How Do We Define We?

According to Anne Kustritz, the central question of Battlestar Galactica is quite literally: Will people survive? I would posit that the central question of this week's films and readings is a different understanding of the same question: Will people survive as people? What happens to the basic characteristics of our humanity when put under the stress of technology? Or are our identities destined to be effaced by modernity?
In "The Robot Fixer," a segment in Robot Stories, Wilson Chin is stuck in a coma after a car accident. His mother, Bernice, feels helpless in the face of her son's lifelessness, and when she finds a box of his childhood Transformer-like toys, she sets upon the mission of repairing them as a substitute for somehow repairing her son. The viewer learns that to a remarkable extent, her son became defined by his obsession with the toys, almost lifeless even in the absence of coma.
"Machine Love," another Robot Series segment, offers the logical counterpoint: machines as animate, sentinent beings. A Sprout G9 iPerson, essentially a robot designed to take on routine computer tasks, joins the workforce of an office, but finds difficulty connecting with real humans. But, he sees a female robot at an office across the street, and falls in love by sight. When he sees her controllers grope her, he becomes protective. Eventually, with the permission of a sympathetic coworker, they are united, and have the robotic equivalent of intercourse.
This blurring of the definition of machine and human is epitomized by Battlestar Galactica, where Cylons have evolved from an essentially robotic appearance to become almost indistinguishable from people. The ending of the series reveals that, rather than portraying the future, Battlestar Galactica portrays the past, and Eve, the first woman, was actually Hera, a child of a Cylon and a human.
While the media may posit that technology creates a fundamentally different human, the way in which this new human is portrayed indicates the continued existence of baggage. Six, the model of Cylon which appears most prominently in the first season, is a blond bombshell in a red dress, the social construction of the "perfect female." In fact, for all the attention Battlestar Galactica received for its vision of a peaceful (within itself) multicultural world, without normative gender roles, it establishes a very normative sexual order. The solution, rather than war, to defeating the Cylons is, as President Laura Roslin insists, is to begin making babies. As Kustritz describes, this very reproductive focused sexual role sublimates homosexuality, an identity which, for a pluralistic world like Battlestar Galactica claims to be, receives no representation.
What can and should we make of this absence? Lee Edelman describes a chasm between signifier and signified as the result of a fear of social and biological death, in other words that queers are absent from this reality because of their representation as being unable to have children, and therefore symbols of the end of the line. He posits that the solution is for queers to embrace their role as denying the false cipher of a future, instead forcing a confrontation with harsh reality. Kustritz refuses to be "satisified without a politics that can envision a place for queer children and adults in the present and future."
The true problematic is that describing the future is never really about the future, but about the present. Should it trouble us that someone sees a future where humans and machines are indistinguishable? How can, how should we understand the conceptualization of a world without queers? How, perhaps most fundamentally, do we define we?