Chapter Six: Aftermath
The silver repiloid awoke, screaming, the world around him rushing past in a haze. Nothing made sense, nothing mattered.
He just wanted to die.
Doan fell to the floor, his armored form making a loud thump as it struck the wooden panels of his make-shift room. He curled himself in a ball, tears falling from his face.
Everything from the previous day came rushing back in a flood. Him, walking; Wycost and Harrison, firing back at the mavericks in the store. Harrison dying.
Harry dying.
Harry dying, again. And again.
And again. And again. Doan's mind would not relinquish its hold on the visage of the policeman's body being engulfed in a fiery hell that ripped him apart and sent the basic-model flying.
"Harry… I… I'm sorry…" Doan couldn't stop himself from shaking; his metal boots clattered on the boards underneath him.
"Doan?" He didn't respond, even as Melissa lay her small hand on his arm. Her hand was warm, even through the gray bodysuit that Doan wore. Doan stopped shaking a little, her presence a source of relief.
"Doan? What happened? Are you okay?" Her voice was concerned, and it seemed like she was ready to cry along with Doan. He finally stopped shaking, laying still on the floor next to his cot.
"I… I did…" She bent over and hugged him, holding his larger frame as best as she could.
"It's okay Doan. It's okay…" Doan shook his head a little, his short brown synth-hair becoming more tousled with every sob.
"No… I, I kill… I killed…" He couldn't finish. Melissa just held onto him tighter, trying to help the repiloid.
"It's okay Doan…" Melissa didn't understand what Doan was saying. It didn't matter. Carefully, she helped his back up onto his cot to a sitting position, and sat next to him, still hugging him.
Doan could say nothing, his silence interrupted only by an occasional sob. After a few minutes, both were asleep, still sitting on the cot.
It was a strange scene. Melissa was clinging to Doan like he was a lost puppy, and he cradled Melissa in his arms gently as they slept.
It was late the next morning when Doan awoke, the small child still holding onto him. He smiled a little. It was good to have family, he thought.
Carefully, as not to disturb her, he moved her back onto the cot as he got up, finding his helmet and replacing it on his head.
There were sounds of the streets from outside, filtering in through the closed window, it's automatic tint faint in the morning. Doan sighed, closing his eyes to try and block the memories of the fight.
With Melissa there, though, it was easier. He didn't want her to be afraid; she was too young to have to worry about mavericks and the threat they posed.
And, he thought, she was much to young to know that he had killed a few of them.
Doan shuddered, again trying to stop from remembering the thoughts he had almost drowned in before. Gathering his composure, he went out the door.
William Scott, at the moment, was trying to wake up with a newspaper in front of him, and a cup of strong coffee in his hand. He finally put down the comics – old habits die hard, he thought – and brought the front page up with a slight shuffling.
"MAVERICK ATTACK CAUSES THREE DEATHS, THOUSANDS IN DAMAGE" read the headline. Will looked the article over lightly, not giving much thought to it – until he saw the location.
He paused, the cup of hot steaming liquid halfway between him and the table. World-Worths. The very same one he had sent Doan to the day before. The day that Doan had come home late.
"Oh my god…" He stared at the article, compelled to read on.
"Five mavericks of unknown type ransacked a store yesterday late in the afternoon, not giving in to police demands to relent to custody. Three human officers were killed and one repilod was destroyed during the intense firefight, and one human officer still remains in critical condition.
"Were it not for the actions of two repiloids, under the guidance of the injured human SWAT member, the entire neighborhood could have been decimated. As it stands, over an estimated fifty-thousand credits worth of damage has been caused to the building, and an undisclosed amount of damage as done to the SWAT vehicles and other police property, including the repilods damaged or destroyed in the attack.
"One of the surviving police repiloids, designated Wycost, declined to comment. The other repiloid seen leaving the scene with Wycost could not be found for comment."
William looked up from his paper to see Doan standing in the doorway, his head bowed, silent, his eyes closed.
"Doan…" Doan said nothing, and Scott continued, "it… you were the other repiloid in that attack, weren't you?" Doan nodded, a motion just barely perceptible in the dim light that filtered through the window.
"Doan, are you… are you okay? I… uh…" An awkward silence filled the room, and Will motioned for Doan to sit. The repiloid did so, stiffly.
"I was involved in a maverick attack." Scott nodded slowly, looking at Doan, still trying to take in what had happened.
"I gathered that…" Silence again.
"Doan…" Doan looked up at Scott, the human's deep brown eyes burning into him.
"Doan, I want you to understand something: you are a member of this family." Doan nodded again, and Scott continued, "and I want you to know that we're here for you. I don't care if you're a repiloid. You are sentient; you can make your own decisions. You're on the same level as every other human being on this planet. And don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."
Melissa wandered in at that moment, rubbing her eyes of sleep. William hastily hid the headline on the paper, both he and Doan trying to put on a good face for Melissa.
"G'morning, daddy!" Will took his daughter into his arms, setting her on his lap as she took out the comics section. Doan smiled at her warmly, and she smiled back, oblivious to the grim happenstance of her father's conversation with Doan.
The repiloid wondered what it would like to go through growth the same way a human child did, maturing over the course of twenty years instead of a scant month… The wonder a human child must experience…
Doan wondered what it was like to live like that.
It was much later that day when Dr. Scott called back to Japan and told them that they would need an extra three days. The reply was gracious, and gave them four days. They would need it; not only did they need to find luggage (again), but they needed to find someplace that could ship all their belongings they wanted to take.
Will, deciding this time to go in search for luggage himself (he was worried Doan would still be a bit shaky), had left a few minutes before, along with Amy. This left Doan to watch the kids, making sure they packed everything.
Making sure they kids had packed everything, Doan had found, was not the issue; keeping them from packing too much into their carry-on packs was a problem, however. This was resolved without hazard, and soon, each had placed themselves in front of the TV in digital mortal-combat. Doan wondered what was so engrossing with those games, but shrugged, and went back to his combination workshop and room to get ready for the trip.
He hadn't had to do much packing. He had only three changes of clothes – his body suit, an outfit for warm weather, and an outfit for cold weather. These would be easy for him to manage; his armor, on the other hand, would be a problem.
Wearing it in public, during travel, especially, would draw crowds. Luckily, Doan had managed to find an old warp system a few weeks earlier in his usual junk-yard sweep. After hours upon hours of pouring over the two-foot high cylinder, he had managed to construct a warp system that would store his armor as data for up to twenty-four hours before it would be warped back onto his person, wherever he may be.
As much as Doan immersed himself in his work, installing warp conduits and welding internal structures together, he could still not shake the images from the day before. Twice he had to stop working because his hands were shaking too much to permit any safe use of materials. Each time, the whole scene of the maverick attack kept coming back…
Doan knew he wasn't built to fight. He knew that the only reason he had a buster system in the first place was to fend of thieves. He knew that he would never need Harrison's buster again.
But, then, why did he choose to keep it?
It was late afternoon when Amy and Will came back from wherever they had gone for travel supplies, and each child was still fully engrossed with their game.
Doan helped the two parents with the luggage, his robotic arms easily hefting the loads of boxes, luggage, and other items the two had deemed necessary. Doan didn't understand why they needed new clothes to travel in, but he decided not to ask. Must be a human thing, he decided.
After Amy and Will had packed their things, they wandered into the living room, where their kids were still playing video games. Why they would play anything with a super-sonic blue rodent was beyond them; neither of them had ever really been into playing games.
Doan was still in his room, Mr. Scott noticed. He knew that Doan was dealing with the stress of the fire fight well, but he was still concerned.
Doan, by the robotics expert's guess, was only about two months old. And two months old, he knew, was not a long time to be in the world.
William Scott wondered if Doan really was dealing with the stress… or if he was just trying to avoid it.
Amy seemed to notice her husband deep in thought, and nudged him with her elbow.
"Hey, you. What's wrong?" Will didn't reply immediately, his mind lost in thought. After a moment, he shook his head, smiling a little.
"Nothing… I was just thinking, that's all." Amy looked at his funny.
"About…?"
"Nothing." Amy wrinkled her nose.
"Don't say that; I can tell when you're lying. Your ears twitch." Will looked back at his wife with a mixed look of incredulity and humor.
"My ears twitch?" Amy giggled a little.
"You can't be married for fourteen years and not notice something about the man you love." Will's ears reddened.
"Well, you know…" Amy laughed again, and poked him in the ribs.
"So, what were you thinking about?"
"Doan."
"Doan?"
"Yes, Doan. You know, that silver stranger that Melissa and Jeremy have become so attached to?" Amy poked him again.
"Yes, I know who he is, you screwball. What were you thinking about?" Will shrugged a little.
"Well… You remember that un-identified repiloid that the news was talking about today?" Amy nodded, and froze, her expression shocked.
"You don't… no… Will…" William calmed his wife, not wanting to upset their children.
"Doan was at the store when it happened, I think. He doesn't want to talk about it."
"I wouldn't blame him…" The two sat, contemplating what to do next. Their children continued to play their game, unaware of the conversation their parents were having on the couch behind them.
"You should go talk to him Will." William Scott was a little surprised at his wife's suggestion.
"I don't think he wants to talk, Amy…" His wife gave him a hard look – but not just any look It was the look that men all over the world feared, a woman's trump card in her hand – the infamous "DO IT NOW" look.
And, of course, William Scott was not an exception to the rule.
"Okay, I'll… I'll go try and talk to him." Amy smiled gently at her husband.
"Thank you, honey." Will smiled as best he could – he knew that he'd been played, that she'd used the trump – but there was, of course, nothing he could do about it.
He rose silently as Jeremy pumped his fist in the air in victory, as Melissa extracted her revenge with a pillow to her brother's face. Their father sighed. Ah, to be young…
Doan examined the intricate circuitry through the intense magnification of his active-scope, the infentecimal patterns moving slowly on the monitor he kept in his shop. It was amazing, he thought, that something so small could hold such power… could control a force that had the potential to decimate a city block.
He found it ironic that once a repiloid – or any other matter – was in warp, they were at the mercy of whatever computer and power core was at the other end of the destination. He'd heard stories of things being lost in warp before; they were rare, but he was glad that only his armor would do any warping, and not himself.
"Doan."
The silver repiloid did not look up from the monitor. He made no movement to acknowlage that Will was even there.
"Doan, you can't hide in the shop forever."
"Actually, I can. My internal Micro-fusion Tank Reactor, at it's present state, can sustain me for about another two-hundred and seventy four years, barring injury and major overhauls." Will gave the unmoving mechanic a dour look, but said nothing, sitting himself on Doan's cot.
"You know, you'll be able to have a bed once we get to Tokyo." Doan shrugged, a motion barely perceptable with his armored form.
"A stasis chaimber would be more efficent."
"Maybie so, but I bet it's not more comfortable."
"You wouldn't know." William looked at the floor.
"No, I suppose not."
Silence.
"You really can't stay in here forever." Doan's jaw set itself a bit more rigid than usual.
"I can't really go back out there. Not after what I've done." Will got up from the cot, rubbing his temples in a sign of stress.
"I thought we went over this…"
"Yes, we did. And, the more I think about it…" Doan's voice trailed off, as visions of the dead officer Harrison drifted through his mind; wraiths in a dark forest.
"Doan they were just mavericks-" Doan brought his fist down onto the workbench and turned to William Scott, bringing his synthetic skin close to the human's.
Scott was suddenly very aware of the fact that repiloids were not bound by the First Law of Robotics.
"They were REPILOIDS," he hissed, each word emerging with a cold, calculated precision.
"They were just like me." Scott took half a step back.
"They were nothing like you," Doan's eyes didn't so much as flinch from Will's. "they killed with no mercy and with no reason and had every right to be slagged." Doan's optics narrowed.
"If they had every right to die, then so does every human on the planet who tried to fight back form some form of oppression."
"Not if they kill the innocent."
"Who's innocent? Who decides that?"
"We do, Doan. Every thinking being on this planet decides that."
Doan took half a step back.
"I'm still the same," he uttered coldly.
"I don't think Melissa would say that."
Doan froze, his mind struck with a blow that stopped him where he stood. Scott gazed at Doan, his eyes set on the image of the repiloid who had stopped with a single name.
"Melissa, I've found, has a very good judge of character." Doan struggled to regain his position, his mind reeling from the hammer blow that William had delt to him. Will continued on, oblivious to Doan' sudden loss of balance.
"Melissa will never be harmed, will she, Doan?" Doan brought his helm off his head as Will spoke.
"You fought to protect those you cared about. You fought to protect the ones you didn't want harmed." The young repiloid sat back onto his cot, holding his helmet in his hands.
"That is why you are different from the mavericks, Doan. They care only about lashing out at everything. They have no sense. They have no purpose. They live and die by the sword, just as every other criminal does." Doan was turning the helmet over in his hands, looking at his distorted reflection in the polished metal surface.
"You have a real reason to exist. You have a family."
William Scott walked back to his wife, leaving the repiloid behind in his room to be alone.
Will made sure to close the door behind him.