Page 155 of Dustwalker

“We thought it important for all of you to see this,” Newton said, “because we want you to understand that he was once a man. I worked closely with Doctor Anderson throughout the procedure, and I am the one who reactivated Kevin Turner, with full knowledge of his history. I hoped he would find a new purpose in the rebuilding of this world. I was wrong in my assessment of him.

“I cannot say with any certainty whether he recalls his previous life. He made no indication of such during our brief interactions after Imade him operational. Regardless, it is clear that he has violently distanced himself from humanity. Please, make no mistake—he operates with malice, not the cold, logical front he projects.”

Newton tilted his head down, directing his optics at the table. “I would not normally condone violence. Doctor Anderson did not program it into my functions when he created me, and our work together was performed with the hope of achieving a golden age of peace, prosperity, and comfort. There is a chance that, somewhere deep within his coding, some of Kevin Turner remains in Warlord. There is a chance he can be reasoned with.”

Lara stiffened, and her fingers dug into Ronin’s hand.

“But I cannot ask any of you to risk your safety on that chance,” Newton continued. “Kevin Turner suffered unduly, and all our good intentions cannot reverse that. It is time for the suffering to end.”

Beside Ronin, Lara released a slow, unsteady breath, and the tension in her grip eased.

It was natural for bots to calculate odds, to weigh probability heavily in their decisions. Perhaps Ronin’s risk-assessment functions had been damaged in the Blackout. He actively sought danger by going into the Dust, and he should’ve met his end a thousand times over. But even he could recognize the odds.

The attackers were far more likely to die to a man than Warlord was to be swayed by words.

“I’m sure most of you have questions,” Rodriguez said, drawing all eyes back to him. “I do, too, but we don’t have the time or the information to answer all of them. Still, before I dismiss you, I want to reiterate this…there are people suffering in that town, every day. People who don’t know when their next meal might be. People who don’t have someone like Nancy to take care of them when they’re sick. People who wake up every day to the likelihood that it will be their last.

“We pull this off, and we’re helping all those people. But we’ll be securing our own future, as well. This place was never meant to be used as a permanent settlement. We need the sun. We need fields for our crops. We need open air. And we need to reach out, to broaden our community, if we want it to flourish.”

The room quieted again. Ronin ran his optics over the soldiers. Many of them were young, and they had likely never exchanged fire with hostile forces. How many of them would be dead before this was over? How many were realizing their mortality right now?

“When do we leave?” Lara asked.

“Three hours before dawn. Get your gear prepped tonight and get to sleep early.” Rodriguez stood. “Dismissed.”

Still holding Lara’s hand, Ronin led her out of the war room amidst the departing soldiers. As they wound through the corridors, the crowd thinned, until he and Lara were alone in a long, silent hallway.

Data, new and old, whirred through his processors, almost too fast for him to keep up with. It was sorted, sifted, classified, and redirected into countless simulations, compared to countless potential outcomes.

Tomorrow, they would march into Cheyenne, the stronghold of a monster who’d killed dozens—if not hundreds—of innocent humans and bots during his reign. The monster who’d raped and beaten Lara, who’d murdered Tabitha, who would have ended Ronin and Lara, were it not for Newton and sheer chance.

Ronin had already acknowledged the near impossibility of Lara’s very existence, the inconceivable chains of cause-and-effect stretching through epochs to result, ultimately, in the woman he loved.

Their survival was a similar collection of chance occurrences—the sudden storm, their proximity to the farmhouse, Lara’s discovery of the shelter behind it and Newton’s presence within. His decision to remain hidden while the gearheads attacked, and their decision not to search the shelter. Newton’s guidance in locating the base and Captain Cooper’s willingness to assist strangers in need. Nancy’s dedication and skill.

Had any one of those factors been missing or altered, the entire chain of events might’ve collapsed. One variation and Ronin and Lara might well have died.

Ronin’s CPU suddenly linked it all to a wholly human concept, one that had always been outside his comprehension.

Fate.

As he and Lara stepped into their room, she withdrew her hand from his and turned to him. “What’s running through that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “My central processing unit and data storage are located in my torso.”

She chuckled. “It’s a saying. You always take everything so literally.” She nudged him before sitting on the bed.

Ronin smirked. “Perhaps you need to familiarize yourself with my anatomy a little better.”

Laughing, she leaned back on her elbows and wiggled her brows. “Maybe I should.”

Despite her playful tone, her smile was strained, and a shadow lurked in her eyes. She always projected strength and stubbornness, never backed down from a fight. But that didn’t mean she was without fear.

He eased down beside Lara. “Honestly, there’s not enough time in this day, month, or year to tell you what’s going through my mind. You insist on going tomorrow, and I know nothing I say will stop you. We’ll be over a mile apart, surrounded by enemies. I have to accept that I cannot be there to protect you and must somehow entrust that task to others.”

“It’s the right thing to do, Ronin. They’re more likely to trust me, knowing I lived in the same shit hole as them, over some strangers with guns.”

“I know it’s the right thing.” Ronin shifted onto his knees and leaned over her, slipping his fingers into her red hair. He stared into her eyes, marveling at their intricate, delicate weave of vibrant blues and subtle grays. “But I don’t want to do it.”