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“You know, I think it’s overrated,” said Sara as she reloaded her rifle with more pulse rounds from her vest.
“What is?” said her assistant, VC-90, who followed suit behind their current shelter of a cement wall.
The wall was riddled with bullet holes and laser burns, but both the augment and her robot partner paid them no heed. They had neither the time nor inclination to do so. The dusky sky was purple, veiled by smoke and ash that made the first stars of night look grainy like an old holo film. If the two had been fully human, they would have been struggling to breathe, but as it was, the pair focused on their jobs.
“Your algorithm,” said Sara as she checked the digital gauge on her pulse rifle, watching the power meter rise until it was full.
She finally looked up to see VC-90 looking at her with his red, round digital eyes, clearly unamused.
“What kind of statement is that, exactly?” he asked, pausing to check his own rifle with long metal fingers, before looking back at her.
“Complaining about my algo doesn’t make sense, Sara,” he said, “especially coming from an augment.”
“So?” said Sara, following VC-90 as they both pressed themselves against the wall, getting into position, holding their weapons at the ready.
“So, you’re not entirely human,” he said crossly, ducking past the boundary of the wall to check their enemy positions, only to immediately pull back and barely miss a hail of laser fire in response.
“Your view of my algorithm therefore doesn’t really hold weight,” he continued. “I don’t really like your algorithm much, either.”
“I never said I didn’t like your algo, VC,” she said, only mildly contrite, but VC-90 could hear the sincere regret behind her words anyway.
“I just think a full-destruct algorithm is overrated right now,” she said, “especially since the end of the war. Do you think it’s really necessary to go full scorched-earth mode in Gold District as it is?”
Sara almost laughed as VC-90 turned towards her and shot her a look of pure frustration.
It was the most human expression she had ever seen on her robot friend.
“Sara, they’re trying to kill us,” he said, “right here in town. You’re telling me us bots don’t need an algorithm that guarantees us accuracy with nearly any weapon down to the millisecond?”
“We’re not at war,” she said, almost petulantly.
“We’re still in a conflict,” he replied, “and therefore in danger. Need I remind you that I was designed to protect humanity in any form? That includes augments like yourself, by the way. I need accuracy in order to do that in a conflict zone.”
He leaned closer to her; if he had been human, Sara would have been able to smell his breath.
As it was, she could smell the light ozone-scent of the cesium and barium sphere powering his central core, the robot equivalent of a human heart. For what felt like the thousandth time, Sara found herself wishing he was human, then shook her head lightly and forced the thought out of her head, because it wouldn’t change reality. That was the tragedy of being an augment, one of many, in fact: robots couldn’t love her, and too many humans hated her.
She was closer to her robot side than her human side, due to the fact that humans didn’t much like people like her. The robots accepted her: her visible metal implants, her eyes infused with camera lenses, her blood filled with fast-healing nanites, her massively increased strength. All the things about her that her fellow human beings despised and feared, the robots accepted without question. Sara supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised she had fallen in love with VC-90, her oldest friend and fellow Crimson squadron member, but it couldn’t be helped. She had no more control over her human heart than she did over the current conflict raging in their District.
“I want to protect you, Sara,” said VC-90 softly, “not just right now, but always.”
Sara sucked in a breath, her fingers tightening on her weapon.
She fought back tears clouding her enhanced vision. It didn’t help when VC-90 raised a metal hand and gently touched her cheek. The cold metal burned somewhat, but just then, Sara never wanted him to pull away, never wanted to leave the shelter of that wall no matter how poorly enforced it was.
“I know, VC,” she said, fighting the sudden urge to cry. “Dammit, I know.”
“Then let me,” he said, taking his hand away and shouldering his rifle. “Let’s make sure we both see the end of this, and live. What do you say?”
Sara smiled, wiping at her tears before shouldering her own weapon.
“I say I think I’ve changed my mind, VC,” she said. “Your algorithm isn’t overrated, and neither is your resolve. Not if you can make me smile in a wasteland like this.”
VC-90 uttered a creaking sound, the robot equivalent of a laugh.
“Tell me that again once this is all over,” he said. “Ready, Sara?”
Sara tensed, nodding and raising her weapon.
“Ready as I can be,” she said. “Let’s do this.”
Together, the robot and the augment raced about the wall and rushed into the fray, pulse rifles blazing, hoping for a possible tomorrow.
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