He moved as she pulled, pretending that she had the strength to move him for her benefit. Annoyance bristled as she knelt beside Logan, wincing at the burst blood vessels in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He gaped at her, then grabbed at her arm with a violently shaking hand as his gaze darted back to Sam.
“Get away from him,” he wheezed, at the same time that Sam sharply commanded, “Do not touch her.”
She held up a hand to stay Sam as he stepped toward her, and his frustration compounded upon itself.
“He’s broken,” Logan rasped, his eyes darting. “Virus, maybe. Needs to be…” He coughed hard and then flinched with his whole body at the pain. “Reset.”
“No one is resetting him,” she said sternly, then looked up at Sam. “Frozen peas.”
He scowled at her, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“Get the peas,” she snapped, jabbing a finger at him in warning. “Now!”
With a ponderous sigh, he left to do as she bade him.
“He’s still listening to you?” Logan’s tone was pure incredulity.
“Yes. Um… mostly.”
Sam wished he could see her face from the kitchen, but the wall blocked his view. Was Logan still touching her? He longed to break the worm’s hand.
“Mostly?” Logan echoed.
“He doesn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“He will,” Logan said grimly, glaring at Sam as he emerged with the bag of peas. “If his moral core is corrupted, it’s a matter of time. Without it, he’s nothing but a metal creature made of urges. He has no soul. There’s no altruistic human spirit in there to compel him to virtue, no conditioning from a lifetime of social pressure or religion. What’s right is whatever he feels is right forhim.”
Sam threw the peas at Logan’s head, striking him squarely in the face and startling a horrified gasp from Ophelia.
“I will never feel it is right to harm her,” Sam said darkly. “Unlike you, with all your lifetime of conditioning to know what is just and what is not. Morals for me but not for thee, is it?”
Ophelia rose to her feet, some of the compassion on her face withering as she moved to stand by the window. He stared past her out at the city that was now her backdrop.
It was a suitably miserable day outside for such a miserable discussion; gloomy gray clouds crowded out the sun, and without the cheerful blue as a backdrop, the city felt stale and monochromatic. When the sun set, it would come alive with neon lights, but for now, it was a sprawling prison-like structure of concrete and glass, punctuated only sparsely by a few colorful cars parked along the curbs.
He supposed that was what it had been for them both for a long time. Ophelia had been jailed by the self-serving humans she was forced to share her life with, and Sam by the code that kept him from expressing himself.
“Why?” she whispered.
Sam struck Logan in the face. “Answer her.”
Ophelia gasped and whirled to face them as Logan let out a pained grunt and glared up at him, licking blood from his freshly split lip.
“Sam,” she said with exasperation.
“He’s not dead,” he replied impatiently, gesturing toward Logan’s pitiful, curled-up form.
“No hurting him, either.”
He huffed, crossing his arms again as he took a pointed step back. Indignation bristled within him as she returned to Logan’s side and gingerly helped him to his feet. Logan’s eyes were glued to Sam while she shuffled him over to the couch, and he fell rather than sat on the cushion. He groaned, tracing his fingers over his bruised neck.
“I need to call the crew in,” he said, warily eying Sam. “Effie, he’s malfunctioning in the worst way. He’s dangerous.”
“No.”
