Page 33 of Dustwalker

Would it have been better if he was unable to track the miles? If he couldn’t recall, with undiluted clarity, all the dead places he’d traversed? Somewhere, deep within his tattered data banks, memories of those places from before the Blackout awaited discovery.

Uncovering them wasn’t likely to bring comfort.

“Oh.” Lara glanced away, shoulders sagging. “Do you…like what you do? Scavenging out in the Dust?”

Ronin’s processors whirred, analyzing her question and seeking out the best answer. There wasn’t supposed to be like or dislike for him, only programming and its fulfillment.

“It’s preferable to repairing buildings or mowing grass,” he replied.

“So, you likebeing out there?”

How could he explain it to her? In the Dust, Ronin fought for his existence, earnedit, and found some semblance of his purpose in the battle. It was not his programming, not entirely, not exactly, but it was the closest he ever came.

“I find moments of joy,” he said finally.

Her eyes met his optics. Had the sky once been their shade of blue, or was that a fragment of his corrupted data?

“You actually feel joy?”

Why had she asked as though she didn’t believe him?

And why couldn’t Ronin formulate a satisfying answer?

“Perhaps…fulfillment is a better word.” It was no truer, though.

Lara’s brow creased. “But you said joy. Why would you say that if it’s not what you meant?”

He tilted his head, scrutinizing Lara. She was difficult enough to decipher as it was. Her questions only complicated the puzzle.

“Don’t humans often say things they don’t mean?” he asked.

“Yeah, but you’re not human.”

The statement hung in the air between them. Ronin couldn’t take offense. Even if he didn’t know what he was created for, he knew what he was. Still, he suspected she’d meant it, at least in part, as an insult.

“Bots always say what they mean,” she continued when he didn’t respond, “and always do what they say.”

“There are so many words with abstract, situational meanings. How are bots supposed to maintain a perfect track record when neither of our kinds fully understands them all the time?” Definitions only went so far to explain concepts like love, honor, and hatred. Beneath their simple explanations ran countless, complex layers of emotion.

“I may not know as many words as you,” Lara said, walking past him to sit on the edge of the dining table, “but I know the difference between fulfillment and enjoyment. And so do you.”

In her new position, her shirt—hisshirt—crept up, granting Ronin a glimpse of her lower thighs.

That shirt touched me, and now it is touching her. Her nipples are brushing against it, that patch of copper hair is separated from my sight only by a thin bit of cloth…

Ronin shifted his optics back to her face. How long had he stared? Seconds? By the set of her brow and the firmness of her mouth, it had been long enough for her to notice. His processors could handle massive amounts of data at once, could simultaneously monitor his entire field of vision, his hearing, touch, and movement without missing anything. Bots didn’t get distracted.

So how had this woman seized all his attention? More specifically, how had her body done so? She should’ve meant nothing to him.

Lara tipped her head just a few degrees to the right. “Anyway, since we’re talking about fulfillment…you want me to dance for you now?”

He wanted nothing more, and that was disconcerting.

“No. Not tonight. Your end of the arrangement will begin tomorrow, when I return.” He didn’t trust himself to resist the urge to violate her conditions. Not yet.

“What do you mean, when you return?” She lifted her posterior off the table and tugged the hem of the shirt down.

“This place isn’t properly stocked to support a human. If our arrangement is going to last, I must keep my word. I must do what I said.”