“It was either,” she went on, quietly now, “take up a chain saw and go ham on every robot in some suicidal revenge-fest, or it was … acknowledge we had it coming. That we’d made them as good as us, better, and kept them in chains, and they deserved their time. And that would be … just. That makes sense. But only if there’s something there, you know.” She tapped the front of Uncharles’ plastic face.
