Machine Man by Max Barry Read Free Book Online Page A

behavioral changes exhibited by magnetohydrodynamics when accelerated to supersonic speeds. It was being uncomfortable with Gödel numbering. A few months ago I had attended a presentation on living gels, and when a man in the audience said something was
smart
, he was referring to a process for tricking living cells into fusing with carbon molecules for the first time in human history. And he said it grudgingly. We did not use the word
smart
lightly. We did not use it about a hinge.
    “Very nice.” Someone patted me lightly on the shoulder. “Very nice.” I rolled down my pants, ashamed.
    I CARRIED my lunch to a bathroom and locked myself in a stall. As I picked my sandwich out of the plastic wrap, I remembered what Lola Shanks had said: that things would be tough, and that would make me a better person. She said it was about
how you respond to the challenge
. I was glad she wasn’t here to see this.
    I RECEIVED an e-mail from Cassandra Cautery informing me that a car would take me home whenever I wanted. I just had to call a number. I recorded this in my phone and kept working. After everybody left, I caught the elevator to the AV Center, where vending machines offered energy bars, fruit, and cola outside darkened presentation rooms. It was free, so that engineers wouldn’t wander around trying to find the most efficient sources of calories per dollar. I chose some snack bars and apples and returned to the GlassRoom. I had nothing to do. Most of my work had been reassigned while I was away, the remainder had no deadline. I ate my snacks and played with some programs but was not inspired. I read a sensationalist article about the future of embedded operating systems. Around ten, I picked up my phone. The driver said he would be ten minutes. I waited five, pulled on my jacket, and left the Glass Room. When I stepped out on the ground floor, the corridor lights glowed a dim yellow and the lobby was empty. My footsteps echoed, a soft scuff from my shoe followed by a scrape of carbon polymer, like some kind of machine process.
    I DISCOVERED Building A had bunks. They were small, featureless rooms with barely enough space for a bed, but anyone could use them. If you had two hours before the catalytic cracker finished, you could get some downtime. There were also showers and a twenty-four-hour kitchen. I half-expected to find it populated by a loud, jokey community of scientists, like island shipwreck survivors, but it was empty. I called my driver and asked if he could collect some things from my house. That night I microwaved a shrink-wrapped meal and slept in a bunk. When I woke, I showered and dressed and caught the elevator back and this entire time I didn’t see a single other person. I wished I had thought of this earlier.
    IT BECAME annoying to sit. To transit, from standing. The Exegesis was good for movement but gave me nothing when I went to lower myself into a chair. It was all up to my biological leg, which was thin and weak and complained at the effort. At the hospital, when I’d been doing physical therapy, it had bulked up a little, but since then it had shrunkback to default size. So now I accelerated into chairs, making a
whoof
upon impact. It wasn’t a huge problem. But it was not ideal.
    When the assistants left, I removed my leg, clamped it to a workbench, and swung over some lighting. I studied the knee. Then I disassembled it. By midnight I had built a governor. It looked like a tin of peaches, affixed below the knee. When I flicked a little metal switch on the side, it limited the speed at which the knee could flex. I strapped it on and tried sitting. It worked. I could lower myself into a chair at normal speed with no effort. But I felt unsatisfied. Now that I thought about it, it was very primitive to have to flick a switch. The knee should figure out when to engage itself.
    At three in the morning I gave up on the governor idea and connected the knee’s microprocessor to a computer so I could