Trans-Human (Post-Human Sequel) by David Simpson

before stepping down from the metal coffins. Once they were on their feet again, the structures disappeared back into the floor. Old-timer rubbed his wrists. They felt like his wrists, which was, in itself, puzzling.
    “Do you no longer believe that you are human?” the man asked.
    Old-timer didn’t know how to respond. “I feel human,” he replied, “but I’m not human any longer.”
    “Why not?” the man asked.
    “Because... I’m made of metal.”
    “Tell me,” the man said, “if you were injured and the injury was so severe that it required one of your joints to be replaced—let’s say in your hip—and you agreed to have a metal joint implanted, would you then conclude that at the end of the procedure you were no longer human?”
    “That’s clearly different,” Alejandra interjected.
    “And if you had two joints replaced? What if you had to have every joint in your body replaced with metal or plastic replicas? What if you needed your jawbone replaced as well? What if you needed every bone in your body replaced? Tell me—at what point do you draw the line and say that you are no longer human?”
    Old-timer and Alejandra didn’t have an answer.
    “Alejandra,” the man began, “you knew that you were going to be physically harmed before you entered this room.” The man’s words were true—it seemed inexplicable to Alejandra that she had maintained her powers throughout the transition and yet she had. “The ability to read people and situations and to sometimes even predict the future was something that you always assumed was connected to your ‘humanity’—to your... meat .”
    Alejandra’s eyes were wide. She nodded. “I thought... I thought it was spiritual.”
    “I cannot provide you with spiritual answers—it is, as of yet, impossible to prove the existence of spirits. There are things that we can prove the existence of, however. Electricity, for instance, can be invisible—it can carry signals—information. Your flesh bodies were excellent carriers of those signals—your new bodies are much better at it.”
    “That doesn’t explain why she still has her powers,” Old-timer retorted.
    “Not entirely, but I can explain it to you,” the man replied. He turned back to Alejandra. “It won’t be a mystical answer, Alejandra. You may even find it disappointing—but it is the reality . You cannot sense other people’s emotions, even if you have always felt that you could. Your gift is purely observational. You are far more in tune with your subconscious than are regular people. You read facial expressions and combine this with a lifetime of subconscious data collection about human tendencies to draw your conclusions, which, you then, in turn, interpret as reading emotions.”
    “That’s hogwash,” Old-timer said, dismissing the explanation.
    “Take your most recent prediction, for example,” the man continued. “How did you conclude that we were going to harm you? The answer is simple: you read the expression on my face...”
    “You have no expressions,” Old-timer interjected.
    “Oh but I do,” the man said, turning back to Old-timer briefly. “They may be subtle but they are present. The one I am exhibiting now is mild annoyance. Please limit your interruptions.” He turned back to Alejandra. “You read my body language. I moved with purpose, yet I was not excited. Why? I do not like causing pain. Yet, I knew I had to so that this lesson could unfold. To deal with the unpleasantness of my mission, I attempted to cut myself off from my emotion and focus on the task at hand.”
    Alejandra’s mouth hung slightly open—she couldn’t deny that all of these observations were accurate, though she had not consciously registered any of them beforehand.
    “You’ve seen actions like this before, haven’t you, Alejandra?” the man continued. “Perhaps when you were young, someone in your family behaved this way before slaughtering an animal for food or clothing? Yes.