GADGET GAZERS

I thought he was shy on our first date as he gazed into his smart-phone in the bar.  When I saw him more, I considered it clever how he could read internet articles and talk to me simultaneously.  I’d fall asleep with him staring at his tablet and wake with him in the same position.  I felt sad, believing him a slave to his City job.  It would do him good to take a break.

He was shocked when I suggested a country walk.  He asked how long it would take and the exact route.  Before we left, I asked him to get my scarf.  While he did that I took his tablet and smart-phone from his pocket.  I wanted attention.

The walk was beautiful, I could see his features in sunlight, a different expression than the look of concentration he gave his digital devices.  Halfway round, his eyes widened in panic as he searched his coat - tablet and mobile missing.  He asked where they were and I came clean.  I’d never seen him angry, but he grabbed hold of me, fingers digging into my arms; “We must go!” he yelled, “immediately!”

He stormed towards the car park, face like thunder.  Then something odd happened, his movements slowed, then became uncoordinated and jerky.  At the car his voice slurred when he asked me to drive, adding he had a headache.  I parked outside his house and he got out, legs heavy, feet dragging.  There was a whining noise, like machinery straining.  The relieved expression when he picked up his smart-phone was evident.  He grabbed his tablet too, holding them in each hand.  When I looked, I saw the batteries on both were running out fast.  Moments later he plugged them into the mains and stared into them, e-mails on one, an article on the other, nothing unusual, except that power-drain.

I formed an awful suspicion he wasn’t one of us.  I’d never seen him sleep or eat; he spent his entire time reading about how we lived our lives on the internet.  There was only one way to find out.  I invited him to my flat.  He arrived, apologetic about our last date, he’d bought flowers.  I asked him to put them in my vase and when his back turned, I locked the door from inside and switched off the electricity.  He didn’t notice, it was summer and the light streaming through the windows made it unnecessary to switch lights on.  I went to bed before dark and he sat next to me, gazing at his tablet.

He shook me awake; “My devices won’t charge!”

“It’s a power cut,” I explained as I flicked the light switch.
“I must go!”  He went for the door and I padded after him, even in the dark I could tell his movements were uncoordinated.
“Where’s the key?” he cried.
“I’ve hidden it,” I said, “what are you?”
He lunged for me clumsily and I dodged easily.  He was weak, he’d been so absorbed with reading, he hadn’t seen how low the batteries had become until his screen flickered off.
“Please,” he slurred, “I’ll die.”  He pitched forward on his hands and knees.  There was the sound of whining machinery as he looked up; “... save ... me ... need ... power.”
“You’re powered by gadgets?”
“Yes.  All humans ... have gadgets.  Not ... strange ... to ... need ... them.”
“Where are you from?” I demanded.

He froze and his eyes fixed.  He didn’t move when I touched him.  It was like the power inside him had gone.  I’m worried Constable, how many are there?  I see people staring into screens all around.  How can we tell if they’re us or them?  Maybe a sign is they get distressed if they’re separated from their gadgets.  Are they dangerous?   Constable, are you listening to me?  Can you ... can you put your smart-phone down?