Me and the Hand

I'd picked up the building I live in for a song after working a little deal with another Free Roamer pal of mine a couple of years ago. It's conveniently off the beaten path, in Paedarc's industrial section, so by the time I got there, shortly before sundown, the area was deserted. Part of the reason I'd taken it was a faded sign on one of the outside walls which said the building was occupied by the Handred Company.

I let myself in the door under the sign, and took a quick look around the first floor before heading up the stairs to where I lived. Wouldn't want to be surprised by a squatter in the middle of the night, after all. But the building was just as I had left it, the only sign of any inhabitant being the footprints I had left in the dust the last time I had walked through the building. I jumped up to the second floor and, after a cursory check, unlocked the door to the corner section I occupied.

It wasn't a large space, but it was more than enough. Small kitchen, comfortable sleeping area, and a decent space for everything else. I turned on a couple of lights, opened window or two, grabbed a bottle of the good local beer, and settled myself on the couch near the window and took my boots off.

I'd put the couch where it was because, at the end of the day, there was nothing to block my view of the sunset. The district my building is in ran into the bay a couple of blocks over, and the only buildings between here and there were just one story tall. It was the perfect set up to watch the sun fall slowly into the ocean.

I put my feet up to let them breathe, wiggled my toes, took a couple of sips of the beer, and after a moment, I leaned forward to pull my coat off. Once I was free of it, I ran my right hand over the metal that composed my left, tapping it here and there, then turning a section near where the metal and flesh met. For a moment, nothing happened, but then a series of quiet mechanical noises started, and the forearm section popped, loosening it's grip on my arm. The plates of the forearm spread, then pulled towards the wrist, exposing a series wires leading to seven connection points spaced evenly around my arm. I took a grip on the hand near the wrist and touched a button with my thumb, causing the seven sets of wires to disengage from the connection points, and retract into the open forearm. I pulled the metal apparatus off of my arm and set it down on the table in front of me. The seven connection points, and the connector hub on the end of my stump, all pulled back under the skin, the flesh sealing over them and hiding them perfectly. The skin appeared unblemished.

I leaned back and put my feet up, rubbing the skin of my stump, enjoying the feel of the air on it. I took another sip of beer, and watched the hand.

The fingers twitched, then twitched again, then straightened out to full extension. They tapped out a complicated rhythm on the table, then began to bend backwards, curling back until the fingertips touched the back of the hand. The fingers extended out again, then curled into a fist, lifting the palm off the table. Once again, the fingers extended, and all five worked the hand near enough to the edge of the table, allowing the three longest fingers to curl over the edge. Anchored thus, the crimson forearm section rose up and over the back of the hand, leaning forward so that the entire hand could rise up onto its fingertips, looking like a bizarre red scorpion facing me from between my legs.

The hand shook itself, and two small sensors rose out of the open armature at the highest part of the forearm section. Glowing blue, they blinked on and off at me. The hand made a sighing sound.

“Hey there, little red.” I said, raising my beer to it, “How you feelin'? All systems go?”

The hand shook itself again, while small whirring and clicking sounds occurred inside it. Two small manipulator hands appeared out of either side of the armature from which the sensors had emerged. The small hands rose towards the ceiling, making a thumbs-up, while it chittered happily and then made a 'whaaaaaaaaa' sound.

“That good, huh?” The sensor stalks bobbed up and down in affirmation. “Good to hear. Well, I'm in for the night. Why don't you get some recharge time?”

One of the manipulators gave another thumbs up. Then the hand skittered towards my leg. The middle finger reached out and tapped my ankle twice.

“What d'ya want, ya weird little beastie?”

The forearm section turned, and the two little hands made a brushing gesture, accompanied by more chittering.

“No, I will not move my leg. I have been on my feet all day, while you have just been hanging off of me. Go around, or go over, beastie.”

Making aggrieved noises, the small hands reached out, gripped my pants leg, and, with a strong push from the large fingers below, flipped itself over my leg and off the table. It vanished over the side, causing a small 'thunk' when it hit the floor. Then, with surprising speed, scrambled over to the wall with the nearest energy socket. It leaned it's 'back' against the socket, and a pleased sigh emanated from it as it connected to the power source. Then, it sank down so that its palm and fingers were flat on the floor.

I love that little beastie. I barely miss my real left hand.