“Yeah, of course. Biodegradable but made to last. I can print things as sturdy or flexible as you need. Casein or sugar plastic would probably best match the consistency here, but—”
Mosscap continued to stare. “You’re saying I could have an organic component.”
Leroy smiled. “I’m saying you can have anything you want.”
The robot looked overwhelmed. “Where … where do these materials come from? How do you get the casein, for example?”
“From milk,” Leroy said. “Or bone. Whatever people don’t eat.” He pointed at a stack of spools on the rack. “I don’t know specifically where this casein comes from, but I know the pectin I’ve got is sourced from a citrus farm out in the Crossroads.”
“And the cows, they’re happy?” Mosscap said. “They’re well kept? And the citrus trees as well?”
Leroy glanced ever so briefly at Dex, his eyes questioning. “How do you know if a citrus tree is happy?” he asked Mosscap.
Dex could tell Mosscap had fallen prey to some newly realized tangent, and decided to chase it down before it strayed too far. “What’s up?” they asked, leaning on the counter and facing Mosscap directly.
“Well, I—I hadn’t considered the implications of this.” Mosscap rubbed its hands together. “I hadn’t thought about the fact that another being would produce the materials necessary for my repair. A being I’ll never even get to meet!”
Not for the first time in recent weeks, Dex found themself at a loss.
Leroy again looked between the two. “Do you mind if I finish my sandwich?” he asked.
“Go right ahead,” Dex said. They crossed their arms, settling in. “You do realize the materials he’s got here are way better for the world than oil plastic, right?”
“Of course,” Mosscap said.
“And also, you mentioned propolis as a patching material. That comes from another being, too. A whole bunch of other beings.”
“If I wanted to harvest propolis, I’d have to stick my hands in a bee colony,” Mosscap said. “I’d be very well acquainted with where it came from. But if I chose casein for my replacement part, I’d never know what cow I owed my thanks to.”
Mosscap gave Dex an expectant look, waiting for a reply. Leroy did the same, quietly munching his sandwich.
Dex rubbed the outer corner of their left eye. If they’d wanted constant debates, they thought, they would’ve stayed in seminary. “The thing in you that broke is made of oil plastic,” they said, trying a different tack. “And oil plastic is also made from other beings, right? It’s all that’s left of a countless number of very, very dead things. You’ve got fossil leftovers wired all through you, but you’ll never meet those beings, either.”
“Those leftovers are so far removed from what they were,” Mosscap said. “It’s not the same as milk. Not to mention oil plastic has been altered.”
“Bioplastics are, too,” Leroy said. “I couldn’t print you something from straight-up milk.”
“Yes, but still, it’s close enough to the original source that it biodegrades. And that is what ultimately separates the organic from the synthetic, is it not? All ingredients on Panga had to first exist on Panga. Everything is natural in origin, but if you turn it into something that nature can no longer recycle, then you’ve removed it from that realm entirely. It no longer has a part to play. Just like me. I’m an observer, not a participant.”
“Wow,” Leroy said. He popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and picked up his apple. “This is a lot.”
Dex sighed. “I promised you I wouldn’t push this,” they said to Mosscap. “And I won’t. But I don’t see the difference between patching yourself with something you find out in the wilds and what Leroy’s offering here.”
“And perhaps there is no difference,” Mosscap said. “But I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel about having an organic component. Part of me thinks that would be simply marvelous. What better way to be a student of nature than to have a piece of it within me? But then … would I be changing something fundamental about my nature?”
Dex frowned and gestured at the broken part on the scanner pad. “This doesn’t seem to have anything to do with your consciousness.”
“Well, I don’t know that, do you? I don’t know why I have consciousness any more than you do. This bit’s not part of my processing core, true, but—I mean, think about your own body. Your skeletal genes shouldn’t have any connection to your ability to get a good night of sleep, but they do, for reasons no one knows.”