Machine Man - Max Barry [88]
It was a long way away. I didn’t know if I could reach it. And maybe this was just as well, because was it such a bad thing to lie back, close my eyes, and not saw off my arm? No one would blame me for that. But it would mean dying and I did not want to die, I was more sure of that the closer I got to it. So I strained and stretched and looped my fingers around the saw’s cord. I put the cord in my mouth to change my grip and pulled again. It was a long cord. I pulled and bit and pulled and got the idea that maybe this cord had no end, because wouldn’t that be hilarious. It could be like string theory. I could be quantumly entangled. The saw clanked onto the metal table. I remembered what I was doing and groped for the power button.
One time in a mall I saw a guy demonstrating an electric carving knife. He was showing a silver-haired couple how easily the knife could whir through a roast chicken, slicing off strips of steaming meat with a noise like vrrrreeeee.
For some reason I expected this to sound different.
WITH MY excess arm out of the way, I clamped shut the artery. I’ll spare you the specifics. Let’s just say it was a temporary solution involving my fingers. I needed to buy enough time to get off the table and find medical assistance. I didn’t even care that those assholes had sawed off my arm. I would forgive them that if they helped me live. I leaned forward and took the green surgical cloth in my teeth. I pulled it back, then leaned forward for another bite. Each time I dragged the cloth a few inches closer. I was hoping to reveal a set of Contour Threes down there, because otherwise I was essentially stuck on this table. I tugged the cloth and it bunched up around my face. I tried to nose it aside. I was tempted to take my hand off my artery, because that would be so much quicker, but I didn’t, because it would also be fatal. I caught a glimpse of black titanium and thought, Oh, thank God. The cloth’s center of gravity passed the edge of the table and began to slide to the floor by itself. I saw more metal, and more, and as the cloth passed my thighs I thought, What is that? because there was metal where my thighs should be. And there was metal instead of hips and a metal stomach and my belly button was a logo, a circular design that even upside down I recognized as Better Future’s, and still the cloth slid and I was metal all the way up, a titanium landscape. Tubes led from a gap somewhere beneath my chin, carrying fluids to and from the metal, and I was connected to the metal by tubes and nothing else. I sucked in breath to scream and two of the tubes rose slightly, feeding me air, and I lost it all in a sound like a deflating tire. I had an arm. I had a shoulder. I had a head. I wasn’t sure what else.
A face appeared. Its hair was matted with blood. It belonged to a boy. One of his eyes was the deepest brown and the other was regular brown. He said, “Dr. Neumann. Oh. Dr. Neumann.” He disappeared. “He’s alive!” He returned. Water fell into his hair and down his nose. His mismatched eyes swam with concern. “It’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right.” He touched my hair, hesitant, then with confidence. “You can do it. Hold on. Hold on.”
The room filled with noise. Someone took hold of my head from behind and people in green scrubs moved in to mess with my tubes. No one looked at my face. Something clicked. I heard a high-pitched whine and a deep hum. I felt a sharp pain in my neck and spreading warmth and I twisted to see who was doing that. The hands on my head tightened. “Blood,” someone said, and someone else said, “Got it.” Hands pried