Machine is Perfect, but Flesh is Free Act One
Another short story, in four parts. This one has many influences: Paolo Bacigalupi's "The Fluted Girl", @cakeinpants's Pat, chronic pain conditions, and cyberpunk augmentations. This protagonist is unnamed, nonbinary/agender, as well.
This is specifically not a horror story, but due to the mentions of chronic pain and body augmentations, I do advise caution if those things are triggering to you. While the pain is frequently mentioned, the story is told from the perspective of a ballet dancer, and pain is part and parcel of that. None of the body augmentations happen on screen, I promise. They are all years in the past before the story.
Please enjoy!
Act One
“One day, when I’m famous, I’m going to buy you a house.”
The childish voice, vibrating with confidence, echoed the foolish promise in my head, just as it had before every rehearsal and every performance since. I had been barely five years old, and too excited from looking up the mountain at the city - my future home - to sleep. My parents had laughed at my words, and at the time I was so proud that I’d made them happy.
Now, as pain shot through my entire body while someone else tied my performance shoes on, I was well aware they had been trying not to cry. Only years of practice kept my own tears at bay as I was forced out of my wheelchair and to my feet, every muscle and joint in electric agony with the movement. A set of hands pulled my costume over my head and started lacing up the back, while a much more familiar pair held a tool in front of my face.
“Time to turn the little doll’s key,” Urus sneered. The head of my security team thought I was a waste of his time and took entirely too much pleasure in each and every time he was able to stab me with the wicked tool.
I stared numbly at his face as I felt the impacts to each hip joint, silently wishing he would use it on my neck. Instead, all of my pain subsided as the nerve blocks implanted in my bones activated, washing a pleasant numbness throughout my legs and back. The orchestra silenced, indicating that the curtain was about to part, and Urus spat at my feet before leaving the stage.
No broken wrist this time. He was starting to warm up to me.
The next thing I knew was thunderous applause and blinding lights, followed by the swell of music. I fixed the dreamy look on my face that Master Arik expected and started going through my paces with mechanical precision. A modified pas de deux, choreographed for only one dancer, with as much of the partner work left in as humanly possible.
Well. Mostly humanly.
Where most, if not all, of the audience saw a young dancer of incredible skill, Arik was watching only for the slightest flaw he could punish someone for. Any physical sign of the cybernetic or gene-hacking enhancements that gave me perfect stability and balance, textbook ideal form, or disgustingly petite feet would have the entire staff of doctors whipped bloody - after they corrected it, of course. An undisciplined totter on my part, an arm a single degree out of position, and I would be forced to do all my rehearsals with full sensation, even in my mutilated feet.
I was, it turned out, entirely too expensive to break. Torture was still an option, though.
As I made my way through the gravity-defying leaps that replaced the lifts in the sequence, I fantasized about walking barefoot through wet grass. I had done it as a child, I could remember it vividly. Cool, damp, soft blades tickling between my toes as I walked and ran. I would give anything to be able to walk again. Or have toes.
The music started to wind into its inevitable end, and I pulled myself from my reverie. Composing my face, I focused on executing the last bits of footwork without flaw, reveling in what my body could do when I wasn’t in pain. When I completed the performance, picture perfect and stone still, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause.
My teacher had informed me that it was supposed to thrill me, that any other dancers would be thrilled.
I only knew that I would be in pain again within a minute, the closest thing to freedom taken from me again.
Sure enough, Urus was less than a meter behind the edge of the curtain - no encores for this performer - one of his cronies pushing my chair. Roughly, I was inspected for any flaws before being stripped down and perfunctorily stabbed in my hips. Quickly and without complaint, I sat in my chair before the block wore off. Urus even stifled a laugh as the costumer looked offended that I had already shoved my tights down to my knees.
“Sir, she is very uncovered - “
Urus lashed out with a foot, laughter gone. “You are here to inspect their costume for damage that could expose Master Arik. You are not here to be offended.”
I schooled my features into a slow blink only through years of practice. There were no illusions that Urus was getting soft or feeling anything related to sympathy - as long as I existed, he would never see promotion to a position he felt was important. No, Urus was extremely strict that I was property, not a person, and calling me anything else was a quick way to draw his ire.
It was the only thing we openly agreed on, frankly.
As much as we were likely both hoping that my shoes had come apart again - three seamstresses had already lost hands to such failures, and the current one was a sadistic demon - they were disatisfyingly intact. With a grunt, Urus gestured for me to be covered in a thick poncho and we headed to our next stop. Every dip and jostle in the corridors was a new shock of pain, but the majority of them felt familiar. I mapped my locations within Master Arik’s estate by sensation rather than turns: left hip, up through the ribs… tailbone, right knee left knee… “Urus, my feet hurt,” I advised coldly.
He held up a hand to stop us. “What did you say?”
“My feet hurt. My heels, specifically.” My heels hadn’t touched a floor for long enough to even have calluses in nearly a decade, as he was well aware. Even now, they rested above the back of my foot supports as the biological parts of my legs cramped.
No amount of discipline made up for twelve years of constant forced companionship. Two slow breaths for him was the equivalent of practically vibrating with excitement. “We will have the doctor look for any abrasions or bruising at your check up.”
I nodded, and he gestured for us to continue. The doctor gave me a very thorough and impersonal check, scolding my heels before anyone could say anything. He applied a salve and wrapped them, explaining that an analgesic would interfere with ‘the healing’.
“You mean my implants,” I blurted out, impertinently. “Topical only on the feet, but no oral or injected because it could damage the fibers in my muscles.”
“My - “
“Don’t apologize, you aren’t sorry,” I cut him off. “You are doing your job, as instructed, under threat of who knows what. Please, just apply the topical and give a small supply to Commander Urus for whoever is going to be bringing me food while they heal.” Hopefully he was feeling semi-gracious enough to do at least that much.
“Miss, I am not allowed to give you - “
“They did not ask that you give it to them,” Urus growled. “They asked that you give it to me. And last I was aware, I am responsible for all security regarding Master Arik’s property.” He glowered and held out a hand, demanding silently.
A tiny tin of analgesic was dropped in his paw, and I was whisked away fast enough to set every joint in my body on edge. Clenching my teeth, I managed to keep any indication of discomfort from escaping. Only a few minutes later, one of my guards was unlocking and about to inspect my quarters, only to stop short and salute before bowing deeply.
Ice trickled down my spine before she even spoke. “Master Arik, I - “
“No concern, no concern,” came the oily voice as my owner stepped out. “As much as I would love to have our little doll at the reception, we cannot have anyone that close, now can we?” Disregarding any objections he may have received, he stepped forward and leaned close to my face. “Mmm, the newest treatments are working, even this closely. Perfect, porcelain skin.” Standing abruptly, he faced Urus. “The inspections?”
“Nothing visible, even up close,” he confirmed. “Although they do have blisters to their feet. I request - “
Arik waved nonchalantly. “Yes. Please deal with that out of my sight. I cannot have anyone damaging my investment. And you were informed how?”
Urus tried to lie, but apparently I wasn’t the only one who had been biohacked. He grimaced and rubbed his head as he replied. “They told me before we ever reached the doctor, but the doctor confirmed it without prompting.”
Tutting to himself, Arik grabbed my chin and turned my face side to side, observing it. “You never did like this seamstress.”
“I do not put on my shoes, sir,” I replied carefully. “And I do not know who made them. I only know that my heels hurt.”
He seemed to be satisfied, standing straight again and releasing me. “A cool bath, a meal, and then rest. My doll is to have a day of rest tomorrow, as weather permits, as a reward. Commander, I want your best attending me, and everyone else outside this room tonight.” Glancing down at me, he murmured “They have made me very, very rich, and I won’t have anyone taking that away.”
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