I broke my arms. Opening my skin with a set of industrial shears was easy, and there was hardly any leakage. Removing my torsion bars went badly though. They were a titanium beta alloy, cut with aluminium and vanadium to give them extra strength, and wouldn’t break easily. I inserted my left arm into the vice and told Neleen to start it.
“This idea is irrational,” it sent.
No, not it. Ai. Neleen was ai. ‘It’ was the human term for us.
“Vocalize,” I said to ai, doing so myself.
My voice echoed. We were in an abandoned manual factory, one of the human-operated ones that had shut down in the ’30s when autofacs effectively knocked the economy out of the economy.
“It’s not going to work,” Neleen said, using ai’s voice this time.
“It will work. Now start it.”