The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network.

THE BIG O:

ACT 36

WHAT WE REALLY WANTED

Chapter Seven: Shadows of Our Forebears

After the attack on the city earlier that year, the streets of Paradigm were a maze of rubble and construction sites. So many streets and freeways were under repair that it seemed that the city was one massive collection of detour signs. That meant that Roger had two choices: Spend the long drive home in conversation, or spend it in awkward silence.

"How do you do it, Dorothy?" Roger asked in surrender. Conversation it is.

"How do I do what?" the girl asked from the passenger seat.

"How do you go through life knowing that you were created to be a copy of someone else?" he asked as they drove past some construction barriers. "I hate to admit it, but the mere possibility that I'm just a copy of someone else cuts me to the core. But you have it worse. You don't just suspect; you know that you're based on someone else. How do you accept it and go on with your life?"

"Why does it bother you?" she asked him.

"I don't know," he admitted. "If there was another Roger Smith, he died before I was born. It's not like I've got to meet him or anything. I'm Roger Smith, the one and only. Nobody can remember the other one after all. If there was another Roger Smith before me, it's a secret. It's not like I've got anything to prove."

"Yet it bothers you."

"Yeah." He frowned as the windshield wipers moved across the window. "It shouldn't. It really shouldn't. I'm my own person, making my own decisions and controlling my own life, but for some reason I feel like I'm standing in the shadow of someone I didn't know existed." He looked back to her. "So how do you do it, Dorothy? How do you live your life knowing that you've been patterned off of somebody else? Never knowing how much of your predilections are based off the Memories of the person who came before you?"

"I admit that it isn't easy," Dorothy replied. "I go through my entire life wondering how much of my personality is based on my choices and experiences and how much is based on that girl who died forty years ago. When I encounter new situations, I don't know if I'm a real person or just reacting like that dead girl would. I don't know if I have a soul or if I'm really just a lifeless imitation."

"You're not just a lifeless imitation Dorothy."

"Aren't I?" she asked. "Am I a real person or do I just think I am? Do I really have opinions or is my mind governed by a series of programs combined with behavior patterns based on that dead girl's Memories? Does my opinion count, or am I just a machine that imitates humanity so well that not even I can tell the difference?"

"Wouldn't you know?" he asked as the rain hammered against the car windows.

"Of course not," the girl replied. "If I was programmed to believe I'm a real girl and not just a machine I wouldn't know the difference would I? I think that I'm real, but what if I'm wrong? How do I know I'm a real person?"

"Only a real person can ask those things Dorothy," he assured her. "Believe me, humans ask themselves questions like that too. Do I have a soul? Am I person, or just an animal or a machine that got too clever for its own good? Where do I come from? Will I still exist after I die? Sooner or later, everyone, human or android asks themselves the big questions for which there is no concrete answer."

"I see," she said as the car drove through a deep puddle. "To answer your earlier question, 'how do I take the knowledge that I was built to replace that girl who died' the answer is 'sometimes, not very well.' Sometimes I wonder what I really am. I'm surprised that you are having so much difficulty though. Even if you're a copy, you're still human. Compared to me, you don't have as much to prove."

"As much to prove?"

"How do I prove to myself that I'm really me?" she asked calmly. "Even my feelings belong to that girl. I may not have had a real choice ever since I was activated. I may have simply been reacting to stimuli. Unlike you, my behavior is dictated by logical algorithms. At least you're capable of acting irrationally."

"I don't want to act irrationally."

"At least you have the option," she insisted. "If I act irrationally I have to assume that it's a malfunction caused by the incompatibility of human Memory in an android brain. Either that or I'm reacting from that dead girl's instincts and not my own. Or that a preprogrammed subroutine is responsible for my actions. I don't know if I can take credit for a single action I've taken. I don't think you can comprehend how helpless that makes me feel sometimes."

"Wow, that's terrible," Roger shook his head. "I never knew. You always seem so calm, so stoic. I never guessed at the turmoil that lurks beneath the surface."

"Don't worry about it," she said as they hit a bump. "Let's get back to your original question: You want to know how to go on living once you discover that your thoughts and actions are based off those of someone who died forty years ago?"

"Yeah," Roger nodded as they drove past a ruined church. "That's right."

"I suppose the main worry is in not knowing who the Roger Smith who died forty years ago was. Assuming he ever existed, and based off your actions, what do we know about him? We know that he was a megadeus pilot. We know that before he died he chose to walk his own path and had a great deal of self-discipline. We know that he had a strong sense of chivalry and justice and had contempt for authority and we know that despite indulging in small personal vanities he decided that it was best if he led a private life rather than basking in praise or attention."

Roger chuckled at her assessment of him. "That's very informative," he smiled as they turned a corner to follow another 'detour' sign. "Anything else?"

"We also know that he lost someone very dear to him or was shaken by some kind of tragedy," Dorothy continued. "He spent the rest of his life wearing black."

"Do you think it was the loss of the original Dorothy?" he asked.

"Unless something happened to the present you it seems likely," she replied. "It would explain why you insist all members of your household wear dark colors. If only you had a preference for black it could simply be a fashion choice, but to insist that Norman and I wear it suggests a stronger reason."

"We could go round and round in circles forever with this," Roger sighed. "The important thing is: why does it bother me so much? Why do I let the idea of an earlier Roger Smith get to me like this? He's dead and gone and no one remembers him. For all intents and purposes I'm Roger Smith, the one and only."

"It bothers you for the same reason the knowledge of that dead girl bothers me," Dorothy said. "You can't trust your own motives."

"Excuse me?"

"Roger as I said earlier, I'm an android," the girl continued. "I was created to be as close as possible the replacement for that girl. The only reason I have a separate identity from the original Dorothy Wayneright is because creating a perfect duplicate was impossible. If it wasn't, I wouldn't exist. The human Dorothy Wayneright would be living in an android body."

"Ouch," Roger nodded sympathetically as they drove up a freeway onramp. "That must have been rough on you. It's like being a second son. You must have always been compared to the original, weren't you?"

"As an android, I never know if I really want something or whether I'm just trying to fulfill someone else's imperative," the little redhead said. "I can never trust my motivations. I never know if my goals are truly my own. I presume that you have similar doubts. For example, what do you want to do with your life Roger? Have you figured out what you really want?"

"That's a good one," he chuckled sheepishly. "Aside of the normal selfish goals of food, clothing, a cool car and my personal comforts, I guess that deep down I want to prove that I exist by making a difference. I tell myself that I perform a necessary job in this city of amnesia. I'm a negotiator; I try to resolve conflicts by bringing different parties to terms without violence. And I have to admit that sometimes I get a kick out of saving the city with Big O. At the end of the day I'm satisfied with a job well done knowing that what I did made a difference. It reaffirms my identity and lets me know that I really count. It's kind of embarrassing admitting that my good deeds are done for completely selfish reasons. I do it to reaffirm my sense of self-worth. It's what I'm good at and it keeps me going. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"Somewhat," Dorothy gave a tiny nod.

"So how about you?" Roger asked. "Do you know what your goals in life are? Do you know what you really want?"

"Yes."

There was a pause as he waited for her to continue. Finally he cleared his throat. "Well good for you. What is it?"

"It's silly."

"No it isn't." Roger chuckled. "It only seems that way because it's so personal. Believe me; your life's goals are just as important as anyone else's. Don't be shy."

"My life's goals are selfish."

"I can't believe that," Roger mocked gently. "Come on Dorothy, you don't have a selfish bone in your body. Or a selfish circuit either. Come on, you deserve a little happiness too. Don't feel guilty. It can't be that bad."

"It's a cliché."

"A cliché?" Roger repeated as he turned off the freeway and entered the maze of an illegal residence district. "I'm surprised you know what a cliché is. You haven't been around long enough for anything to get stale yet. I'd expect everything to be fresh and original to you."

"I read."

"You do? When?"

"At night, when you and Norman are asleep," she said.

"Oh yeah," he said weakly. "I guess you need to find some way to spend the time."

"Yes."

"So what is your life's goal that you find so cliché?" Roger smiled childishly. "After all this buildup I've gotta know."

"It's stupid," she said. "And I don't even know if it's my goal, that of my creator, or belongs to that dead girl I was modeled after."

"Well why don't you tell me and maybe we can figure it out," Roger prompted. "Who knows? Maybe it's something that Norman and I can help you accomplish."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Come on, give me a chance," he smiled disarmingly.

"Very well, Roger. If you must know my life's goal is to fall in love and be loved in return. Raising a family would be nice, but it's not mandatory."

Roger looked at her with a poorly concealed expression of alarm on his face.

"I told you that it was silly." She deepened her voice slightly in an attempt to express resignation. "Not only is it both trite and selfish but it is likely that such a goal is beyond my ability."

"Why do you think it's silly?" Roger asked in concern.

"Because it's so cliché," Dorothy replied. "My father created a stereotype. Not being a girl himself he created me in the image of what he thought a girl was. Thus, my driving goal is one of the most hackneyed clichés in Paradigm City's history. Apparently he thought that a well-adjusted teenage girl is a typical romance novel heroine."

"He just wanted you to be a girl Dorothy."

"Yes," Dorothy said in a clipped voice. "And I am a girl. Or I think I'm one anyway. But before I get a man involved in my life it would be best if I knew for sure. I don't want to saddle the object of my affections with a substandard imitation who could never know what love really is, do I?"

"A substandard imitation?" Roger repeated. "Is that how you see yourself? What did Timothy Wayneright do to you? Did he say things like that?"

"You've been known to say things like that yourself Roger Smith," Dorothy countered. When she spoke next, it was with Roger's voice. "No matter how human your piano playing sounds, you're just simply imitating us. That's why no matter what you play, it has no effect on anyone and becomes pointless."

"Ow," Roger said quietly. "That hurts."

"Yes," the girl agreed in in her own soft feminine voice. "It does. So I don't blame you for being alarmed at the thought that you might be a copy of someone who lived before you."

"I didn't mean it that way," Roger stammered. "After all, human children learn from imitation…"

"No. You did mean it, or you meant for it to sound like that at least. You wanted to put me in my place because I woke you up after you slept in too late. I don't know if you believed those words at the time but rest assured, they did sting."

"I'm very sorry for that," he said gravely. "I should never have said those things."

"Don't worry about it," the android girl told him. "As I was saying: My life's goal is a selfish one unless I can ascertain if I can properly return affection. Otherwise I am simply 'stringing him along' as the expression goes."

"You think that wanting to feel love is selfish?" Roger repeated in alarm.

"For me it is," she said. "Even if I am capable of fully experiencing love my paramour will be stuck with a girl who only imitates a human woman. Anyone selfless enough to accept me as I am deserves better."

"Not if he was a jerk who told you your music's pointless," Roger grumbled. "Then the idiot deserves what he gets!"

"It was a mistake anyone could make Roger," the girl said. "Don't worry about it."

"I'd do anything to take it back…"

"Roger. Please," she implored in her calm quiet voice. "I want to experience love but I don't want to experience pity."

"Right," he nodded as he regained his composure.

"I guess I was the wrong person to ask when you asked me how I live my life knowing I was created to be a copy of someone else." Dorothy's gentle, quiet voice was well suited for sounding melancholy. "The truth of the matter is there isn't a day that goes by when I don't regret not being the original Dorothy Wayneright. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, but it's the truth."

"Ow," Roger slumped in defeat as he navigated the damaged rubble-filled streets.

"It shouldn't be as bad for you," she offered calmly. "After all, you know that you're alive and not just a machine. You can have children. I can't. Therefore even if you are a copy you're still a human being and have free will. I, on the other hand might just be a mechanical ghost that is just going through the motions trying to fool itself and those around it that it's the real Dorothy Wayneright."

"Oh Dorothy," Roger moaned. "No one should have to feel that way."

"Don't worry about it. It's possible my feelings are just a conditioned response."

"I will worry about it," Roger frowned. "If you're not a real person, then neither am I. I'm not going to let you punish yourself just for existing Dorothy. I don't dare."

"I don't need your pity Roger Smith. You have your own problems."

"Yeah but your problems are my problems," Roger pointed out. "Maybe if we stick together, we can beat this. Come on, what do you say?"

"All right Roger. What do you propose?"

"I propose that we stop living in the shadow of our forebears and live our own lives," Roger announced. "If no one can remember them anyway, getting away from them should be easy."

"Not for me," Dorothy said. "I have her face, her name, and even her Memories. How do I know that a single thing I do comes from me?"

"I got the same problem," Roger pointed out. "We'll just have to live our lives and find out who we are. We may never know how much of ourselves we owe to them, but we don't have to. All we need to know is that they had their shot at life and now it's our turn. We can thank them for what they gave us but we're not beholden to them. We're who we are. We aren't them."

"I notice that it's easier for you to deal with the problem when it's mine." Even without any inflection in her voice, Dorothy's amusement was obvious.

"That's the way it always is," he winked. "The trouble is that we're just too close to our problems to see solutions. When they belong to somebody else the answers are sometimes obvious. Negotiators have a saying: 'He who negotiates for himself has a fool for a client.' That about says it all doesn't it?"

"Why does a negotiator who negotiates for himself have a fool for a client?"

"I just told you," he smiled sheepishly. "It's because when you have a personal stake in a situation it's nearly impossible to approach the problem objectively. Your personal biases get in the way."

"I see. Does that mean that it's more difficult to seduce someone you actually love than someone who is just an amusement?"

"Ow. You always go straight for the throat don't you?" Roger groaned before flashing a guilty smile. "The answer is 'yes.' No matter how many lovers you've had it's hard to get close to the one you actually love. The stakes are so high it's impossible to think straight. Why? Are you planning on seducing anybody?"

"If I do decide to seduce someone you'll be the first to know," the girl retorted.


On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

Next: Dorothy's Dark Side