?I don’t know. Hidden corporate imperatives were not a vital part of my programming. At least, I don’t think they were. I can’t be sure. I’m not feeling very well.?

?Do me a favor, Bishop; take a look around and see.?

She waited while he searched. ?Sorry,?he said finally. ?There’s nothing there now. That doesn’t mean there never was. I am no longer capable of accessing the sectors where such information would ordinarily be stored. I wish I could help you more but in my present condition I’m really not good for much.?

?Bull. Your identity program’s still intact.?She leaned forward and fondly touched the base of the decapitated skull. ?There’s still a lot of Bishop in there. I’ll save your program. I’ve got plenty of storage capacity available here. If I ever get out of this I’ll make sure you come with me. They can wire you up again.?

?How are you going to save my identity? Copy it into standard chip-ROM? I know what that’s like. No sensory input, no tactile output. Blind, deaf, dumb, and immobile. Humans call it limbo. Know what we androids call it? Gumbo. Electronic gumbo. No, thanks. I’d rather go null than nuts.?

?You won’t go nuts, Bishop. You’re too tough for that.?

?Am I? I’m only as tough as my body and my programming. The former’s gone and the latter’s fading fast. I’d rather be an intact memory than a desiccated reality. I’m tired. Everything’s slipping away. Do me a favor and just disconnect. It’s possible I could be reworked, installed in a new body, but there’d be omphalotic damage, 115

115

maybe identity loss as well. I’d never be top of the line again. I’d rather not have to deal with that. Do you understand what it means, to look forward only to being less than you were? No, thanks. I’d rather be nothing.?

She hesitated. ?You’re sure??

?Do it for me, Ripley. You owe me.?

?I don’t owe you anything, Bishop. You’re just a machine.?

?I saved you and the girl on Acheron. Do it for me.. as a friend.?

Reluctantly, she nodded. The eye winked a last time, then closed peacefully. There was no reaction, no twitching or jerking when she pulled the filaments. Once more the head lay motionless on the worktable.

?Sorry, Bishop, but you’re like an old calculator. Friendly and comfortable. If you can be repaired, I’m going to see to it that that comes to pass. If not, well, sleep peacefully wherever it is that androids sleep, and try not to dream. If things work out, I’ll get back to you later.?