By Chris Wraight
Dr. Rodney McKay needs to try to rescue his pals who're stranded on an icy international at the fringe of the Pegasus Galaxy.
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Extra resources for Dead End (Stargate: Atlantis, Book 12)
You are a robot, Andrew reminded himself sternly. You are a product of the United States Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation. And then Andrew would look at Little Miss and a sensation of great joy and warmth would spread through his positronic brain--a sensation that he had come to identify as "love"--and he would have to remind himself, allover again, that he was nothing more than a cleverly designed structure of metal and plastic with an artificial platinum-iridium brain inside his chrome-steel skull, and he had no right to feel emotions, or to think paradoxical thoughts, or to do any other such complex and mysterious human thing.
That isn't what they want, at U. S. Robots. They're after perfection, and I suppose they've attained it--their idea of perfection, anyway. The perfect servant. The flawlessly functioning mechanical man. But perfection can be a terrible limitation, Andrew. Don't you agree? What it leads to is a kind of soulless automaton that has no ability to transcend its builders' predetermined notions of its limitations. Not at all like you, Andrew. You aren't soulless, that's obvious to us all by now. " "Of course you do.
I know you've been giving away a great many of the things that Andrew has made. People have told me that it's practically impossible to come here without being offered something. I've seen a few of the things that they've been given. There's never been a question of money changing hands, am I right? And now--completely leaving out of the discussion the fact that I'm not a collector of little wooden carvings, no matter how lovely they might be--you baffle me by asking me if I want to purchase one!
Dead End (Stargate: Atlantis, Book 12) by Chris Wraight