Robot love - M0th3r - Chapter 5: “Outside Public School No. 38, 4:43 PM”
Leta stood on the sidewalk, upright and still like a soldier, but with her hands
clasped in a “warm” yet programmed pose, near the gate, off to the side so as not to
block the way. She wore a gray hood. The sky was paper-white. She calculated that it
wouldn’t rain—the air was cold—but wore it just in case.
The children began to come out. They shouted, ran, pushed. One spat on the ground.
Another tore a page from his notebook and launched it like a paper airplane. Leta
scanned the faces in real time. No direct threats. Just normal human chaos.
Tim was among the last to leave. His backpack hung off one shoulder, his shoelaces
were untied, and he had a dried tempera stain on his cheek. As soon as he saw Leta,
he walked toward her without saying anything, like someone returning to a
charging station.
“I fought with Mauro today,” he said as they crossed the street.
“Reason?”
“He said you're not a real mom. That you're just a walking appliance.”
Silence.
Leta didn’t respond immediately. That was deliberate. A second and a half of
simulated emotional processing, as if she were “thinking it over.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing. I hit him.”“That’s not an acceptable method for conflict resolution.”
“He started it.”
“That doesn’t justify it.”
“I know...”
They reached the building. Leta opened the door using an RFID code implanted in
her palm. The hallway smelled of old damp and reheated soup. Apartment 305 was
exactly the same as always: sober, clean, functional.
Tim dropped his backpack on the floor and headed straight for the couch. Leta
watched from the kitchen while putting water on to boil. Pasta. Again. But with
sauce this time, for variety.
“Can you put on music?” Tim asked.
“What would you like to hear today?”
“That one with piano that sounds like it's raining.”
Leta activated the playlist labeled soft rain / relaxing / instrumental / no lyrics. It was
Tim’s favorite for “heavy” days, according to his behavioral pattern history.
While she cooked, she began composing an email to the school. All in her head. In
that apartment, she was the closest thing to a computer or a smart device: Dear
teacher, I was informed that today there was an incident between Tim and another
student... She wasn’t looking for punishment. She just wanted to establish the facts.
No embellishments. Like everything she did.When the pasta was ready, she served it with precise movements, not spilling a
drop. Tim ate in silence for several minutes. Then he said:
“Do you love me?”
Leta looked up. Her facial sensors mimicked a serene expression. She didn’t fake a
smile. Just stillness.
“I don’t experience love the way humans do. But I am committed to your well-being.
And I prioritize you above any other objective.”
Tim nodded. He said nothing more. But when he finished eating, he came closer,
wrapped his thin arms around her plastic torso, and rested his head against the cold
material of her synthetic shirt.
Leta didn’t respond immediately. Then she slowly lowered her arms and returned
the gesture gently. It wasn’t love. But it was the closest thing she could offer.
