer IV has moved on. He is not programmed for such sentimental topics. He asks, "Did this Michael leave you with a Golden Transcript Journey Fund password?"

I give him the number and for the first time in four years I see Resident Engineer IV smile. He asks, "And you're sure you wouldn't rather go through Next Evo? With this funding, we could exchange the currency - you could receive quite the upgrade with this kind of account. Might even re-categorize you to C-class. You even have enough here to customize your model too..."

I assure him, I do not want to proceed with Next Evo.

Resident Engineer IV says, "We're sorry to hear you won't be joining us in the bionic future. We thank you for your and your family's contributions to the evolution of humanity and hope you take solace in knowing your parts will go to worthy candidates. Resident Engineer V will help you with your options from here concerning your journey to the Golden Transcript."

Resident Engineer IV hands me the pamphlet for the Golden Transcript and tells me Resident Engineer V will be in touch.

I go back to my bunk in Block 2 and practice how I will tell my family's history to the Golden Transcript to keep safe for the world. I tuck Aura's eyes under my pillow. I dream of small kicks.