Author's notes: Most of the medical-technical references in this and future chapters are inspired and borrowed from various episodes of Star Trek: Voyager and a few other sources – so any credit goes to those writers.
Static covered his vision, rendering him blind. Reaching into the core of his mind, he gave a mental command: - Activate optical systems.
A mental thought responded: Unable to comply. Optical systems are non-operational.
He put in another mental command: - Activate hardware diagnostic program. Run conditional diagnostic on optical functions and reboot systems. A response came back almost instantly, but the message wasn't any satisfying.
Diagnostic complete: Optical functions have been disconnected. Reboot of optical systems is not an option at this time.
That left him completely blind. Fortunately he was not programmed to feel panic. He just had to scout his whereabouts using his hands and feet. However he only seemed to be reaching into empty air as he felt nothing to touch.
- Run conditional diagnostic on primary motor functions and reboot systems.
Diagnostic complete: Primary body-motor cannot be found. Reboot of primary motor functions is not an option at this time.
No wonder he couldn't feel anything with his hands or feet - he couldn't move at all. Then suddenly a memory came into his electrically bio-simulated mind: the last time he had been active he didn't even have any legs. They had in fact some time earlier been ripped off… by a creature. A creature he remembered he had found fascinating, but it had been absolutely hostile and remarkably unreasonable. He should be able to remember more, but his predicament interfered with his convenience. He had to do something about that first before he could take his time sort out his memory files. Was there someone around? He called out, or at least he think he did. He couldn't hear his voice. He thought to order a diagnostic control on his vocal processor but then thought better against it. His recent experience with his diagnostic program had not proved to bring any sort of satisfaction with his present condition.
To his surprise, the static suddenly began to clear. He had sight again – at least partially. He had no visual in his left eye, and that was because it was missing. He couldn't move his head, so he could only take in what was directly in front of him. Scanning the layout of the room, he reckoned he was in a workshop of some kind and from what he could conclude, the remains of his upper chest had to be mounted and secured on some kind of rack on a workbench. A man stood before him - a small man he noted, and he was smiling at him. The label on his oil-stained and somewhat torn red overall said 'Fixer'. The small man said something, but no sound was heard… in fact he couldn't hear anything at all. Everything was just so unusually quiet.
- Activate auditory systems.
Unable to comply. Auditory receivers are non-operational.
- Run conditional diagnostic on auditory receiver functions and reboot systems.
Diagnostic complete: Auditory receiver functions have been disconnected. Reboot of auditory systems is not an option at this time.
Christ, doesn't anything in this body work? Giving up on his damaged body, he concentrated his gaze towards the little man again. The latter repeated his line; still no sound could be heard. But by watching his lips, he dared to guess that the small man was asking: 'Can you hear me?' Hoping that at least his vocal processor would function, he replied 'No'.
Something was obviously working because the little man turned away from him and bent over a laptop. He could see that several cables were interfaced to a hub that was plugged into the terminal, and he guessed that those cables in turn were connected to several of his cranial receptacles. That explained why he couldn't make any contacts with his own systems - this little man whom he assumed went by the name of Fixer had undoubtedly re-routed all the wiring so that he could run every hardware function through his own computer. The midget tapped several keys on his keyboard, and then the ears suddenly came online again. He heard the low humming of a distant engine, the type identifiable to those running a starship. He also heard numerous of other things, but he couldn't place any of them. His best guess was that they were different kinds of equipment at work. The little man looked up from the laptop again, now more concerned than smiling.
"Can you hear me now?" Fixer asked
"Yes, I can hear you."
Fixer's face exploded into a wide grin. "Yesyesyes, I did it, I did it! You're operational again. What's your service number?"
"Bishop. Serial NR: #1606-2167. But I wouldn't like to describe myself as 'operational.' I seem to be in quite a mess."
"You are not a pretty sight, I'll give you that. But allow me a few days to work with you and then you'll be on new feet."
"I can never be what I once was…"
"Presently, I'm afraid that's impossible."
"…Therefore I'll rather be nothing at all."
"Come now, Bishop. Don't be such a pessimist. Give me a chance to patch you up first and make your call after that. Besides, synthetics are not supposed to be suicidal."
"I prefer the term 'Artificial person' myself. I am almost afraid to ask, but what is my current condition anyway?"
"In a plain simple word: lousy. Only portions of the upper part of your chest from your original body has survived, and the left side of your face has been smashed. There's not much left to repair, I'll have to refit what's left of you with a whole new body."
"Actually I was referring to my personal software. I remember I was suffering a major memory loss." The little man smiled at him again, Bishop guessed that his 'doctor' found something amusing in this whole situation.
"You know for a synthetic, you are quite lucky. In fact, you're luckier than any other man has a right to be." He reached down below Bishop's eyesight and he picked up a familiar box-like object. The connected cords to the device was running down somewhere beneath him, outside his peripheral view. "Recognize this?"
"It's a flight-recorder. The one Ripley wanted me to access to find out what had happened since our departure from LV-426."
"And it's been connected to you all the time. And that's your lucky break." Fixer tapped the device with his forefinger. "These self-sufficient military black boxes have been equipped with a system that monitors the main computer… oh, and that was in this case you, since you were connected to it. Should it discover a potential failure in the mentioned main computer, they immediately download a backup-copy on everything that's ever been filed. It's all a military policy, that way they won't risk losing any useful information. Everything that was ever in your brain is now in here."
Bishop's ruined face shined up in typical all-fashioned smile. "I don't know if I could refer to it as 'luck'. It seems more like a matter of convenience."
"This baby here will be your new hard-drive," Fixer continued proudly, again tapping the device with his fingertip. "Your old one is useless now, along with many other of your old parts. I'll have to refit everything."
"In what way?" Bishop asked. "From what I can tell, I am on a ship. In order to have me rebuilt, shouldn't I be in one of the robotic industries factories? Are you a robotics engineer?"
"I am an engineer, but not for the robotic industries. I work for the Company in the master developing facility. Many new ideas that the designers come up with over there often require some innovative on-the-spot retrofitting of some equipment in order to make the ideas practical. That's when they call for me. In a way I'm actually a bit of an inventor."
"And now you are going to invent a new body for me?"
"That's right," Fixer confirmed.
"Why?"
"Why? Because I've been assigned to do it, it's as simple as that."
"No, you misunderstood my question. Why are you going to build me a new body that most likely would be quite different and maybe inferior (no offence) to my old design? Why not just take me back to the factory to have me rebuilt there? Why this effort on your part?"
"Well…" Fixer seemed to hesitate to answer. "I've been assigned to rebuild you because the Company doesn't want anybody to know that you are being rebuilt. You have been declared as 'classified'."
"I'm afraid that I am even more at loss now," Bishop told the little engineer. "Would you please clarify for me? Why am I declared classified and why does that prevent me from being rebuilt with a new synthetic body?"
"The reason why I can't build you a new body like the one you had before is because that when spare-parts for an android are requested, you need to include the serial-number of the unit for the order to be accepted. And as far as several of the senior executives and stockholders of the Company are concerned, you ceased to function three years ago. Should your serial-number show up on any records now, it would raise too many questions and lead to investigations that would compromise our mission."
"Three years?" To Bishop, every answer he got right now seemed to lead to an even bigger question. "That's how long I've been inactive? So why is somebody suddenly interested in me now if not before?"
"Since this mission of ours is classified, there isn't much I can explain. And that's because I haven't been told much about it myself. Suffice to say though; we picked you up together with your friends that perished in the crash."
"You must mean Corporal Hicks and the little girl. Why?" This didn't make any sense to Bishop. What use were there of dead bodies? "Does Ripley know this?"
"That's just one of the things I have not been told about. I have no idea what they want with them. But I got this funny impression that someone seems to think that those two are somehow possible to revive. As for the one named Ripley, I'm afraid I heard that she is dead."
Bishop didn't experience any kind of shock hearing the news of Ripley's demise. Anyone who'd been out of it for as long as he had would have to anticipate that anything could have happened, especially for as long as three years. So he simply took it all in. "How did she die?" he asked.
"Apparently she incinerated herself in a molten steel-vat."
"She committed suicide?" Bishop raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Why would she take such an action and kill herself?"
Fixer shrugged. "I don't know. There's some silly talk going around, something about a creature in her gut. It doesn't make any sense if you ask me."
"Then for once I am at an advantage," Bishop said, and Fixer eyed his 'patient' with curiosity. "It makes perfect sense to me."
"Can you elaborate?" Fixer asked.
"No, it cannot!" a new voice suddenly cut in. "That is a need-to-know only, and you are far from cleared to be privy to that information, Fixer!"
"Colonel Decker!" Fixer gasped out. "I-I didn't hear you come in."
"Enjoying your new toy?" the newcomer asked sarcastically.
"Colonel Decker?" Bishop searched his memories. "Colonel Esteban Decker? The commanding officer of the ill-reputed 'Rawhides' marine unit - commander of the USCM Hercules?"
"Ill-reputed!" Decker sneered at the word. "Choose your words better, Robot, or you'll find yourself being scrapped again!"
"My apologies, Colonel," Bishop said. "I really meant nothing by it. It's just the word everybody uses where your unit is concerned."
"That's the word used by the losers and the weaklings in the defense-department."
"Well, you have to find it understandable though. Your successes have been trailed with repeatedly unnecessary use of force involving a mass destruction of private property and a high death toll among civilians that have died by your hands rather than by those you were engaging."
"My unit gets the job done, casualties are acceptable."
"Was that your general opinion that time when you passed by the planet Xeroon on your way back to Earth? I remember the story: a terrorist had taken twenty people hostage, threatening to kill them all unless the local government relinquished control of the petroleum-refinery over to him. He wanted to take full shares for himself."
"What did they complain about?" the colonel all but growled in response. "We saved their worthless refinery, didn't we?"
"That you did, by blowing up the terrorist along with his twenty hostages." Bishop pointed out with his usual tone of neutrality.
"Minor trivialities. The Company made it its policy to solve problems with minimal expense as possible. My actions were the cheapest way to solve that problem."
"You also destroyed twenty families. But I guess that didn't concern you?"
"Watch it, Robot. I never accept insubordination from my troopers, and neither will I accept it from you! And especially not from someone who doesn't even have two feet to stand on! You're an inferior, and inferiors only speak when spoken to in my presence!"
It might be a truthful fact that Bishop wasn't at his prime condition right now, but he didn't feel like he deserved to be called an inferior just because of that.
Fixer interrupted, wanting to end this dangerous discussion. "Is there something I can do for you, Colonel?"
"I did come in to check on your progress. I'm pleased to see that you got it working. Have you brought it up to date with the task we need it for?"
"N-no, not yet. I only just got him activated…"
"But its basic mental functions are operational?"
"My present condition is sadly nowhere near to my favor," Bishop started to report. "All body-movement functions are non-operational due to all of my auxiliary appendages being lost, but my RAM-interpretive capacity is…"
"I didn't ask you, Robot!"
Bishop silenced. It appeared that synthetics were even more repulsive to Colonel Decker than they had ever been to Ripley. It had taken a while for the woman to warm up to him, but in the end, they had come to an understanding. It didn't seem very likely that the same thing could be done between him and the colonel.
"I managed to save his identity-circuits," Fixer told the colonel. "The basic hardware is re-installed and intact, the rest of his memories are stored in the flight-recorder and the processor is at full analysis-mode. He also got adequate cognition and coordination responses. I'd say he's good to go."
"Then bring both it and the hard-drives to the bio-lab. The doctors are waiting."
"What? Right now?"
"Do you have something to object about it, Fixer?"
"No! I just didn't expect this to go so fast, that's all." Fixer unlocked the brakes on the wheels of the worktable Bishop was mounted on and began to roll him out of the workshop.
"Would you mind telling me what's going on?" Bishop asked.
"We need your assistance," Fixer told him. "The doctors are attempting to revive your friends, and they need your help to do it."
"But they've been dead for three years. That long a deterioration of their bodies makes the whole process of revival quite impossible."
"The bodies have been frozen and stored in a morgue," Fixer informed the android.
"That does not change anything. Although the process goes considerably slower in an environment below the freezing point, deterioration of the bodies are still in effect. That's the nature of things."
"There's obviously more to it than it sounds like, but please don't ask me to elaborate." Fixer answered. "I'm just an engineer, not a biologist."
Fixer rolled in the worktable with Bishop on it into the medical lab, Colonel Decker followed inside behind them. Dr. Roman was there together with her staff, all of them clad in surgical gowns complete with a head-dress, waiting for them.
"I see you got the android working. That's excellent," she said. "Bring it up here; we will begin with the corporal." Dr. Roman was indicating to the sealed sarcophagus that stood next to a computer console. "Have you got the hard-drives?"
"I got them right here," Fixer confirmed to the doctor, picking one up from a shelf underneath the bench Bishop was mounted on.
"Connect them to the android."
"Excuse me, but I would appreciate if you didn't speak about me as if I just was some kind of a mindless automaton," Bishop cut in. "I may be immobile, but my brain-functions are on-line and I am fully capable of interacting and is quite able to communicate with you. You obviously need me for some special task; well, it would be more prudent and effective if you spoke directly to me instead of through a third party. So why don't you just explain to me what it is you're attempting to do here? For starters: how is it that you think that you can revive Corporal Hicks and the little girl? The three-year deterioration alone would make such a task impossible, even if the bodies have been frozen under all this time."
Dr. Roman looked quite miffed with being reprimanded by an artificial being. But she was a professional and therefore she recognized the means of efficiency, especially in a delicate process like this.
"To begin with:" Roman started to explain with a forced patience. "The bodies have not been stored by ordinary standards in that morgue. The compartments were vacuum-sealed. There's nothing like vacuum to preserve a genetic specimen."
"That does take the situation to a whole different level," Bishop said, although he was not entirely convinced. "But how will you compensate for cellular necrosis? It may still have degraded the neural pathways too much for a possible revival after their brain functions ceased. There was some time after the crash had killed them before they were put in the morgue. It's all in the flight recorder that now serves as my hard-drive."
"Then perhaps you should access the encrypted files of the recorder?" Roman said somewhat superciliously. "I also recall that you are a bit of a scientist yourself. Surely you know that the human brain survives about six minutes after death occurs?"
"Accessing - stand by…" Bishops single eye performed an eloquent roll in its socket. "You're right. The flight recorder confirms that the cryotubes detected failure of all biological functions… it automatically injected a kinesthetic agent into the cerebral cortexes of the dying passengers designed to simulate a neural-electric field to keep the brains from necrotizing."
Dr. Roman nodded in confirmation. "That compound has of course dissipated long ago, but it should have held on long enough until the bodies were put in cold storage."
"I didn't know about that safety measure!" Bishop said almost astonished.
"You don't think the Company tells you everything, do you? It's classified!" Roman went on. "Granted, it's still experimental and is only tested right now to the benefit of military personnel, not for communal tugs. This is the first time we can view results of that technique and see for ourselves that it may actually work. Now as we thaw up the bodies, we continue to stimulate the brains of the two subjects with neural-electric pulses to simulate metabolic activity, but of course there are no brain functions at work. This is where we need your help."
"What is it that you require of me?" Bishop asked.
"The brain is the key," Roman said. "It's like a computer that is in constant communication with the rest of the body. While we can simulate neural activity with stem lines inserted into the neural pathways, the body will not take it up by itself to begin the healing process without a confirmation from the brain." Roman picked up one of the hard-drives that Fixer had collected from the cryotubes of the EEV and held it up in front of Bishop.
"You do know that the hyper-sleep capsules can actually 'see' what the occupant is dreaming so that it can monitor heart-rate activity and such? Military capsules are even more advanced – it records everything that goes on in the sleepers mind. Oh and by way, that is also classified information. It also records the individual's brainwave-pattern! And it is the brainwave-pattern that you need to isolate and – shall we say – re-install into the corporal's brain. The pattern is like a license key in a computer: the healing process of the body won't kick in until it corresponds with the brain's own unique signature to confirm."
"I hear you." Bishop was both fascinated and excited. "Plug me in to the hard-drives. I'll find Hicks' pattern as well as the girl's."
"About time," Decker muttered in the back. He'd found all this talk a waste of time and effort. It would have been easier if the robot had just obeyed orders in the first place without questioning their motives. Neither was he comfortable with all the classified information that had been revealed by Dr. Roman to convince the robot. He would have a talk with the Company and the Colonial Administration about it as soon as the mission was over.
The excitement of the whole procedure had also got to Fixer. He quickly multi-rigged the four hard-drives and plugged them into Bishop's cranial receptacle.
"I'm in," Bishop reported. "I'm probing the first hard-drive now. Stand by… I believe I got a brainwave-pattern here. Searching… isolating… cancelling."
"You cancelled it? Why?" Roman asked.
"That pattern belonged to Private Hudson. It means that one is the hard-drive from the cryotube that I was placed in. Since I'm a synthetic, the system didn't bother to re-arrange the information between the other capsules to match it to the sleeping occupant. To it, I was an inert matter that didn't need to be monitored."
"Then skip that drive and start probe the next one."
"I already am. There doesn't seem to be that much information stored in this one… a brainwave-pattern is recorded though… attempting to isolate… Yes!" Bishop's tone was triumphant. "This is the girl's pattern. It's Newt! There's not much recorded because her short life didn't leave much to record – but everything's there."
"Save that pattern in your buffer," Roman instructed. "Then proceed to the next drive."
Bishop had already done just that, but he didn't feel the need to tell that to the doctor. As he was now getting used to how to proceed, he quickly located another brainwave-pattern in the third hard-drive. He didn't save it though as he discovered that it belonged to Ripley. With her being dead and not around, there was no need to isolate it. That meant that the fourth hard-drive belonged to Hicks. He isolated the pattern, stored it in his buffer and reported to the biotechnicians that he was ready for the next phase.
Dr. Roman had Fixer roll Bishop over to the sarcophagus. The biotechs removed the lid of the coffin-like capsule and revealed the body of corporal Dwayne Hicks. It took someone with a highly tolerable stomach to see him. His face showed signs of scorch-marks where the corrosive fumes from a xenomorph's acidic blood had burned him and his jawbone was hanging loose, only temporarily adjusted back into place. His damaged chest had been only superficially sealed - would they be successful in reviving him, they would do a more extensive surgery on him afterwards since his left lung was a total loss after him being impaled by a support strut in his cryotube. The only thing they had done on him so far was to surgically implant an artificial heart. If revival would turn up to fail, then at least they wouldn't have wasted that much time and expenses for a lost cause. Electrically charged needles were inserted all over his body into his nerve fibers which simulated neural activity.
"Okay, Bishop." Dr. Roman said. "Your brain is designed as an artificial duplicate of the cerebral cortex of a real human. Thanks to that fact, you should have the ability to alter your own brainwave-pattern to imitate someone else's temporarily. I want you to change your 'frequency' into that of Hicks', and then we will relay your synaptic activity and feed it directly into the corporal's brain. We will then use the defibrillator to jumpstart his new heart. Hopefully his organs will detect the brainwave-pattern you're providing in his brain and receive the impulses to stay activated. At the same time as we can make the blood pump into the brain again, the familiar pattern should be re-inserted and take over completely."
"And Hicks should be alive again – theoretically. Of course, there is a potential risk that his brain won't cooperate." Bishop brought up another problem that hadn't been discussed. "His mind probably suffered a tremendous shock when the body was damaged to such extent that it can't look past the fact that it has expired. If a mind is so convinced that it is dead, then it cannot function again."
"Ordinarily that is true." Dr. Roman confirmed. "But fortunately we have another factor in our favor. Both of the subjects died while being under a controlled form of hibernation. They were under such deep sleep that their brains were almost already shut down, and the two of them never knew what hit them when death occurred. We are therefore convinced that the brains never went into the state of shock of expiration, so revival is still theoretically possible."
Had Bishop been able to, he would nod in agreement. He should have figured that out for himself, had he taken the time to look through all the data in the recorder. There might be time for that later, he thought. Right now there was more important work to be done.
"I'm accessing Hicks' pattern in my buffer… adapting… there! I am now simulating Hicks' brain-frequency. Make the connection."
The connections were made. The biotechs stood anxiously and watched the monitors that registered synaptic activity in the pathways of the corporal's inactive brain. At first there was nothing – and then…
"There!" Arnolds almost shouted. "A synaptic signal is detected within his brain!"
"The defibrillator!" Dr. Roman ordered. One of the other biotechs, a surgeon whose nametag labeled 'Peters' put the shock-pads on Hicks' chest. "Clear!" he said and pressed the buttons on each of the handles to open the circuit. Hicks' body jumped from the electrical charge. "No response." Arnolds reported.
"Again!" Roman urged. Dr. Peters repeated the shock.
"Still nothing… Wait! I think…" Arnolds went quiet for a while. And then… "His body is responding to the signals! The heart is beating!"
"Stimulate the alveolar sacs in his lung! We need to start diffusion!" Arnolds activated some switches, a few seconds passed… Suddenly everybody heard a loud intake of air being sucked into a throat. Hicks' chest heaved. He even groaned.
"Quickly, activate the life-support! He is not adapted to breath with only one lung and his wounds are not properly treated - he could die again of instant shock!"
A breathing mask was quickly put over Hicks' face, other switches were thrown and several mechanical instruments instantly took control over the patient's respiratory system. It looked critically for a moment when pain-receptors lit up the warning-lights on the console like a Christmas-tree as his body reacted to the injuries he had sustained. He was quickly sedated and the misfortunate corporal fell into a controlled coma that spared him of the immediate agony. He was in deep unconsciousness – but he was alive.
"That was tense," said Dr. Roman, letting out a deep breath and wiping her brow with her arm. "We'll let him stabilize for a while before we take him to surgery. Thanks to the fact that all soldiers leave blood-samples for testing of various infections, we have been able to grow him a new lung in a lab using his DNA. Now all we have to do is to transplant it." All biotechnicians knew of this of course. It was for Bishop she divulged this information. "While we wait, we should repeat the procedure; this time for the child."
"I am ready," said Bishop.
The preparations for the attempt to revive the child were exactly the same as with the corporal. The little girl lay motionless in her sarcophagus with another set of stem lines inserted into her nerve fibers – it wasn't pretty to look at. Bishop had already changed the frequency in his mind to match her brainwave-pattern.
"Did we manage to suck all the seawater out of her lungs?" Dr. Roman asked.
"We've triple-checked it." Arnolds said. "It's all gone."
"The question now is if this will work." The doctor's voice was filled with doubt.
"Why don't you believe it will?" Bishop asked her.
"Because she was brought out of her cold storage for a moment and an autopsy was then conducted on her. Being out in the warmth might have thawed her brain too much – the compound injected in her cerebral cortex by the cryotube may have dissolved prematurely before she was frozen again. We can't tell, but cellular necrosis in her neural pathways may have gone too far – and if it has, she is lost."
"Let us believe that is not the case," Bishop said, being the voice of hope. "Hook me up. Let's not give up on her until we tried."
Synaptic connections were made. A signal was being detected by the monitors, the defibrillator was used. Just as with Hicks, the small heart started to beat of its own. Alveolar sacs were stimulated and life-support was connected. Everybody held their breaths.
"We did it," Arnolds said after a while studying the readings of Newt's vital signs. "She's alive."
"Her body may be alive, yes." Roman said, watching the monitors. "But that could be just an automated activity. The question remains: are there any other brain functions? For all we know, she could be brain-dead."
"We'll keep an eye on her progress," Arnolds stated.
"Yes. She now requires some treatments too. We need to do some repair on her frostbitten tissue and on her ribcage as it was cut and pried apart. So let's prepare both of them for surgery" She turned to the rest of her staff and to the other occupants of the bio-lab. "Well done, everyone. This will make an interesting report to the medical convention should this ever be declassified. Thank you for your assistance, Bishop. We'll handle the rest from here."
"Glad to be of service," Bishop replied. Fixer began to roll him out towards the door. The dwarf was quite exhilarated. "Wow. That was both exciting and a bit scary at the same time."
"Yes," Bishop agreed. "But it was also gratifying."
"I really hope your friends will make it, after all the work you did to help them."
Bishop was about to answer, but then he and Fixer found that their way was blocked by Colonel Decker.
"Your assignment aboard this ship is fulfilled, Fixer," said the colonel, completely emotionless. "You are therefore dismissed. Since the rest of this mission doesn't really concern you, you may remain in the workshop doing your tinkering. Personally, I would prefer if you reported to the cryogenic deck and remained in hyper-sleep until we return to Earth."
Fixer felt an apprehensive feeling wash over him. This wasn't just a dismissal; it was the colonel's way of telling him that the engineer was not wanted on his ship. Granted, if he was unwanted, it would have been easiest for all parties if he just went to hyper-sleep and got out of Colonel Decker's hair. But Fixer had grown a bit weary with his all-day ordinary life. It was bad enough that his short height made him a target for taunting behind his back, but life never seemed to want to give him a break otherwise either. Fixer had felt adventurous for some time now, and although it appeared that this was just some kind of a science mission, it was an adventure just to travel through space to parts as yet unknown. Fixer knew that his decision would come to attract the colonel's displeasure, but he didn't want to let go of this. Fixer was after all a civilian, and civilians weren't always obliged to obey military orders.
"If you don't mind, Colonel, I'd like to stay around and finish my work with Bishop here."
"You may remain in the workshop doing your tinkering," Decker repeated. "But your work on the robot is to be discontinued!"
"Why?" Fixer asked.
"Simply put: its usefulness has come to an end. We don't need it anymore. Deactivate it and throw it in the scrapheap!"
Bishop said nothing. He may be a sentient synthetic in all sense it could be described, with the ability to think, analyze and take own decisions, but that only went as far as his program allowed. In all other basics, he was but a product, a servant. He would not argue for the preservation of his own existence. If the colonel made the decision that Bishop's 'life' was to be terminated, he would accept it. It was actually a bit of wishful thinking on Bishop's part as well to be deactivated, as he still was not sure that he could ever be once again as he once was before his body had been destroyed. Deactivation may still be preferable. He only felt pity though that the decision of his termination was based on an irrational dislike for him from the military officer rather than a compassionate act. But it shouldn't come as a surprise. Androids were generally disliked all over the galaxy – no one would ever take up an argument on their behalf's, or for any of their benefits at all for that matter since synthetics didn't have anything like that in the first place.
"I must object to that, Colonel," Fixer said. "He doesn't deserve to just be wasted after what he's done here for his friends! And besides, we still need him."
"I don't need any robot!"
"B-but it is not your decision to make, Colonel!" Fixer stammered. "I've got orders from the Company: I am told to rebuild Bishop in the best manner I can muster so he can go with you on your survey missions! The Company wants him to record any findings and then be returned for analyzes! It all says so in your dispatch orders!"
"I know it says so!" Decker growled furiously. "I had simply hoped that you didn't know that it did! I could have gone on with my mission without that junk-pile in tow and without compromising my instructions if you just didn't finish your work with it! Now I seem to be left with no choice but to bring it with me!" Decker wagged a finger at the small engineer and spoke slowly: "You better make sure that that heap of scrap-metal doesn't get in my way, or I'll make sure you'll regret it for the rest of your miserable life!" Decker then just left the bio-lab, leaving Fixer trembling and sweating all over with the colonel's threat still hanging over him.