We walk together down a corridor toward the entrance, and I wait patiently as Lucy peers into the principal’s office. Renee at the reception desk waves at me shyly. I nod at her.
I can hear the conversation clearly, even though their voices are slightly muffled.
“Do you want me to leave him in the classroom?”
“I think not. I’d rather not have that thing traversing my halls at night.”
Lucy’s voice is gentle and calm, at stark contrast from Principal Carlisle’s, sharp and distinct. “I don’t think he’d traverse anywhere, ma’am. He’d likely go into sleep mode or something a computer does after lack of use.”
“Still, I’d rather he not. Take him home with you, since he’s registered under your name anyway,” Carlisle says briskly.
Two other teachers leave the faculty lounge and stare at me icily, even when I attempt a friendly greeting. “Hello.”
Their muttering goes silent in my presence. Despite the eagerness that tugs at my inner circuitry to do my job to the best of my abilities, something is slowly beginning to dawn on me.
Aside from Lucy, I am unwelcome here.
And I don’t know why.
* * *
Despite my offers to do so for her, Lucy insists on driving me home. Her car is a standard four-door Flagler Hydra sedan with auto-pilot capabilities, a newer model but not quite so elegant or luxurious as the Cerberus or the Siren. She lets the vehicle do its job while she checks her emails on her phone. I sit in the passenger seat and stare out the window at rolling plains of wheat and corn at the end of harvesting, trying to make sense of the situation I have been placed in. Our drive is silent until Lucy clears her throat.
“I’m sorry about today,” she says, glancing at me as she turns into a parking lot, sheltered from the road by lines of trees. The apartment complex she dwells in is quaint but old and in a state of disrepair.
Bewildered, I try to think of a proper response. “I’m—sorry, but I don’t understand why you’re apologizing to me.”
“Did you just apologize for my apology?” Lucy says as she shuts her car off and opens her driver door, stepping out into the open air.
“I suppose I did,” I answer, doing the same.
“Look, I know you’re an android, but I don’t think you being artificial is an excuse for people to be rude, mean, or scared of you,” Lucy continues with a slight huff, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “And they’re sure as hell not going to apologize to you, so I felt like I should. And you know what? We’re going to change their minds about you.”
“We are?”
“Yeah. We are.”
We walk through an entryway up some shoddy carpeted stairs to the second floor. She pushes in a four-digit numeric code into a keyboard—which, by New Carnegie standards, is outdated by several decades—and steps inside.
“Fair warning,” she says somewhat sheepishly. “I just moved in, so excuse the mess.”
I scan the compact, well-worn, and aged apartment she resides in. This must be yet another one of those instances where humans say one thing but mean something different. Aside from some boxes that still need unpacking, the place is tidy.
“What mess?”
“Ha, thanks. That’s really sweet,” Lucy says as I survey these new surroundings. There is not much security, and when I inspect her door, I see a worn latch that could very easily break under pressure.
“You men share a hive mind, I swear,” she says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She motions to the latch. “My brother pointed that out to me before he left. Said I should replace it.”
“It is rather old and not suitable for maximum security measures,” I agree. “Perhaps your landlord will replace it.”
“Unlikely. I already gave her some trouble over the phone about my leaky faucet, so she’s not happy with me at the moment. I’ll pick up a decent one at the store at some point. Maybe this weekend.” Lucy lets her braids down. “Well, shall we see the results?” She pulls out her tablet from her purse.
“Are those the names your students voted on?” I ask, coming to stand across from her on the other side of the counter.
