Page 55 of The Billionaires

“Get-to-know-you questions are supposed to be open-ended,” I say. “If they have right or wrong answers, that’s a quiz.”

“You ask something then,” he says.

“Sure. Why would you want to get rid of a bodily function in the first place?”

He rubs his chin. “That’s a good question. I guess it’s my dislike of being biological.”

I gape at him. “As opposed to what, metaphysical?”

He shakes his head. “One of the things I’m looking forward to in the future is uploading my brain’s contents into a sturdier construct, and then living inside a body much better designed than this meatsack.” He looks down at himself disapprovingly.

Should I reassure him that the meatsack in question is actually very nice-looking? And that it’s the brain inside it that could use some improvement—at least the parts responsible for social skills?

Nah.

Instead, I ask, “So… you wish you were a robot?”

“Or at least a cyborg,” he says, deadpan.

“And you’re sure you’re not secretly a robot already?”

It would explain a lot.

He scoffs. “If I were a robot, sticks and stones wouldn’t break my titanium bones.”

I can’t help but snort. “If we assume becoming a robot—or a cyborg—is a good idea, which it’s not, isn’t technology very far away from that?”

He shakes his head. “Many think so, but I believe it’s just around the corner. Gram is already a cyborg—in that she has a cochlear implant. And if she ever developed severe retinitis pigmentosa, I could get her bionic eyes, which many people already have.”

Wow. Bionic eyes already exist? I didn’t realize. “I understand why you’d get a gizmo to restore function, but you’re thinking of just ditching your body for shits and giggles.” I grin at him. “And if you were a robot, you would not be able to do either of those things.”

Did he just roll his eyes at me? “Don’t tell me you’re one of those who think the human body is perfect as is.”

“I’d say some people’s bodies are perfect.” My treacherous non-bionic eyes can’t help but scan his tall, hard-muscled frame.

“What about the throat?” he asks.

I look at his supremely masculine Adam’s apple in confusion… and with a small dash of lust. “What about it?”

“Same passage for food and breathing,” he says with disdain. “Do you know how many people choke? How many babies? And don’t get me started on how easy the neck is to snap—and how irreparable the damage is that results from doing so.”

Snap the neck? I hope he doesn’t do it to me for asking, “Will your robot body have a blowhole, like in a dolphin?”

He’s unfazed. “Assuming the body will require oxygen intake, maybe. Or maybe it will have solar panels, or use photosynthesis.”

Ooh, I do like the latter idea. If I could perform photosynthesis, I’d be like a cactus.

I rub the back of my suddenly-less-useful-feeling neck. “That’s just one body part. Why get rid of the rest?”

“That’s just the start. Our knees are ridiculously easy to tear. Our taste buds crave things that are bad for our health. And, unlike most other animals, we do not produce essential nutrients, such as Vitamin C, in our bodies.”

Huh. I never thought about it, but he’s right. Deer eat only grass, but they never have a protein deficiency, nor do they take multivitamins. Still, a robot body seems like overkill.

Then it hits me. “This is just like the city you plan to build. You’re trying to play God. To control everything.”

He cocks his head. “You say that as if it were a bad thing.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m ready for the next question.”

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