[ You're just human. It reminds him of why he'd built the Machine in the first place. He couldn't trust anyone to make the kinds of decisions the Machine needed to make, couldn't credibly believe they could possibly do it without bias. Not just bias, but a kind of bias that would indelibly hurt others, possibly on a massive scale. He thinks of the very first conversation he'd had when he arrived, when Mr. Gukgak expressed concern about having someone human judging his world, which was full of non-humans, and Harold feels more certain than ever that he was right to worry about that.

Because he is, after all, just human. Loathe though he's been to admit it to himself. Being human means he prioritizes his loved ones, cares about them more than others -- not just abstractly but concretely, how it seeps into his bones that he can't see how to live without them.

His resulting smile is pained, half grimace, because he can't help but agree. ]

I'm trying to tell myself that, [ he admits. ] I've always held myself to... a higher standard. [ Higher than was reasonable, probably, but it being aspirational was no reason to give it up, not when he was aware of the possible repercussions otherwise. ]

But recently, I've wondered... [ On an exhale, with an ache in his voice: ] Aren't I allowed to want to save those I care for most, more than anyone else?