Page 132 of Dustwalker
“The uncertainty. I know what it feels like. When my wife, Linda, went into labor with our daughter, there were complications. Doctor Cooper has worked her share of miracles, but she’s realistic. She told me exactly what might happen, and what she planned to do to stop it. Having to wait through that…it was the worst time of my life. It was agonizing, feeling so helpless.”
Helpless. An adequate word. For the first time in one hundred and eighty-five years, Ronin felt like no matter what choice he made, no matter what actions he took, he couldn’t affect the outcome.
Lara would either live or die, and he had no power over it.
“This is normal?” Ronin asked.
Chuckling, Will turned away to power on a monitor and retrieve a small tool from a nearby tray. “Helplessness is an everyday part of the human condition.”
Once the tool was inserted into one of the bullet holes, a camera at its tip relayed Ronin’s internal damage to the screen.
Ronin stared at the image. “I’m not human.”
“Why? Because you’re made up of different parts?”
On the monitor, neat bundles of wiring and circuitry ran along segmented metal columns, all around the central reinforced case housing Ronin’s CPU and data cores.
“Those parts are just one item on a long list of differences,” Ronin said.
“Yes, in some ways. But an organic lifeform and a machine are not entirely different. Hell, if anyone knows, it’d be me.” Will guided the camera along the scrapes and grooves created by the bullets. “I’m the sixth generation of a family that’s devoted its entire existence to robotics. The sixth William Anderson. You thinkyouhave identity issues?”
Will laughed again. It was a warm, inviting sound. Genuine laughter was a rare thing, it seemed, but it had a strange way of alleviating tension.
At that moment, Ronin would’ve given anything to hear Lara laugh with his own audio receptors. “You’re not your father, or your grandfather, or any of them.”
“Right. But I’m expected to be.” Will fell silent for a moment. “A quarter-inch variance in the trajectory of any of these shots, and you would’ve been in some serious trouble. These armor-piercing rounds they used during the war can chew through inner casings like they’re made of paper at close range.”
“Better me than her.”
“I don’t think my great-great-great grandfather could’ve foreseen any of this, but I bet he would’ve been delighted.”
Ronin’s brow plates lowered. “Over what? Over what happened to the world?”
“No. He abhorred that. I mean the way bots have evolved. His work, when you get down to it, was the very basics of how you operate now. He laid the foundation. Everything in the time since, you’ve developed on your own. You’ve built upon that foundation, creating something new, something…beautiful. You have alife. In the old world, just the thought of that was enough to cause widespread panic.”
Will selected a few more tools, watching the monitor as he slipped them into the bullet hole and began the repairs.
Sparks danced across Ronin’s electrodes, but only distantly. “Does that mean the war started because of bots?”
“I don’t think so. To be honest, it’s hard to say why it happened anymore, even with the records we have. I think it was building for a long time. Bots might’ve been what tipped it, but that was an excuse more than anything. My point is that you have free will. You can experience emotions, you have doubts and regrets, you can fall in love. That’s what it means to be human. It was never about being an organic bipedal lifeform evolved from primates.”
Ronin lay in silence, ignoring the vibrations pulsing through his insides as Will worked.
It couldn’t be that simple, could it? Over decades of wandering, he’d experienced only the merest hints of emotion, never knowing how strong it could be. Not until Lara.
Had he always possessed the capacity for deeper feelings?
Perhaps the answer was simple—he’d always been capable, but it had taken Lara to give him something to care for. She’d sparked his emotions, and now they burned bright. She was the catalyst of his evolution.
“You also have free will,” Ronin said. “You’re no more defined by your name than I am my parts.”
A smile spread across Will’s lips. “You’re right, but I’ve spent a lot of time worrying about it, anyway. It’s a lot to live up to. A family legacy that eclipses anything I might do. What’s important, though, is that we’ve preserved the first William Anderson’s vision in this place. Bots and humans coexisting, having relationships, living side-by-side. I can’t deny that I’m proud to be a part of that.”
“I owe much to you and your ancestors, Will Anderson.”
Will chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, I was relieved as hell when I found out we were having a girl. It broke the six-generation-chain of sons. Meant I didn’t have to make some excuse to explain to Dad why I wasn’t going to name my kid William Joseph Anderson the Seventh.”
Countless humans had been born, had grown, changed, and matured, had lived and died while Ronin walked the Dust, and he’d given them little thought. He’d simply existed, an enduring relic of a time he could no longer recall.
