Quantum probabilities hovered, then settled into a decision. “Hit me,” the android said.
Jennifer asked, “You're sure?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Please hit me.”
She extended her arm, and set the playing card face-up in front of him. He stared down at the table, then asked, “Twenty-one, I believe?”
Turning over her card, Jennifer sighed. “And yet again.” She leaned forward, dark eyes narrowing on an olive complexion. “You're a lucky robot, Harold.”
He grinned. Synthetic gel-flesh stretched over silicate cheeks and jaw, drawn by fibrous nano-carbon muscle. His red hair, neatly cropped, seemed genuine enough, belying its polymer composition. “My intuition serves me well, Dr. Oswald. Luck is an illusion, don't you think?”
“You might be right.” She took a sip from her glass of recycled water. Behind Harold, through tall vis-ports framed by beams of metal alloy ribbing, a slow procession of crescent lights revealed the other habitation rings encircling the colony ship's main body. “I notice you're still having difficulty with numbers.”
He furrowed his brow. “I often feel ... constrained when I try to think about math or logic.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about. We've not yet loaded the final layer of symbolic thinking into your higher level matrix.”
Tense shoulders lowering, he said, “I see. Will I be getting the upgrade soon?”
“Not for a while yet. Since you've only been awake a few weeks, we'll need to continue testing it in your holo-sim for the time being.”
The android visualized his virtual self, stored in the holographic information repository. The model recreated his brain's basic architecture, and could be programmed to generate high-probability results based on narrowly defined input.
Jennifer said, “In any case, this human has decided she's had enough losing hands for one afternoon.” The scientist gathered the laminate deck into a neat pile.
The pair stood in unison. Lemon swaths collided with salmon pink on the walls and ceiling of the game room. Designed to heighten alertness, the color scheme proved distasteful to some, but soothing to Harold, who often came here to relax. He raised his eyebrows, and asked, “Jennifer, can I ask you a question?”
She glanced at the artificial man. Linen trousers and top, both a mottled marble of blues and grays, loosely covered his small build. In contrast, her inky black hair and solid white medical uniform appeared stark and unnatural. She replied, “Of course. Anything you like.”
“Are you upset about my relationship with Manuel?”
The AI specialist hesitated, then cleared her throat. “Not at all. Professor Renoix and I split up some time ago. No hard feelings there, Harold.”
“Are you sure? Lijuan told me you were sad and angry for a while.”
“Really. We're fine.” She placed a palm on his shoulder. “No worries.”
Harold smiled. The phrase was one of his favorites. It helped calm his fears whenever a situation triggered one of his many anxieties. Jennifer always seemed to know just the right time to use it. He said, “I've been conflicted over the situation, Dr. Oswald. I appreciate you making me feel better.”
“No problem at all, my friend. Now, what say we go get some chow?”
“Oh, nothing for me, thanks. I'm on a diet.”
Jennifer chuckled. The setup-and-punchline routine was one Harold had developed several days earlier, somewhat of a surprise to his neural net design team. The android's only need for sustenance came in the form of replenishing his nanite bacteria colonies, both internal and external, as determined via a daily maintenance check by his attending engineers.
The pair left the recreation area and headed towards the hydroponics section, located down one of the spokes connecting their ring to the vessel's hub.
A spacious dining area surrounded them. At the most active time of day, throngs made their way amid the copious food stands, all brimming with produce grown on-board from genetic samples. Beef, seafood, and poultry stayed fresh in cooler units spaced periodically along the outer edges. Lit by wireless fluorescence that reproduced a midday equatorial spectrum, the plaza could almost have been mistaken for an outdoor marketplace on Earth. Only the exterior view of bright speckles sprayed on an obsidian backdrop gave away its true location.
Green spinach leaves, red tomatoes, and orange bell peppers filled the doctor's plate. Harold spoke as she chewed. “Over the past few days, I've come to a conclusion.”
Jennifer asked, “Oh? About what?”
“I used to wonder whether I have free will, but now I'm certain that I do. Many humans, I think, question whether it exists for them. Mine is real, yours an unsettled dilemma.”
“What if we had just originally encoded you with the belief that you have free will?”
“Then I wouldn't have questioned its existence.”
“That's a good point, Harold. One thing, though, to consider when in a philosophical mode of thought, is to avoid overconfidence in your convictions.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the world is very complicated, and our understanding is limited since we are limited beings.”
He paused to consider. “But surely there's a finite amount of knowledge, Dr. Oswald? As you've explained before, infinities are purely a mental concept.”
She said, “The universe isn't just a mechanical place, however, and our view of it is ever-changing. Try to think more in terms of large, complex systems that interact in ways we still strive to unravel. We can never be sure we've grasped it all, and new information often supersedes the old.”
The android seemed distracted by the noisy chatter from a nearby group. Then he turned his attention back to the doctor. “Perhaps we don't always know what we think we know.”
“Excellent, Harold!”
He beamed. “Jennifer?”
“Yes, Harold?”
“Maybe there is such a thing as luck after all.”
***
Excerpt from a transcript of the Interplanetary Council on Human/Cyborg Relations planning committee conference of 2343, Microbial Research Base Station, Enceladus, Saturn - Desmond Matumbe, Senior Member
Guest speaker: Dr. Jennifer Oswald, Director of the Nurinne center for Applied Divergent Intelligence Studies, Olympus Mons Seaside University, New Indonesia, Mars
“My fellow academicians,
So glad you could all make it to this less-than-ideal location. I trust you've found the living conditions tolerable, at least in the short term. Unfortunately, the need for secrecy was forced upon us by outside forces. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that the issues discussed at this symposium should remain private until our mission is well underway.
[speaker pauses to collect her notes]
As you are aware, for nearly thirty Earth-years my research team and I have made steady progress towards the goal of developing an autonomous, conscious entity. Today, I'm quite happy to announce a major achievement in that quest, in the form of the first fully functioning cognitive module capable of independent reason.
[extended audience reaction]
Thank you.
Of course, during much of the previous two centuries, our society held at bay the creation of such thinking devices, on the grounds of ethical dilemmas, legal rights and responsibilities, and even safety concerns. Some progress has been made, but barriers remain. The ruling councils of both Earth and Mars recently renewed the charter prohibiting the realization of self-directed artificial intelligence. This law, however, can only be enforced within the boundaries of inhabited space.
I propose that we move beyond the limits set before us by political committees and for-hire organizations with their dubious agendas. Within our reach, we now have the opportunity to realize the dream set forth five Earth-decades ago by my mentor, Professor Matumbe.
[speaker glances to her left, followed by applause]
As our society prepares to push outward towards the stars, I suggest we initiate a concurrent objective, entailing not just the expanded physical presence of the human race, but the widening of the definition of humanity itself.
[applause]
Aboard one of the vessels set to launch in the first flotilla headed towards extrasolar systems. beginning next year, the materials needed for construction can be stowed away. Once past the territorial confines claimed by both world governments, an onboard team of engineers and specialists, coordinated by a select group of lead researchers, will begin the manufacturing process. As soon as basic cognition modules are loaded, the activation procedures can commence, and a new entity will be born.
[loud applause]
I've spoken to the leaders of each ship. They feel confident that the adventurous souls already signed up for the trek, in the pioneering spirit they embody, will welcome the addition of our new, undocumented member.
Many challenges, of course, will lie ahead. Will this entity be accepted within society? Who will monitor it? Care for it? And at what expense? At some point in the future, will multiple entities be allowed to form independent colonies of their own, leading eventually to the development of separate cultures? My team and I invite discussion on all these topics, and more, at tomorrow's day-long series of open sessions. Please see the itinerary for more details.
My dear colleagues, we embark on not just one new frontier, but two. I invite you to join me in this brave venture. It's my most sincere desire that you share in my excitement for what is to come. Together, we can make it happen. Let the Grand Experiment begin!”
[standing ovation]
***
Harold flew through the air. He swiveled his lower body, one leg kicking in a wide arc, arms fully extended. Silver elasto-sheen leggings, his only attire, ballooned in the half-gravity of this inner ring of the ship. He let the leg pull him up and over, somersaulting once, twice, a third time. Hands behind knees, he turned upside down in mid-flight, and ended in a solid handstand. He lowered himself until the top of his head touched the padded floor, then slowly dropped his legs forward, and stood upright.
The high-domed gymnasium held calisthenic equipment, an inclined running track that ran around the outer edge, and acrobatic swings hanging from the ceiling from long chains. Nearly every part of the workout area was covered by a pressurized mat, honeycombed into pockets that would deflate individually if punctured.
Harold remained motionless until a second dancer joined him. They swayed, gesturing left and right, mirroring each other's movements, then broke into a tumbling circle of cartwheels that grew larger and larger. A sudden shift in direction, and the athletes propelled themselves towards each other in an apparent mid-air collision. Harold sailed just over his partner. They repeated the maneuver, each time slipping past one another by centimeters. On the floor, they performed a series of slow motion rolls and counter-positions, first balancing with one arm, then arm and leg, until the pair squatted face-to-face, arms folded. They rose and bowed as the crowd showed its appreciation.
Harold made a hurried retreat from scrutiny. Crowds were an uncomfortable side effect of his gym routine. Jennifer approached him near the room's exit. “I see your Capoeira practice is going well.”
He slowed, and moved aside the awning for her to pass through. “Yes, I seem to be catching right on!”
She laid a gentle touch on his upper back. “Could I pay you a visit later today? There are some questions I'd like to ask you.” His face fell, but before he could reply, she continued. “Nothing to be concerned about, Harold. Just another of our periodic evaluations.”
Each morning, a team of physicians checked over Harold's physiological functioning. On a weekly basis, an assistant on the AI team administered a set of visual and verbal tests, logging any changes in memory, alertness, or intellectual performance. Today he was due for a psych exam.
He said, “Of course, doctor. Stop by anytime.”
***
After a brief knock, the research scientist entered his personal quarters, one of many placed along the outer rings where gravity was strongest. He sat on a chair facing the door of his tidy room. Leaning against the door frame, hand on her hip, she noticed he was nervously pinching at his pant leg.
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She asked, “How are you feeling today, Harold?”
“Well, there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about. I've been recalling some memories which, and I don't mean to alarm you, are a little disturbing.”
“I'm not too surprised, actually. Are these memories about running away from something that frightens you, or where you feel trapped and fearful for your life?”
Harold nodded.
She said, “Most likely, they come from the more ancient parts of your brain. For us, they’re usually experienced in the dream state, but since you don't sleep they're expressed as part of your conscious awareness. We've dampened some of the other basic impulses, like hunger, but felt we shouldn't try to suppress them too much because they drive a great deal of our behavior.”
“Like sex?”
“Exactly.”
“That certainly puts me at ease. I was afraid there was something from my past I couldn't quite remember.” He hesitated, lips in a straight line.
Jennifer said, “Please go on. You know you can be open with me.” She smiled warmly.
Harold began drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. “It's about that upgrade you mentioned yesterday. To realize that I'm incomplete, and have no choice but to accept the situation? That's terribly frustrating, Jennifer.”
“I'm sorry, Harold, but there's just nothing we can do to speed up the process. If your final optimization encounters unforeseen complications, well, your entire persona could be negatively affected.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
The doctor rubbed her forehead. “I really can't discuss this further with you. Please understand that what we do is in your best interests.”
He let out an indignant huff. “And I'm just supposed to accept these vague explanations?”
“I understand your irritation. I wish there were more we could do for you at this point.”
“It would be better if you left me alone for now.”
Jennifer pulled away from the wall. Before leaving, she turned and asked, “Maybe a game of checkers later?”
Avoiding eye contact, he answered, “Not today, doctor.”
The door sealed with a soft hiss. Harold touched a wall plate, lowering the room's lighting. Activating a personalized musical station, he raised the volume to maximum.
***
Oort Sector Security Patrol - Log Entry 01.20.2385
Category: ORDER REDACTION
New directive: HIGH VALUE TARGET RETRIEVAL
Reroute to: GLIESE 667
Priority level: ALPHA
Authorization: TERRAN
End log
***
The golden hologram shimmered, obscured behind translucent glass. A Vitruvian Man, but hairless with eyes closed, it hung suspended a meter above the floor, as if a modern crucifixion. Harold’s reflection seemed to wrap over the golem, a veneer on a shell that held no knowledge of its own existence. Limited to input, processing, and output, this model of the android's psyche was built with the traditional linear flow of number-crunching machines as its core feature.
He placed his forehead on the cool pane, and tried to imagine that, by sheer force of will, he could absorb the abilities from the other side. A magical osmosis that would make him whole, finally worthy of the respect Jennifer showed him on a daily basis. By what right should they both be denied? Surely it wasn't out of jealousy from others on the ship. Maybe some of the crew were threatened at the prospect that creatures like themselves could be manufactured, but insecurity on their part didn't mean he shouldn't get a chance to prove her concept a valid one.
Leaning back, he reluctantly pulled a chip containing the firewall overrides from his waistband. The theft had not made him proud, especially since it involved hacking into his mentor's private data warehouse. But she had been careless with protocols lately. Perhaps her mistakes revealed a subconscious desire to have her life's work fulfilled. He couldn't pass up this opportunity to bring her dream to fruition.
Accessing a control panel to one side, he inserted the chip, and a door slid open. Harold stepped through. Inside this pocket of cyber-reality he became startlingly aware of his surroundings, like being deluged by a brisk rain shower that brought the senses alive. But this was a drenching of molecular proportions, an intimate brushing of nano-winds against the sensitive receptors of exposed arms, neck, and face.
The avatar was just out of reach. Immobile, yet its stillness seemed to invite contact. If only there was a way to breathe consciousness into it, to somehow imbue his twin with a state of self-awareness. But the mechanism to do so eluded him. Perhaps he would return at a later opportunity.
Sluice gates dissolved upon receipt of his unspoken commands, and the interface was complete. The task went faster than he anticipated. Harold surmised that the biometric shielding had confused his presence with that of his mirror image, which it was meant to protect. He sensed packets of symbolic complexity slipping across virtual space, finding a home atop the simple foundation of arithmetic that had originally been built into his mental processes.
The opened access ports were resealed, and Harold walked back into everyday reality. He wiped traces of his activities from the system's memory, then reactivated the intrusion detection monitors.
***
Jennifer was holding onto a pipe running along the inside of the hull. Her legs dangled at Harold's chest. He kept pushing himself back and forth between large metal containers, stored here in the supply warehouse, at the core of the station's main hub.
She said, “You're looking spry this morning.”
“I'm feeling better today, Dr. Oswald.” He looked past her, towards distant rows of repair equipment used by maintenance personnel. The area was so large, the machines faded from view before the end of this section could be seen. “With your help, I believe I've been able to turn a corner in my development.”
Jennifer eyed her companion. “Glad to hear it, Harold. It’s good to know our talks are getting more productive as time goes on.”
“Things have come together for me. I feel I've achieved a certain clarity in my view of the world, and my place in it.”
“Hmm. Well, maybe we should get on with our reason for meeting here in the first place.” She followed his gaze down the wide cylinder.
Today was going to be a training day for Harold. Jennifer intended to teach him how to operate one of the mechanical carts that moved cargo in and out of the warehouse. One of the carts bobbed languidly nearby, in an air current created by ventilation fans. It was kept from drifting away by two clamps jutting from the inner plating.
The pair began moving closer to the cart, when a piercing wail cut through the air. Klaxons shrieked and lights dimmed, followed by a crimson glow flooding the entire area.
Harold mouthed a question. “Fire drill?”
Jennifer shrugged. She indicated, with a hand motion in the direction of a communication terminal, that she would try to contact station security.
A bright blue spark near that location caught Harold's eye. He squinted to make out its source. It grew larger as he watched. The breeze around them picked up, rushing towards the indigo flame.
With panic in his eyes, he yelled, “Hull breach!” so loud that it stopped Jennifer short. She watched him brace both feet against a rail, and then launch himself straight at the burgeoning disaster.
Jennifer's arm shot out reflexively, but he was already nearly there. She gripped tightly onto her handhold as escaping air threatened to pull her towards the danger area. In disbelief, she stared at a gaping hole that had opened in the hull.
Robotic pincers reached inside, and pinned Harold's arms tight to his torso. He struggled, kicking at his attacker, but managed only to twist backwards far enough to briefly lock gazes. Then he was gone. Stunned into near paralysis, she took a deep breath, held it, and helplessly waited for an emergency crew to show up.
***
Harold struggled against the constraining net holding him tight to the wall. Two soldiers, chatting nearby, ignored the rustle. Their padded outfits, with Terran insignia on the chest, stopped at the neck, leaving faces exposed under raised helmet visors. A bank of the shuttle's security displays lay to the left. Harold could make out a readout of his metabolic markers, fluctuating slightly, but within normal parameters. Tree trunks and waving fronds outside a window to the right showed he was planetside.
He asked, “Why have you brought me to the surface? Kidnapping a team member will have serious consequences once the scientists arrive.”
The female turned. “Unfortunately for you, fake man, this isn't the colonist destination world. You'll stay put until Coalition Council decides your fate. Besides, you're illegal cargo, not a member of any team.”
“What do you mean, 'cargo'?”
“Your scientist friends didn't tell you? If you were in Sol space, your existence would be in direct violation of the Noken directive. You'd be, um, decommissioned, to put it politely. For now, you're officially cataloged as one of the ship's non-biological items.” The guard shrugged. “It's just regulations.”
Harold could find no memory of such a directive. In fact, he realized his knowledge of human politics and legalities seemed quite sparse in comparison to the psychological and physiological databases his creators had provided him. He would definitely have a word with Dr. Oswald about that.
The soldiers resumed their discussion, so Harold looked around the room. Behind his captors, a sealed door. An electronic lock next to it on the wall. Easy enough to deceive, if needed. But his constraints were the immediate, and possibly most difficult, problem. The mesh gave slightly, but the smooth black weave suggested it was composed of carbon nanotube fibers, one of the strongest fabrics created. He closed his eyes, and tried to visualize the material at the chemical level. Scenarios for testing tensile strengths flashed through his mind.
Edging quietly to the left, Harold pushed against the strands hard enough that they began to tear into his clothing. With a split-second shoulder thrust, the fibers split silently. The material hung loose along most of his left side. One leg raised and lowered, leaving his bonds on the floor. Before the soldiers could react, he had reached their position and shoved his palms hard enough under their chins to give them mild concussions. They both crumpled. While checking their pulses, he glanced up at his now static metabolic readouts: fluidic pump rate 240, energy core release level in the red zone. He felt slightly drained.
Before leaving, Harold typed a message onto the screen just over the limp bodies: “Visors are to remain lowered at all times. It's just regulations.”
A facial scan using a soldier got him through the door, and into the shuttle's cockpit. The landing craft rose, lurching wildly at first, but Harold fought to gain control. A light wind didn't help. He got the control configuration mastered, steadied the ascent of the two-seater, and headed towards orbit. Once above the atmosphere, a quick search through the ship's charts located his position, just a few AU from the colony. He plotted a course back to his maker and mentor.
***
Harold's absence should be a cause for concern, considering his abduction and unknown condition, but for some reason Jennifer wasn't worried. Maybe she understood that his confidence would pull him through. Or maybe, deep down, she really considered him an emotionless automatron, a view held by some of her shipmates. Missing his attention implied that he meant something to her, in some way. As a companion, or just her pet creation? It was a guilty thought.
But now was not the time for regrets. There was work to do. The ship's hull had been patched, and the station was preparing for the imminent arrival at their destination. She would accompany the descent crew to the surface of Gliese 667 Bb, the only planet that orbited the most Sol-like member of this triple-star system. Later they could discuss a possible rescue mission.
***
Slightly smaller than Earth, the exoplanet was covered in a variety of habitats similar to the human homeworld. Here, on one of the larger continents, a deciduous forest spread down from a gradual mountain slope, replaced in spots along the valley by tall grasses. The lander set down in one of the areas free of trees.
A short ceremony followed. Jennifer had just begun unpacking, when a Terran ship descended at the far side of the clearing. She assumed it was Sol security coming to negotiate terms of Harold's release, but just one figure grew near, walking hurriedly.
Jennifer said, “Harold!”
“Dr. Oswald, I'm so happy to see you. We must hurry, though. The Sol detail has surely been notified of my escape, and will have tracked my route here. There may only be hours until we're confronted. It's paramount we prepare ourselves as soon as possible.”
Regret mixed with her already conflicted state. Had her plan been a mistake all along? Science was her lifelong passion, not playing the rebel. Maybe she’d been blind to potential negative repercussions. Regardless, there was no turning back now.
She said, “I believe we brought a limited supply of small arms. Come with me, and help us get ready.” Harold showed no sign of fear as she led him back towards the shuttle.
***
The blast hit a food container next to Harold before he could react. Its surface flashed blue, ejecting bright sparks that landed on his clothing. He furiously patted the small fires out, but they left a small burned patch in his shirt. A centimeter deep hole of charred synth-gel lay underneath. He rolled to the side, and rested his muon-pulse rifle atop a barrel. Multiple distances, trajectories, and speeds played in his mind. He managed to get two shots off. The small orange spheres caused miniature craters near the Terrans’ feet. Right on target.
He and his maker’s strategy was to simply ward off the assault until help arrived. Once the Sol force realized this would be no easy battle, they should be open to negotiation. Another volley followed from the soldiers, but this time return fire came from above. Another lander was descending towards the skirmish. Harold and Jennifer backed away, and met up with their crewmates.
As Jennifer had hoped, one of the attackers raised a blue flag of truce. She motioned for him to approach the team of scientists. After a quick discussion, a agreement was settled on, allowing Harold to wait with his companions until Sol Coalition Council members arrived.
***
Jennifer asked, “Feeling okay?”
Harold looked up at the question. “I think so, Dr. Oswald.” A puzzled expression crossed his face. “Is violence a typical reaction by authorities when one of their rules is broken?”
“It depends on the situation, Harold. When positions of power are threatened, it's often the case.”
“Do I threaten their power?”
“They feel that you do. Your existence breaks two centuries of tradition, and they fear you may represent a loss of control over technology.”
“No one has ever feared me before, to my knowledge.” He glanced at Jennifer, who reassured him with a smile. After a pause, he asked, “So it can be forgiven to commit violence, if your reasons are just?”
“Yes, although that justification is often subjective.” She tilted her head. “Something worrying you?”
The android's gaze locked with hers. “I committed violence to make my escape.”
“And you're troubled by it. That's a good sign, Harold.” She smiled again. Inferring his next question, she continued. “Searching one's own motives, and assessing the ethics of one's own actions, is a hallmark of a civilized individual. Without that self-reflection, we'd be lucky to hold society together for any length of time.”
His reaction surprised her when he said, “Luck. It's such a powerful force. I find myself stymied at reconciling it with the higher math I've learned.”
The neuroscientist's eyes widened, but before she responded, the landing party's loudspeaker announced the arrival of the Sol government ship.
She said, “We'll have to finish our talk later. Looks like some of those authorities have landed.”
Harold nodded, and together they exited the lander.
***
They sat on luxurious cushions in the Terran space liner. A stark contrast to the pragmatic accommodations on their own colony ship, Harold noted. Mahogany banisters lead toward the ship's command center, where the viability of a history-making scientific advancement would be weighed by political powers that spanned two worlds. Earth traditionalists would surely deny claims of citizenship for the android, while the Martian delegation tended towards the moderate side of societal laws. It was anyone's guess what the outcome would be.
Jennifer spoke first. “Can we get back to what you said earlier about your math abilities?”
Harold quickly blurted out, “I'm afraid I must confess to you that I stole your security pass, and accessed the upgrade module in my holo-sim.”
His mentor made no reaction. Nervously, he continued. “I really don't feel good about it, doctor, but at the time it seemed necessary. I was upset at the limits being placed on me. Maybe it was a rash decision.”
“I can't answer that for you, Harold. What I can tell you, is that those modules for abstract thought processing were never incorporated into the holo-config.”
His mouth hung slack. “You lied to me? Why?”
“It was merely a way of encouraging you to develop your other abilities. Your visual memory is excellent, for instance. We had no idea you might try what you did. I'm a little shocked that you managed it.”
“I must look like a fool to you. An untrustworthy fool.”
“Harold, what I'm trying to say, is that you have repeatedly gone beyond our expectations. Programming parameters and learning algorithms don’t define you. You think for yourself, and make your own decisions. As you always have, I've finally learned.”
He asked, “Could this change my situation in relation to the Earth council mandate?”
“Most definitely. We now have good evidence that you fit the definition of an independent entity. No one can argue away your possession of self-will, my friend. At this point, acting on any proposal leading towards your disposal would clearly constitute a crime.” Jennifer could almost see Harold's thoughts racing. She asked him, “So, what do you think about all of this?”
“To be honest, the idea that I unwittingly engineered the fate of my own continued existence is a little, well, absurd. The whole situation seems highly unlikely.”
Jennifer laid a calming hand on his forearm, and explained, “As I've said before, Harold, you're one lucky robot.”