“We wish to speak to a representative of the human race.”

“I am the human race,” I reply, the signal sent through the antenna on my back.

“But you are a mechanical!”

I’m uncertain where or what they are. Aliens? In orbit? Hiding on the surface? They do not appear on my scans.

“I am what remains. My template is human. My mind comes from a human. I am human.”

“You are not organic.”

“I can be organic. I store my DNA, preserved. I carry the cells I have harvested from others. I have a womb. I can recreate the organic human race, if I want to.”

“We wish to speak to an organic human.”

“I hope you are patient then. You’ll have to wait a few years.”