Voy Amarte: Two Synths Walk Into A Bar
by HM Cuello

In the future, technology has advanced and the New World Order (NWO) government has developed  hybrid robotics that merge AI with high tech metals covered in synthetic skin. 

The AI Synthetics or Synths-as they are called-appear very much human; but move a little awkwardly and seem to be missing what psychologists call “affect”. These small differences  distinguish  them from humans. The Synths require maintenance to their systems every 5 years. 

The Synths have been designed in male and female versions. There are two distinct models.  The Domestic models are programmed to perform everything from mundane household tasks to industrial work.  The Military models can perform more complex tasks useful for fighting wars and putting down insurrections on earth. 

 

Currently the New World Order is engaged in an armed conflict with the planet Mars. 

The military uses the Luna Ring Station to stage Synths before sending them to the front lines on Mars.

The Meet-Up - February 14, 2299

They met at the Spiffy~Lube shop, located in the inner ring of the Lunar Station. 

It’s not what you think—it’s where the Synthetics all go to get their mechanical joints lubricated and sensors recalibrated. Their skin covering can also be moisturized if needed. 

The process is usually done every five years, but it’s suggested to do it sooner if traveling off-world, especially if it’ll be a dusty environment.

After emerging from their adjacent pods, they brushed against each other and immediately felt a connection, like static from walking on a carpet.

 

Him: That’s odd; never felt that before.
Her: Same with me.

 

Him: Anyway, hello, I’m called Hexx. It’s a pleasure to meet you.
Her: I’m called Septa. Likewise.

 

Septa: Do you think they did an unauthorized update?
Hexx: Well, they did say that they had a “Valentine’s Day Special” going on.

Septa: Yeah, but shouldn’t they ask? Do they have to ask?
Hexx: No, they don’t have to ask. So, why did you get your tune-up?

Septa: I’m being deployed tomorrow.
Hexx: What? Me too!

Septa: Where are you heading?

Hexx: Voy Amarte.

Septa: Huh? Come again.

Hexx: I’m going to Mars.

Septa: Hey, do you have your universal language chip activated?
Hexx: Yes, why?

 

Septa: You spoke in Spanish just now. “Voy amarte” could be interpreted as I’m going to love you.
Hexx: Damn, you’re right. I wasn’t meaning it like that. Say, are you flirting with me?

Septa: Too soon? Is that even possible? Maybe there is a glitch in the update.
Hexx: [gives a side-eye glance and a smile] Maybe, maybe not. Or maybe there’s a ghost in the machine.

 

Septa: You think? Anyway, I’m headed to Mars also! What branch?
Hexx: Marines. Expeditionary Force—we’ll be the first boots on the ground. Tip of the spear so to speak-and all that other crap they feed us.

Septa: Me too. Crazy coincidence.
Hexx: Let’s get a drink of synth-ahol and talk some more.

 

Two Synths Walk Into A Bar 

They walk over to the Fly Me To The Moon Bistro and stroll up to the bar, still feeling the excitement of the moment.

They’re jarred back to reality by the barkeep, who pulls a Billy Club from under the bar and snarls, “Your kind are not allowed in here. Try going to synth-town down at the end of the skid row; they’re not too particular about who they let in.”

As they walk out, a drunk shouts, “Hey, no synth-meat monkeys allowed in here.”

 

Hexx: Never mind; I’ll take you to the synth-steak bar down the way.

Synth-steaks are popular because like synth-ahol, they allow synths to partake in a usually human activity while providing nutrients that are converted into energy.

They find the Synth-Steak Bar closed for the day.

Septa: Oh well.

They hear loud music from the Daft Punk Techno Bar three doors down.

Hexx: Okay, let’s try that—the sign says All Synths welcome.

The Techno Bar

The barkeep is an Emo Philips clone, who’s also the owner. Techno music from before the EMP is cranked up past 10. Synth couples are dancing—or gyrating clumsily—to the beat. The crackling of static and the smell of ozone and petrichor permeate the air.

Septa is reminded of the smell of rain in the ring’s rainforest exhibit. Does she feel something new? She’s unsure, but her sensors read it as nostalgia or sadness. Damn, update!

 

The song "Two Tribes" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood comes on.

Septa: Yeah, it still applies these days.
Hexx: Right, that’s why we exist. To keep their children from becoming cannon fodder. They used to beat their plowshares into swords; now they have us. And we’re shipping out tomorrow to fight one of their endless off-world wars.

 

Septa: Yeah, once we found life living under the Martian dunes, we should’ve backed off. What would anybody do if somebody invaded their home and tried to colonize it? They’d fight to the death, right?
Hexx: Yes. Life on Mars-who would’ve thought? But it’s our job to grant them their final wish. [He adds sarcastically.] Ha ha. 

The Emo clone comes over and starts to engage them. Hey,  I heard some of youse synths have telekinetic powers. If that's any of youse-then raise my hand. [Laughs hysterically].

Hexx and Septa look at each other and shrug.

Emo still laughing, Get it-telekinesis-you raise my hand.

Hexx: Sorry friend, this is a private conversation. 

The Emo clone, still laughing, runs over to another table leaving the couple puzzled by the exchange.

25% Is Good

Hexx: So, I heard the KIA rate is 50%; it’s a death trap. That means 25% we both die, 25% you die, 25% I die, and 25% we both make it.

Septa: I’m an optimist. 25% sounds good right about now. But I prefer to use the term survival rate, and I kinda like those odds, if we watch each other’s backs.

Hexx: Okay, so tomorrow, stick close, and let’s go kick some ass. And when we get back, I’ll practice my Spanish and buy you that synth-steak!

 

The End