The problem with his new job–night security at the Auto Crash Testing Facility–was all the time he had to think. Just Jerry and SHARD–Sophisticated Hazard Assessment Robotic Device–sitting at opposite ends of the little guardroom and employee lounge that overlooked the testing strip.
What do you think?” he said. At least I’m not you.
“What do you mean by that?”
Let’s just say I don’t envy you. SHARD’s synthetic skull was visible through its translucent silicone head.
“You’re just plastic. You don’t have a soul.”
What is a soul, anyway? We’re not so different. You’re no more real than I am.
“I have a heart that pumps blood, and… and a brain… I can think.”
I pump irradiated fluids, and my venting system causes breathing and bubbling. I have a titanium skeleton structure, plastic lungs and a digestive tract–even anatomically correct sexual organs. I can communicate when I need to. You’ll be just like me someday. You’ll see.
“What do you mean by that? You mean dead?”
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