“What about the fact that the virus originated from a human terrorist,” Brandis said. “We’re supposed to just leave ourselves open to further attack?”
“One extremist does not make the entire human population culpable,” Pattermann said. “And the fact that a high-ranking robot in the military had access to the antivirus but had not released it doesn’t sound too good.”
Brandis’s face remained impassive, but Laughton knew he must have been seething. At last, Brandis shook his head. “No. A single human extremist released the virus as a terrorist attack, and Chief Laughton here neutralized the hostile and delivered the antivirus as a good citizen.”
“And who was this hostile?” the commissioner said.
“The hacker. What’s his name? Who started it all.”
“You want to claim someone killed days ago only just now produced the antivirus?” Kir said. “I’m sorry, the HHS isn’t going to go along with this. It still makes this a human security breach. Popular sentiment for the preserve will still take a blow.”
“And what do you think happens if popular sentiment turned on the military?” Brandis said. “You need us to be able to protect the preserve, don’t you?”
There was a moment of silence while everyone made their own calculations. At last, Laughton said, “Why make it complicated? McCardy killed Smythe. We got McCardy. Simple.”
“And the antivirus?”
“McCardy’s a hero. Tried to stop Smythe and then turned out to have the antivirus.”
Silence again.
The commissioner said, “I don’t like it.”
“It’s the truth,” Pattermann said.
“But not the whole truth,” the commissioner said.
“Good enough.”
The robots stood. Laughton wasn’t sure what he felt about any of this. Was it really what was best for humans? Having the military owe them could be more valuable than anything. He rolled his shoulders, wincing at the bruise from where he had fallen back during his fight with Sysigns. He was just tired. So tired. He wanted to go to bed.
But the press conference came first. When the commissioner called him forth to receive a medal, he smiled, and said thank you, and left it at that. After the ceremony, he found his truck in the police department’s lot. Kir walked him out.
“I’ve got to go back to Washington,” Kir said.
“You going to come see Betty and Erica? Say goodbye. You need to show Erica the dolphins.”
Kir shook his head. “I’ve got to make sure that everyone stays on script. I don’t trust any of those bastards. I need to be on hand.”
“The whole thing sucks,” Laughton said. “Fucking make an orgo the sole bad guy.”
“And an orgo the good guy,” Kir said.
“Because that’s what robots are going to hear,” Laughton said, sarcastic.
“Listen. Come back to Washington with me. Now you’re a hero. You’ll have a lot of clout. You want to protect people? This will protect people.”
“I wanted away from all of this. The preserve is supposed to be a safe haven.”
“Then make it that for others.”
“Betty would never leave. She’s doing important work here. Work that can’t be done anywhere else, that’s much more essential than me being a politician. You’ve got that handled.”
“You’re exhausted,” Kir said. “You look like hell. Rest, and think about it. It feels too good to have you by my side. I miss it.”
Laughton sighed, and held out his hand. “Me too.”
Kir took Laughton’s hand and pulled him into a hug. The robot squeezed him tight, just short of hurting him. “Hero,” Kir said, releasing him.
“Partner,” Laughton said.
Kir opened the door to the truck, and Laughton climbed in. He pushed the on button, and once the GPS came online, he tapped “Home.”
* * *
It was dark when Laughton arrived home, just past Erica’s bedtime. The whole left side of his face tingled, like pins and needles, and it made his eyelids heavy. He had to imagine falling into bed in order to gather enough energy to leave the truck. He got out, then remembered the medal, and reached over the driver’s seat to retrieve it from the passenger side. He wondered if they had a box of them at headquarters that they were able to produce one on such short notice. It had a Charleston Police Department seal on one side, an elongated octagon with a large double-masted clipper ship, which was the logo the city used before the creation of the preserve, so, yeah, they were probably working their way through back stock. They’d engraved the flat side with his name, the date, and the phrase “For service to robot and human safety.” Had to get that “robot” in there.
The door to the house unlocked at his touch, and he let himself in. Betty was nestled in one corner of the couch, her feet curled up beneath her, her phone in hand held ten inches from her face. She dropped it into her lap to greet him. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
“She wanted you to come in when you got home,” Betty said. She held both arms out to him without getting up.
He crossed to the couch and collapsed next to her, leaning back so she could wrap her arms around his chest and hold him. All of his muscles relaxed, sinking into her. It made the fight he’d had on the boat feel impossible, unreal. How could he have almost lost all of this? He knew he should probably have felt angry, but all he felt was anxious, like a delayed reaction, all of the fear that he must have been carrying for the last few days flooding him now.
“Crisis averted,” Betty said.
He held up the medal and she took it. She read it, and said, “What, do they just have these lying around?”
He grinned. “That’s what I thought.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, dropping it on the couch next to them. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“And I’m sorry for freaking out on you.”
“It’s okay to be scared,” Laughton said.
“Yeah, well…”
The indelicate thump, thump of feet coming down the stairs made Laughton roll his eyes, and Betty said, “Shit.”
“Daddy, are you coming?” Erica said. She had come down just far enough that she could peek through the top of the banister to look at them.
“He’s coming,” Betty said. “Get back in bed.”
“When is he coming?”
“Get back to bed,” Betty said, exasperated. Guess he had missed a normal bedtime, i.e., frustration hour.
But this was the point, Erica was the point, the thing that made them human, that made the preserve imperative, that was both the recipient of his legacy and his legacy itself. “No,” he said, raising his legs to use them as a counterweight, lifting him off the couch as he dropped them to stand. “I’m coming now.”
“I told her you’d come in when you got home,” Betty said.
“I’m coming,” he said, halfway to the stairs.
“She was supposed to wait.”
Erica was in her panda pajamas, her white torso floating over black legs halfway up the stairs.