[A2, some time ago, would not have hesitated in speaking poorly of machines. They were mindless automatons, she would have said, they existed only to kill and destroy and ruin what was left of the Earth. Worthless bags of bolts, inferior to androids in every way, with their capacity to think and feel and love for themselves. Machines in contrast, could not love. They did not feel pain, they didn't bleed or cry out. They certainly could not think for themselves, hooked up mindlessly to their network, receiving directives from the alien forces.
But this A2 has met the machines cut off from the network, has met Pascal, who helped her without the expectation of anything in return, and his villagers, and perhaps it is an echo of this ("Come play with us, Big Sis!") that makes her stop and think about it, for once.]
Most of them are connected to a network. They're... [She struggles to think of a word.] obsolete. They don't look like androids. They don't think like humans. All they do is kill us.
[She adds, with some reluctance.] The ones I've met that aren't hooked up to the network are — they're fine. They don't hurt anyone.
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But this A2 has met the machines cut off from the network, has met Pascal, who helped her without the expectation of anything in return, and his villagers, and perhaps it is an echo of this ("Come play with us, Big Sis!") that makes her stop and think about it, for once.]
Most of them are connected to a network. They're... [She struggles to think of a word.] obsolete. They don't look like androids. They don't think like humans. All they do is kill us.
[She adds, with some reluctance.] The ones I've met that aren't hooked up to the network are — they're fine. They don't hurt anyone.