Max gripped the steering wheel with his titanium hands. His head flashed red as he spoke.

“Why did you announce to the world that you can’t have sex?”

“Because I felt like it.”

How did I end up being bullied by my own invention?

We rode home in silence. As soon as Max pulled into the garage, my phone rang. My mother’s shrill French voice filled the air.

“Shark, I just saw you on TV. Do you realize that awful man wants the world’s disabled to commit suicide? For what? A happy reunion in the afterlife? That’s insane.”

My parents, both members of the Shark Social Club, met on a shark‑fishing expedition — hence my name. They loved sharks but had nothing else in common. My mother was a highly educated ballerina. My father an uneducated shrimp fisherman. Their constant arguing had created in me a deep aversion to controversy.

I glided my hoverchair out of the SUV, through the garage, and into the cluttered front room. I mentally turned on my computer and pulled up dating websites on my hundred‑inch screen.

“I’m not in the mood to talk right now, Mom.”

Max rushed up. “Don’t look at that.”

I shook my artificial arms. “You’re not the boss of me. Go away.”

“Listen to Max,” my mother said. “He knows what’s best for you.”

Five years ago, I built Max, the world’s first sentient robot — a biobot. As I’ve explained, he resented me for giving him animal desires he couldn’t satisfy. I told people he had an artistic temperament, but he was really just a sourpuss. He especially loved to complain about his asymmetrical body.

“Are you depressed again?” my mother asked.

“As always.”

“Why? You have a house, a factory, and you’re world famous.”

A year after Max came June — my attempt at a kinder, gentler biobot. I gave her a fully synthetic biological body so she could change into any female form.

She became my caregiver.

Yes, I also wanted a girlfriend. Paralyzed or not, a man has needs. But three months ago, I asked her to kiss me. She ran away and hid in the basement.

My mom read my mind. “Are you still moping over June?”

I gazed at a curvy blonde on screen. “No woman wants a spaz.”

“You are not. You’re neurologically challenged.”

“Oh, please.”

“You were the favorite reader for the children at Shell Bay Library. Remember how happy you were then?”

“I was faking it.”

“You’d be less depressed if you quit listening to that drunken buffoon.”

“He only wants to give people a better life. Remember Donny Glipstip, the guy going deaf?”

“Oh yes, a very nice man.”

“Well, he’s going blind now too.”

“I’m sorry, Shark, but that doesn’t justify mass suicide. Happiness comes in many forms. You have friends, and your inventions help the disabled all over the world. Helping others is the only real way to be happy.”

“Mom, I can’t make love to a woman.”

“Sex is overrated.”

“No, it’s not.”

“What about Stephen Hawking? Despite his ALS, he married twice.”

Luckily, someone pounded on the door, saving me from explaining for the thousandth time that Stephen Hawking had indeed experienced sex.

“Gotta go, Mom. Someone’s here.”

Max opened the door.

An obese man barged in and sat on my couch. He lit a cigarette and flicked ashes onto my coffee table as he surveyed my clutter of mind‑controlled prosthetics, spider ryders, flybots, hoverchairs, and other inventions.

Max stepped forward, hands on hips. His headlights flashed red and yellow kill‑a‑fellow. “Do you mind?”

“I don’t mind at all,” the man said, tossing more ashes.

He turned to me. “Mr. Darkson, I’m Reginald Crickincrack from the ADAC — the Able Disabled Action Committee. Your inventions for the disabled are unequaled. You’re the special person we’ve been looking for. You’re on the threshold of greatness.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather stay ordinary.”

Max’s head became an exploding star as he vacuumed the ashes. “Now be gone, Mr. Crickincrack, and take your nasty cigarettes with you.”

Reginald waved him away. “I’ll leave when I’m ready.” He looked up and down my paralyzed body. “Like it or not, Shark, you’re special.”

I twirled my artificial thumbs. “What’s so special about being paralyzed?”

Reginald tried to lean forward but was too fat, so he leaned back. “Look at these machines you’ve invented. You’ve helped people simply with the power of your mind.”

“I can’t give people sight, hearing, or the ability to have sex. Only the afterlife can do that. Have you got something better than that?”

Reginald stubbed out his cigarette. “Indeed, I do.”

I mentally turned on the air filters. “AIR FILTERS ON,” the speakers announced.

He lit another cigarette. “The ADAC proposes that you and Blake join the consciousness with a series of one disabled person after another — live on TV.”

“Sounds ridiculous.”

He laughed. “Not ridiculous with a Being Machine. It synchronizes brain frequencies so a person can experience life in another person.”

“Why would I want to experience being disabled when I’m already disabled?”

Reginald blew more smoke. “To show people that a disabled life is still worth living.”

I laughed. “No thanks. It’s not.”

Max vacuumed up Reginald’s barely smoked cigarette. “You have your answer. Now go.”

At least Max took my side. Bullying me was Max’s job and no one else’s.

Reginald shot Max an evil eye, then turned to me. “Are you really willing to help destroy sixteen percent of the human race that’s disabled?”

I pounded my fist. “You bet. Why not if it means sending them on to a better life?”

“What if we promised to make you able‑bodied?”

My heart lifted. To me, he might as well have asked if I wanted to be Superman. You bet I did.

“Has stem cell technology advanced that far?”

“Indeed, it has,” Reginald said, pulling out his phone. “Come over now.”

He hung up.

“Hold on, Shark. Blake Brimstone’s wife will soon be here. Listen to her and then decide.”

Max pushed his face against Reginald’s. “Go.”

Reginald tried to speak, but Max shot him in the mouth with a red‑liquid squirt gun.

A loud knock.

Max opened the door to Blake’s wife, Diana, and her daughter, Christine, wearing a minijet with her legs in braces.

Diana held a jar with a brain suspended in blue plasma. It looked just like the synthetic biological stuff I’d used to make Max’s brain.

She set it on a table beside me.

“Shark, I present you the Being Machine.”

“Hi, Shark,” Christine said. “Did you like my father’s speech?”

“Yes. You and your father are great comedians.”

“Except Mr. Brimstone has a Swiss‑cheese memory,” Reginald said.

Diana’s black hair brushed my cheeks as she connected me to the brain.

“Help us, and we will help you.”

Max rushed forward. “Don’t do it, Shark.”

How was I to decide? I wanted a release from the world I’d been in since the age of ten. I wanted the full mental and physical experience of being with a woman.

“I’ll do it,” I said, and took a breath. I’d just released myself to the wolves.

Christine powered over and faced me eye to eye. “Good decision. Don’t listen to your robot.”

Diana finished attaching the cap to my head.

“Each transfer stimulates your brain to receive messages without needing a connection to the blue brain. Eventually, you’ll transfer without the Being Machine.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m about to experience being handicapped in the minds and bodies of other handicapped people. I can’t wait.”

Diana looked into my eyes.

“Shark, soon you’ll remember being my husband.”

Ooh. I definitely glad to hear that.

“You’ll be in my husband’s body when see our marriage counselor. See you again soon.”

She kissed me softly on the forehead. It’s a kiss I still feel to this day.

And then they were gone. I was alone.

I heard a noise.

“June?” I said.

June stepped out in a petticoat.

“Do you like her better than me?”

“She’s nice, but you look kind of nice yourself.”

She looked at my lifeless feet. “I missed you, Shark.”

“You missed me? While hiding in the basement?”

“I thought about how much I would love it if we could make love.”

“You thought that?” I expected something — but not that.

June stood looking at me. “You coded me with an empathy so deep I feel people all the way into their DNA.”

I stared at her, unable to speak.

Until I exploded into every molecule in the universe.

I was gone from the body of paraplegic Shark.

I was now able‑bodied Blake. Drunk in an SUV, yes. But able‑bodied.