construct n.

I am, by definition, not the same man who went into a transporter for the first time twenty years ago. I am a construct made by a machine after the image of a dead man—and the hell of it is, not even I can know how exact the imitation is, because—well, because obviously if anything is missing I wouldn’t remember it.

You’re being unreasonable, Macy. I mean, look at it objectively. You may think you exist, but you actually don’t. You’re a construct. You don’t have any more genuine reality as a person, as a human being, than that wall over there.

The woman was an Alvean. Despite her broad hips, loose breasts, and thick pouting lips, she was a construct, a pseudo-human, a creature designed for life on this alien world.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘nobody damn well says “what do you need?” to a bloody robot.’ ‘There is some law which forbids me to say it?’ ‘The law of human superiority.’ ‘You are superior.’ ‘Not quite. I’m an artifact. A construct. Timeless. Soulless.’

It is true that I am a construct, carrying out my master programming instructions—but so are you. I am made of different stuff, in a different way, than you, and, unlike you, I know my creator and my engineers.

The screen showed the School Room and a pleasant-faced woman seated at the desk. Tirla knew that the Teacher was a construct, devised to reproduce the old teacher-pupil confrontation, but she had always liked the look of Teacher; someone a person could trust, who would not laugh at questions or honest mistakes, who was there to help one learn.

I’m not just someone named Kullervo. I’m something more now. My name was—is—Vanamoinen. The real Vanamoinen died long ago; I’m a construct, a database ... his avatar, for want of a better word. I’m using Reede Kullervo to do what I have to do, here, now.

‘Is there something wrong?’ ‘Wrong, no. I just want to know where you got your hands on a construct.’ ‘A what?’ ‘A construct. A genetically engineered life-form. I’ve only seen DNA this abbreviated in theoretical texts. What did this come from? It must be kept in a damn jar!’ ‘It,’ Perivar bit the word off, ‘is a woman, Iyal. Walking, breathing, and in need of a bath, actually.’

You’re a thing. A test construct. A clone. They grew you in a fucking lab.

How could any human, even one so thoroughly mediated, marry a construct, a congeries of software, a dream?

That’s why you need constructs, SecUnits with organic components. [Ibid. 107] It doesn’t want to interact with humans. And why should it? You know how constructs are treated, especially in corporate-political environments.

The life of a construct was difficult once it became fully self-aware. Ed had seen plenty of examples of that. He did not wish it for himself.