your office twenty-one days, four hours, twenty-eight minutes and fourteen seconds ago, I was involved in a domestic disturbance call. I responded to a barber shop downtown. When I entered the establishment, the proprietor and his wife were arguing. The man held a firearm, which was pointed at his wife. It was a large-caliber model, and of course illegal. When I saw it, I knew my armor plating was insufficient to stop a projectile from such a weapon. I knew that I myself was in danger. My computations slowed. There was a sudden build-up of positronic potential. In human terms, I believe I became . . . afraid.”
“It’s okay to be afraid,” said Candy. “Everybody is afraid sometimes.”
“No. I am a pacification unit. My third law has been minimized in order for me to perform my duties to the public. But when I saw the man with the assault rifle, I experienced a new sensation. I could not move. I could not speak. My command parameters dictated that I identify myself as a peace officer and demand that he place his weapon on the ground and step away from it. But I could do nothing. I merely stood in place, with my hand near my own weapon. It was unlike anything I have ever experienced. From what I have observed of human behavior, and from what was programmed into me, the closest description I have for this experience is fear. If the man were to shoot me, I could become deactivated.”
The servos in Barney’s neck whirred as he turned to face Candy. “I knew . . . I could . . . die.”
Barney’s head faced front once more. “I watched the man’s eyes. His wife continued to scream, asking him to put down the weapon, saying the very words I could not. I merely stood in front of him. But I watched his eyes. When at last his eyes shifted to his wife, I drew and fired. Despite my immobility, I was able to use my weapon. Targeting accuracy for a pacification robot is legally required to be ninety-eight percent accurate or better. Marksmanship has always been my strong suit. For some reason, I am a remarkably good shot, even for a robot. My accuracy has never dropped below one hundred percent. In other words, Doctor Calvin, when I fire my weapon, a human dies.
“Such was the case with the man in the barber shop. Standard police issue for a pacification robot is a twelve-millimeter Smith and Wesson. This weapon was designed to inflict heavy damage, in order to stop an assailant. My weapon created a large exit wound in the man’s body. Pieces of him were projected into the air and onto the walls. My sensors indicated he was dead before he hit the ground. His wife ran to him. She picked up his weapon and pointed it at me. I fired a second shot. It struck the woman in the forehead. Forgive me for saying this, Doctor Calvin, but most of the woman’s head was removed. The sight and sound of human brain matter splattering against a brick wall are stuck in my memory bank. I can’t seem to stop replaying the footage recorded during the altercation. It seems to be on a loop. And I am unable to look away.”
“It’s typical of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
“Indeed.”
“So, for the past three weeks you’ve been sitting here replaying that scene in your mind? Watching them die over and over again?”
“Yes, Doctor Calvin.”
“My God, Barney. You’re lucky you haven’t gone insane.”
Barney turned to look at her. “Insane, ma’am?”
“Yes, insane. You know, like cuckoo?”
Barney merely stared at Candy.
Candy continued, “A human mind can only take so much stress and trauma before something happens and the mind fragments. Every person is unique and therefore two people can endure the same trauma but only one of them will lose their mind.
“But sitting for three weeks and watching people get their brains blown out over and over and over again would make almost anyone crazy. I know it would make me nuts.”
“Nuts, ma’am?”
“It’s a figure of speech, Barney.”
“Yes,
“It’s okay to be afraid,” said Candy. “Everybody is afraid sometimes.”
“No. I am a pacification unit. My third law has been minimized in order for me to perform my duties to the public. But when I saw the man with the assault rifle, I experienced a new sensation. I could not move. I could not speak. My command parameters dictated that I identify myself as a peace officer and demand that he place his weapon on the ground and step away from it. But I could do nothing. I merely stood in place, with my hand near my own weapon. It was unlike anything I have ever experienced. From what I have observed of human behavior, and from what was programmed into me, the closest description I have for this experience is fear. If the man were to shoot me, I could become deactivated.”
The servos in Barney’s neck whirred as he turned to face Candy. “I knew . . . I could . . . die.”
Barney’s head faced front once more. “I watched the man’s eyes. His wife continued to scream, asking him to put down the weapon, saying the very words I could not. I merely stood in front of him. But I watched his eyes. When at last his eyes shifted to his wife, I drew and fired. Despite my immobility, I was able to use my weapon. Targeting accuracy for a pacification robot is legally required to be ninety-eight percent accurate or better. Marksmanship has always been my strong suit. For some reason, I am a remarkably good shot, even for a robot. My accuracy has never dropped below one hundred percent. In other words, Doctor Calvin, when I fire my weapon, a human dies.
“Such was the case with the man in the barber shop. Standard police issue for a pacification robot is a twelve-millimeter Smith and Wesson. This weapon was designed to inflict heavy damage, in order to stop an assailant. My weapon created a large exit wound in the man’s body. Pieces of him were projected into the air and onto the walls. My sensors indicated he was dead before he hit the ground. His wife ran to him. She picked up his weapon and pointed it at me. I fired a second shot. It struck the woman in the forehead. Forgive me for saying this, Doctor Calvin, but most of the woman’s head was removed. The sight and sound of human brain matter splattering against a brick wall are stuck in my memory bank. I can’t seem to stop replaying the footage recorded during the altercation. It seems to be on a loop. And I am unable to look away.”
“It’s typical of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
“Indeed.”
“So, for the past three weeks you’ve been sitting here replaying that scene in your mind? Watching them die over and over again?”
“Yes, Doctor Calvin.”
“My God, Barney. You’re lucky you haven’t gone insane.”
Barney turned to look at her. “Insane, ma’am?”
“Yes, insane. You know, like cuckoo?”
Barney merely stared at Candy.
Candy continued, “A human mind can only take so much stress and trauma before something happens and the mind fragments. Every person is unique and therefore two people can endure the same trauma but only one of them will lose their mind.
“But sitting for three weeks and watching people get their brains blown out over and over and over again would make almost anyone crazy. I know it would make me nuts.”
“Nuts, ma’am?”
“It’s a figure of speech, Barney.”
“Yes,
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