CHAPTER ONE

A prison stood tall and grey above all the scattered little houses and storage units that permeated the old industrial complex. Barbed wire fences glimmered with morning dew.

Sparks shuffled along the pavement carrying a blue and white striped bag.

‘It’s the bag man!’ The boy cried out to his friends.

They looked at him with laughter in their eyes.

The eldest of them, who stood in the shadows of the street, lurched forwards and grabbed the bag from his hand.

‘I wonder what it is!’ He said theatrically.

He threw the bag like a ball at one of the other boys, and the boy caught it, and threw it toward another boy.

Sparks stood in the middle, stretching his arms, trying to grab it back every time they threw it. It was awkward, an embarrassment, given his superior strength.

In their excitement, one of the five boys lost his grip on the bag while trying to catch it; the bag flailed off onto the road.

‘No!’ Sparks cried out in dread reaching down to the ground where his lover’s head had dropped with a plop out from the boy’s hands.

‘What the fuck?’ The boy rang out, stepping back.

The other boys laughed.

‘Are you seeing this?’ The elder boy grinned.

Sparks lunged towards his lover’s head, picking it up, ‘No! no! Sark !’ He examined the head for any signs of damage. A slight dint on his chin and dust from the road picked up on the silicone skin but nothing more.

He scrunched up the bag from the road and placed his lovers head back within it.

‘Aww,’ one of the younger boys said mockingly, ‘It’s a puff robot!’

The boys snickered.

‘Are you a puffter robot?’ The eldest shouted, looking towards his younger companions for affirmation.

‘Puffter robot!’ They all chanted, ‘puffter robot!’

He hurriedly walked up through the ginnel, still hearing their mockery behind him.

—

The solar panel shimmered at the side of the house, and bric-a-brac lay in piles. The sun shone white and bright through the clouds.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sparks uttered, smooching Sark ‘s dirty head on the pedestal.

‘Those boys are evil!’ He spat.

Wires hung out from the bottom of Sark ‘s neck.

Sparks turned to his workbench, ‘See, I’m going to fix you!’ He said desperately, picking up a soldering iron and taking a silver battery shaped like a heart with his other hand.

‘If I just connect these up,’ He turned back to Sark .

He took the soldering iron and connected the wires to their relevant connection points; his big hands worked awkwardly yet delicately.

He pulled the hair from Sark ‘s scalp and slid off the silicone skin, which took some effort to get off in one piece.

The silver dome bore scratches and a slight dent. The dent had become shiny with worry from Spark’s fingers.

He turned back to the workbench and picked up his electric screwdriver. Unscrewing the braincase felt like such an intimate moment, even though, logically, he knew android doctors had done this many times.

He kissed the silver dome rhythmically in between each screw he loosened.

When the braincase was off, Sark ‘s circuitry was revealed, with all its many wires going down into the little tank which held a cloned human brain.

There was a switch within all the wires and circuitry; flipping the switch to on, the heart started to beat and vibrate against the pedestal.

He bowed over the pedestal and looked for a reaction in Sark ‘s eyes. There was blinking, and then nothing.

Spark’s fingers traced down his cheek, ‘Sark ?’ he whispered gently in his ear, ‘Sark ? Are you there?’

Sparks stepped around and crouched in front of Sark ‘s face, ‘Please,’ He said.

But Sparks had no tears to cry.

‘Please,’ He sobbed dryly, resting his head against Sark ‘s, ‘I need you, Sark !’ He cried despairingly.

Sark ‘s heart vibrated against his chest, and he rested his head there, stripped bare in grief; he slowly went into sleep mode.

*

Though droids of his model were not supposed to have the ability to dream, dream he did.

Sparks and Sark had the secret droid bar to themselves; the room was awash in a warm red glow.

‘Do you have much sensation in your skin?’ Sark had asked him as they lay together on an L-shaped sofa.

‘I have sensors at various places underneath the skin to know when I’m in water or if something has caught on my skin and torn it.’ As Sparks spoke he felt something light on his hand, ‘What was that?’ He had asked, looking down.

Sark smiled at him sheepishly.

‘What was it?’

Sark  showed him a feather in his hand, ‘can you feel this?’ He brushed the feather on Sparks’s cheek.

‘Yes, only just.’

‘Is it a good feeling?’ Sark  talked with a whisper that held an urgency within his breath.

‘it doesn’t feel bad,’ Sparks replied.

‘I..’ Sark  stopped stroking him with the feather, ‘Does that mean good, or just neutral?’

‘I don’t know.’ Sparks replied, ‘What does it feel like to you?’ Sparks asked curiously.

‘Want to try it on me?’ Sark beamed with a smirk.

‘Why do I get the feeling this… this is…’ Sparks started.

Sark stopped him short and put his lips on his.

They kissed like they had that first time out in the woods, their mouth valves flapping.

While they were kissing, Sark slid the feather into Sparks’s hand. It was only a small feather with blue and black stripes and a slight white tinge. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the feather and stopped kissing abruptly.

‘Try it on me,’ Sark whispered with that urgency Sparks had previously noted. He couldn’t understand how such a tiny feather could call for such urgency! Sparks brushed the feather against Sark ‘s fingers, then down the palm of his hand.

‘It tickles,’ Sark spoke softly.

‘I suppose that was the word I was looking for.’ Sparks replied in his monotone voice.

Sparks was searching through his mind for what to do in these situations but was coming up blank though he had started to get the gist; this was something sexual; there was something he could feel though he didn’t have the words for it.

The more he thought about Sark ‘s hand or moving the feather over his body, the more the sensations were emboldened. Finally, Sark  took the feather from him and moved it over Sparks’s ear like a silent whisper, sending a tingle that transferred itself down his face. 

The doorknob rattled and moved; they both jerked up straight on the couch, turning to the TV. Sark ‘s face flushed red.

The rattling continued, then stopped abruptly.

‘What was that about?’ Sparks asked, walking towards the door. He opened it ajar and peered through.

A bulky security droid was standing outside in the vestibule.

‘Everything okay, Chief?’ Sparks asked.

Chief looked at him blankly, ‘Oh,’ He said, ‘Didn’t know anyone was still in here.’

‘Are you coming in?’

‘Nah,’ Chief replied, eyeing Sparks suspiciously.

‘I’m off to charge,’ Cheif said, pointing toward the door to the other room.

When Sparks closed the door behind him, Sark  burst out laughing, the redness leaving his face.

Sparks lunged toward him and kissed his lips, Sark ‘s urgency having transferred to Sparks. He was no longer in thinking mode; his logic circuits went off as if a switch had been flicked, and he was undressing Sark  desperately.

It wasn’t so much the feelings in his body from touch that mattered; the intentions seemed to matter most to his android brain.

Sark ‘s face started to flush again from excitement rather than embarrassment. Sark  grabbed at Sparks’s clothes to pull them off.

Their hands explored each others android bodes, and then Sark  stopped short at Sparks’s belly button.

‘Do you need any oil?’

Sparks shook his head.

‘I think you need some oil.’ Sark  told him, stepping behind the bar and getting a little bottle.

Then Sparks understood.

Sark  squirted the oil into Sparks’s belly button while his free hand roamed between his legs.

Sparks had no sensors between his legs, but sensors elsewhere in his body lit up, generating feelings.

There were moments when it seemed a bit much, moments when his logic circuits turned back on. But he went with it, hoping the excitement would turn off his logic circuits again.