The Birati were a very proud race. They were vaguely humanoid, but in their case 'vaguely' meant a whole lot of difference. The Birati were a handicapped race as they only had very short, three-fingered hands. They couldn't achieve much in terms of technology but they developed theoretical sciences: mathematics, psychology, literature and others. They would stay confined to their small planet somewhere at the outskirts of the galaxy, if not for a lucky coincident. One day, as the Elder taught a spaceship from another solar system came. The Birati had long ago believed they were not alone in the universe, but they had no means to see it for themselves. The aliens came not to pay them a visit, but in search for help. Fortunately, they had been looking for the only kind of help the Birati could offer them: mental treatment of some of their crew. After several months of working out the ways of communicating, learning about the alien physiology and mental specifications, they finally achieved success. The grateful aliens wanted to share their technology in exchange for the help, but Birati didn't want the technology. They wouldn't be able to utilize it. So they asked the aliens if they could build them simple robots. The kind of machines that were easily repaired could build more of their kind and that could manipulate objects the way Birati could not. The aliens gave them what they wanted and left. The Birati were never the same afterwards. They ordered their robots to multiply so that in time every family on the planet owned a sizeable group of them. The Birati started experiments using their robots. Soon, they were able to build better houses, vehicles and machines. Finally they felt they were beginning to advance the way they deserved. 'Mum, are you there?' The voice of her daughter interrupted a very detailed scan of some mechanism, doctor Lou was conducting. She felt irritated. 'I'll call you later, now go, play, Mou. Take your sisters with H-72 for a walk!' The girl didn't give up that easily, though. 'Mum, I need to talk to you, please! It's important.' Doctor Lou sighed. It wasn't easy to work while having 15 daughters who constantly needed her attention. All the Birati had between 12 to 20 children in one go, and usually of the same sex. Since they also had robots to do all the work for them, it usually was no burden. Just thinking of the older days, without the robots, was scary. Still, Dr Lou was a very busy person. She was working on a very important invention and she'd very much preferred if her daughters were more self dependent. 'All right, come in,' she finally consented. 'You can try your new prosthetic arm while we're talking.' The door opened and in came a nice Birati girl. She was tall, about 110 cm, and weighing only 70 kg. The ground length hair was beautifully red and she had deep, purple eyes. Everybody would call her a beauty, if only for her species' standards. 'But, Mum,' she started arguing the moment the door opened. 'I don't want this arm! Everybody is laughing at us and calling us names. They say we look like our robots!' Dr Lou eyed her daughter. What a nonsense, she thought. People were always so apprehensive to new things. 'There is nothing wrong with having a prosthetic arm, Mou,' she started explaining patiently. After all, the prosthetic arms were one of her most genius inventions and she was very proud of them. 'It allows you to do many things your friends cannot, isn't that nice?' 'It is,' said the girl uneasily. 'But Noe called me a girl-robot and said that I wouldn't be admitted to the University but rather work in the Factory with other robots. 'That's stupid and you know it, Moe. If our people had both the mind and the able body, like our robots, we could achieve much more. Imagine all those experiments you will be able to conduct when you are at the University! You'll become a great scientist and you'll be able to prove your theories without the help of robots! Isn't that worth a little inconvenience now?' The girl didn't look convinced. 'Yes, Mum,' she said, 'but could I at least leave my arm at home when I go to school? I'm sure the rest of the girls would prefer that too, only they don't want to bother you.' 'But you have to learn how to use it. Otherwise, you'll have the same problems I do. Can you see?' The doctor lifted her own clumsy, artificial arm. It was a prototype. The one she was particularly proud of, as it enabled her to work more efficiently on numerous other projects. It was still difficult for her to operate it, though. That's why she insisted on her daughters getting used to them from a very early age. The doctor pointed to the small table in her private lab where this conversation was taking place for a hundredth time perhaps, as Moe was a very stubborn little girl. There were various mechanical parts, electrical conduits, microchips and other technical stuff that also cramped every cubical meter of the small room. It was hard to move around there, not to mention move around creatively. The doctor picked up one of the smaller parts of the mechanism and brought it up against the girl's face. 'This is something that will make you much more efficient in future. Provided, of course, that you stop moaning and let me finish my work.' 'What is this?' Asked the girl curiously, already forgetting about her problems. 'It is a part of a neural interface I am working on. Once it's ready and tested, I'm going to implant it into your brain.' 'What will it do to me?' Moe was as much excited as frightened by her mother's work. It was true that life was much easier with all of the artificial augmentation. She loved being able to manipulate small objects the way her peers could not. She and her sisters were not very popular for this, but they knew very well that everybody envied them. They were still asked to participate in every secret game because with them, the other children could leave their nosy robots at home. 'It will allow you to co-ordinate all your artificial parts more easily. And you will able to add others as you wish.' Answered Lou dreamily. 'And how will you call it?' the girl asked excitedly, looking with her laser eye at her mother's work. 'Bioneural Operational Routine Guard,' said the doctor, stroking the implants on her daughter's face. 'The BORG. Once you get it, you'll be perfect...'
