For such an open space, it felt small. The warehouse was filled with tables and crates containing parts of various makes in many stages of assembly. A corner in the back held a haphazard pile of discards. Rejected for one reason or another. At some point they’d all be reabsorbed into the project, but not until it was certain that they weren’t somehow useful, mostly meaning: the sentimental attachment had to fade.
The current project, the pride and joy, sat in the center of the vast room, at the eye of the storm. Making her physically had taken virtually no time at all. The prior prototypes had helped development of familiarity. It was her programming that had been the highest occupation of effort. Trying to get her just right. When the desired effect harbors such a huge juxtaposition, the minutia becomes important.
How to make a sentient creature that embodied a great deal of compassion but that can, when required, kill without compunction? The ultimate lesson turned out to be to implement the latter prior. To deeply embed that space of blackness before inserting any kindness.
On her altar-like table, breaking her antecedent stillness, she lifted her hand, turning it over, studying it as if seeing it for the first time. Her figure did not yet hold the covering which would make her more lifelike to others, yet she did not seem alarmed.