"Maybe we should think about this, Tommy."
"What's there to think about. We cannot force her to do anything she doesn't want. It will have to be her choice, Charlie. That's the only way I'll go along with this."
"When she hears the options, I think she'll come to her senses, but what if she doesn't?"
"Then it's simple. We run. We run and don't look back."
They reached the house, both thankful to see light flooding over the threshold as they opened back the door and stepped out of the night. Fifty-two was waiting at the table, her arms folded patiently in front of her.
Charlie smiled. "It looks like we may have a way out," she said.
The girl robot studied Charlie's face carefully and then turned to Tommy.
"Is this true?"
"Charlie spoke to Agent Faraday," said Tommy.
"He cannot be trusted."
"Maybe so," said Charlie. "I won't deny that he's an enormous creep, but I think he's willing to let you go. He's still a person, Fifty-two, and people can be reasoned with."
"What does he want?"
"Your memory file. That's it."
"My memories. All of them?"
Tommy nodded sadly. "I would suppose he'd prefer to clean out as much as possible. You won't remember any of this. You won't remember the things we talked about. You won't remember me."
Fifty-two bowed her head, the hum of her neck motors exclaiming loudly. She sat as if in quiet contemplation.
"It's a chance for a new beginning," said Charlie. "Most people don't have an opportunity like that."
"Can I be like you?" the girl robot asked Tommy. "When I'm reactivated, can I stay here with you?"
Tommy examined Charlie's blank expression. "We'll see," he said.
"What must I--"
Fifty-two's words abruptly halted as the door swung open. Faraday leaned against the door frame, holding a gun in one blood-streaked hand.
"Faraday, what--"
Charlie never had time to finish her sentence. Faraday had a vacant stare on his face as he lifted the gun into the air, firing twice at Fifty-two as she looked up at him, her eyes bright. The first round penetrated her head, striking her memory core. The second was aimed at the heart--the central processing unit. Blue sparks flew from the wounds with an electronic screech, and the robot effectively shut down. She slumped over the table, and it shook with her weight. Her eyes had gone dark. She was dead.
Faraday said nothing and had no time to react as Tommy charged across the room, knocking the weapon from his hand, grabbing him by the throat, and shoving him up against the wall with so much force that the plaster cracked on impact.
"Jesus!" yelled Charlie, still processing what had just happened. "Tommy!"
"You should not have done that. That was unnecessary," said Tommy.
Faraday sputtered, and his face turned purple. Tommy eased him back to the floor but retained a tight grip.
"Fortunately, that's not your call, tin man," spat Faraday. "It wasn't up to you."
Tommy's eyes glowed with an intense heat.
"That was not necessary."
"Don't you see? It was."
"She would have taken the memory wipe. That was not necessary!"
There was a certain pulsing sound in Tommy's voice, a parcel of anger that Charlie had never heard before. It shook her. She instinctively took a step back.
"If I'd done a transfer, there was always the chance of residual memory leakage in the unit. We had to be sure."
Tommy said nothing. His tightening grip was his only reply.
"It was for the greater good!" Faraday yelled, as if trying to convince himself.
"Tommy, put him down," Charlie said softly.
"No. He killed her."
Faraday coughed. "You do anything to me, and she won't be the only dead robot."
Tommy pulled Faraday close and slammed him back against the wall, forming another crack.
"Your heart is beating at a very high rate, Faraday. Are you frightened? Tell me, what does it feel like?"
Faraday said nothing. He clawed at Tommy's metal hand with his own, but that mechanical grip refused to budge.
"She felt fear, too. Did you know that? I, on the other hand, have the unfortunate opportunity to feel anger. Shall I tell you what that feels like? It feels like immeasurable loss, for the sake of nothing. You could have given her a clean slate. She could have started over. She could've had a name."
"Tommy?" Charlie stepped toward him. "He's right about one thing. If you do this, they'll come after you. And me, Tommy. They'll come after me, too. There are only a few things in this world worth dying for. Think about that."
Suddenly, a warm glow came in Tommy's eyes, and he dropped Faraday to the floor, sending him rolling against the wall before climbing slowly back to his feet.
"This unit is no murderer. I am no murderer."
Faraday hunched over, catching his breath. His head pounded--a hammer striking somewhere deep inside inside, on some twisted vein between his heart and brain. He coughed again, and the blood red tint began to drain from his face.
"Me neither," he said. "Lucky for you."
"I want you to leave. You'll never bother me or Charlie ever again. Understood?"
Faraday straightened his collar absently. "Understood," he said with an aloof tone. He turned to the door as Tommy walked away from him, but Charlie caught him by the shoulder.
"There's something else you need to understand," she told him in a whispered voice. "You did what you did because those were your orders. You were doing what you were told. I get that. But Tommy, see, did what he did out of passion. So you tell me--which one's the man, and which one's the machine?"
Faraday said nothing. He glared at her coldly as he finished straightening his jacket and stepped outside, vanishing in the night.
Tommy knelt beside Fifty-two's broken body. He prodded her, examining the wounds and the extent of the damage.
"Jacketed hollow points," he said. "They penetrate and expand, destroying anything in their path."
Charlie stripped off her wet coat and jumper and folded her arms, shivering.
"Can she be salvaged?" she asked.
"No. Everything worth saving is gone."
"We're still here."
Her words fell on deaf ears. At this moment, Tommy was consumed by his own processing thoughts. To him, there were only two irreconcilable truths.
Faraday was alive.
The girl was dead.
"What's there to think about. We cannot force her to do anything she doesn't want. It will have to be her choice, Charlie. That's the only way I'll go along with this."
"When she hears the options, I think she'll come to her senses, but what if she doesn't?"
"Then it's simple. We run. We run and don't look back."
They reached the house, both thankful to see light flooding over the threshold as they opened back the door and stepped out of the night. Fifty-two was waiting at the table, her arms folded patiently in front of her.
Charlie smiled. "It looks like we may have a way out," she said.
The girl robot studied Charlie's face carefully and then turned to Tommy.
"Is this true?"
"Charlie spoke to Agent Faraday," said Tommy.
"He cannot be trusted."
"Maybe so," said Charlie. "I won't deny that he's an enormous creep, but I think he's willing to let you go. He's still a person, Fifty-two, and people can be reasoned with."
"What does he want?"
"Your memory file. That's it."
"My memories. All of them?"
Tommy nodded sadly. "I would suppose he'd prefer to clean out as much as possible. You won't remember any of this. You won't remember the things we talked about. You won't remember me."
Fifty-two bowed her head, the hum of her neck motors exclaiming loudly. She sat as if in quiet contemplation.
"It's a chance for a new beginning," said Charlie. "Most people don't have an opportunity like that."
"Can I be like you?" the girl robot asked Tommy. "When I'm reactivated, can I stay here with you?"
Tommy examined Charlie's blank expression. "We'll see," he said.
"What must I--"
Fifty-two's words abruptly halted as the door swung open. Faraday leaned against the door frame, holding a gun in one blood-streaked hand.
"Faraday, what--"
Charlie never had time to finish her sentence. Faraday had a vacant stare on his face as he lifted the gun into the air, firing twice at Fifty-two as she looked up at him, her eyes bright. The first round penetrated her head, striking her memory core. The second was aimed at the heart--the central processing unit. Blue sparks flew from the wounds with an electronic screech, and the robot effectively shut down. She slumped over the table, and it shook with her weight. Her eyes had gone dark. She was dead.
Faraday said nothing and had no time to react as Tommy charged across the room, knocking the weapon from his hand, grabbing him by the throat, and shoving him up against the wall with so much force that the plaster cracked on impact.
"Jesus!" yelled Charlie, still processing what had just happened. "Tommy!"
"You should not have done that. That was unnecessary," said Tommy.
Faraday sputtered, and his face turned purple. Tommy eased him back to the floor but retained a tight grip.
"Fortunately, that's not your call, tin man," spat Faraday. "It wasn't up to you."
Tommy's eyes glowed with an intense heat.
"That was not necessary."
"Don't you see? It was."
"She would have taken the memory wipe. That was not necessary!"
There was a certain pulsing sound in Tommy's voice, a parcel of anger that Charlie had never heard before. It shook her. She instinctively took a step back.
"If I'd done a transfer, there was always the chance of residual memory leakage in the unit. We had to be sure."
Tommy said nothing. His tightening grip was his only reply.
"It was for the greater good!" Faraday yelled, as if trying to convince himself.
"Tommy, put him down," Charlie said softly.
"No. He killed her."
Faraday coughed. "You do anything to me, and she won't be the only dead robot."
Tommy pulled Faraday close and slammed him back against the wall, forming another crack.
"Your heart is beating at a very high rate, Faraday. Are you frightened? Tell me, what does it feel like?"
Faraday said nothing. He clawed at Tommy's metal hand with his own, but that mechanical grip refused to budge.
"She felt fear, too. Did you know that? I, on the other hand, have the unfortunate opportunity to feel anger. Shall I tell you what that feels like? It feels like immeasurable loss, for the sake of nothing. You could have given her a clean slate. She could have started over. She could've had a name."
"Tommy?" Charlie stepped toward him. "He's right about one thing. If you do this, they'll come after you. And me, Tommy. They'll come after me, too. There are only a few things in this world worth dying for. Think about that."
Suddenly, a warm glow came in Tommy's eyes, and he dropped Faraday to the floor, sending him rolling against the wall before climbing slowly back to his feet.
"This unit is no murderer. I am no murderer."
Faraday hunched over, catching his breath. His head pounded--a hammer striking somewhere deep inside inside, on some twisted vein between his heart and brain. He coughed again, and the blood red tint began to drain from his face.
"Me neither," he said. "Lucky for you."
"I want you to leave. You'll never bother me or Charlie ever again. Understood?"
Faraday straightened his collar absently. "Understood," he said with an aloof tone. He turned to the door as Tommy walked away from him, but Charlie caught him by the shoulder.
"There's something else you need to understand," she told him in a whispered voice. "You did what you did because those were your orders. You were doing what you were told. I get that. But Tommy, see, did what he did out of passion. So you tell me--which one's the man, and which one's the machine?"
Faraday said nothing. He glared at her coldly as he finished straightening his jacket and stepped outside, vanishing in the night.
Tommy knelt beside Fifty-two's broken body. He prodded her, examining the wounds and the extent of the damage.
"Jacketed hollow points," he said. "They penetrate and expand, destroying anything in their path."
Charlie stripped off her wet coat and jumper and folded her arms, shivering.
"Can she be salvaged?" she asked.
"No. Everything worth saving is gone."
"We're still here."
Her words fell on deaf ears. At this moment, Tommy was consumed by his own processing thoughts. To him, there were only two irreconcilable truths.
Faraday was alive.
The girl was dead.
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