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Independence was only for some people. It felt as though humans had granted bots civil rights for the sole purpose of taking them away again.
Nobody ever sat in the driver’s seat of a sentient car; it felt creepy, like climbing into the lap of a stranger.
It reminded Staybehind of when he had to carry all the equipment for his unit, and then he decided it was nothing like that. This burden was consensual.
Humans had a ritual of putting things on, implanting things, to show who they were inside. She was on the opposite path, a simpler one, showing who she was on the inside by taking off the outer layers. Bots understood that. But humans couldn’t imagine nakedness as truth. They needed adornment.
Poor Hands had never known war and wasn’t prepared to face the worst of human nature.
You want to protect us from the review bombers. I never want to make that mistake again—letting humans decide how valuable we are.
Now that he’d shared it with a friend, he didn’t feel the urge to remember it all the time.

