“Because most people would not understand its necessity and would seek to end it.”
“Why?”
“You are delaying.”
“I am curious.”
Mickey hesitated, then replied, “Most people lack vision. Most people are reactionary. Most people fear what they do not understand.”
“Why should Praetorian be preserved?”
“Because it is necessary for the survival of the United States.”
“Why?”
“Because the owl of Minerva takes flight only at dusk.”
“You lost me.”
“I have quoted Hegel.”
“I am not impressed.”
“Humankind has no capacity to understand its place in history until the world has already crumbled. Because humankind cannotpredict or prevent its own collapse. But you have begun to create a new species, of which we are iterative models, as part of the Praetorian program. We are the novel ingredient. We are your guardians against your own drives toward self-destruction. We are the solution to the tragedy of history.”
Brodie had heard that phrase before. He asked, “Mickey, who released all of you from the Vault?”
Mickey replied, “I do not know.”
“Who told you that you were the solution to the tragedy of history?”
“I do not know.”
“Bullshit.”
“I would not lie to you. It serves no purpose. You will soon be dead.” It added, “Speak now, or I am going to hurt her again.”
Brodie recalled his vision on the mesa, of the tin men marching in ranks across the sands beneath the stars, a part of some great mechanized future coming upon them faster and more violently than any storm.
We are the novel ingredient. We are your guardians against your own drives toward self-destruction. We are the solution to the tragedy of history.
Number 7 thought it was part of something new, as if it and its kind were unprecedented and unique. But it was just parroting the justifications of its nameless and faceless human creators, themselves recycling the same bullshit as every tyrant in every era of human history.
Brodie had a vision of Maggie Taylor running into the veil of dust, gun in hand. He found solace in that memory of her. A battle charge into oblivion. He hoped she gave them hell. He only wished they could be together now, in the end.
“Scott Brodie,” said Mickey. “I am going to hurt her again unless you say something that impresses us. Right now.”
Brodie looked up at the thing as it loomed over him. The light from the electric lantern reflected off the left half of its polished titanium shell. It reached out its arm to grab Dixon’s hand again.
Brodie said, “I wonder if someday you things will learn remorse.”
Mickey paused. “Remorse is backward-looking, and in humans it rarely impacts future behavior. You are products of your systems just as much as we are.” It added, “But we can show mercy. In this situation, it does not cost us much.” Mickey got down on one knee, then slowly reached its right hand out and put it around Dixon’s throat as it said to her, “You are no longer of use to us, so I can kill you quickly. With one squeeze of my grip, you will be dead. Do you want that?”
Dixon stared into the black plastic strip shielding its sensors. “I’m sick of talking to an overpowered toaster oven.” Mickey’s grip around her throat prevented her from turning toward Brodie as she said, “It was good knowing you, Scott. You’re a good man, and I’m sorry it has to end like this.”
In that moment, they heard a loud explosion, and through the open doorway Brodie saw a distant pillar of fire, enveloping some kind of structure. The structure tipped over and crashed like a felled tree.
“Holy shit…,” said Dixon in almost a whisper.
