Page 17 of Atticus
She never simply stands by the holoboard or sits at her desk. She is always moving, walking between rows of students, speaking with her hands as much as her mouth. Aside from the occasional cluster of disinterested boys who would rather discuss their favorite first-person shooter video games than listen, she catches the attention of nearly everyone who enters the room.
But in every single class when the hands go up for questions, without fail, almost every one is about me and my capabilities.
After lunch, it’s eighth grade Ancient History, and the children are far more interested in the reading material than their cool, aloof, should-be-in-high-school counterparts. I stand at rest in the corner as Lucy addresses them.
“Afternoon, class. Let’s take roll call quickly, then we’ll begin.”
Between speaking softly with one another and answering to their names, their interest is keenly upon me. When a young girl waves, I nod slightly in her direction before returning to scanning their vitals. Aside from some restlessness, which is to be expected after lunch, they all appear to be in good health.
“I see you’ve noticed my android assistant,” Lucy says, finally turning to me and holding her hand out. “This is Atticus. He’s a limited edition BN2065 built specifically for this school. I expect you all to treat him with respect, just like you would with any other teacher.”
Rather than wait until the end of class, like she has for the majority of the day, Lucy tries something new. “Are there any questions for Atticus before we begin?”
Every single hand goes up. She glances at her tablet for names. “Yes, Jacqueline?”
“Is it true that you speak hundreds of languages?”
I lift my head, smiling. “I can.”
“Does that mean you can do different accents?” a boy asks.
Sensing Lucy’s approval, I upload and transition from a general American accent—my default voice—into something with a bit of a lilt.English. That ought to entertain them.“I can indeed, old chum.”
This excites them. “Do a Southern accent!”
“Well, there are so many different kinds.” It’s an easy change, much like switching from one song on a playlist to another. “I can sound like I’m from Virginia. Or from Georgia. Or from Texas, if you like.”
“Russian!”
“Far too easy, American comrades.”
The kids shout over one another now. “German!”
“It appears, Miss Varren, zat zis is a game zat could go on for a very long time.” I make my voice squeak a little, causing the students to burst into giggles. “Ve’d best take anozer qvestion.” And with that, I resume my normal dialect as a multitude of hands go up into the air over beaming faces.
“One more,” Lucy agrees. “Then we ought to get back to the lesson.” She picks a young boy with dark, somewhat greasy-looking hair cut short into spikes. “Brendan.”
“I got a good one for you. Is it true androids are going to take everyone’s jobs?” Brendan asks, his eyes narrowed at me.
Lucy rests a hand on her hip and opens her mouth to scold him, but I interject before she can. “It’s all right, Miss Warren. I can answer it myself.” I turn to Brendan. “Why are you afraid I’m going to take someone’s job?”
Brendan shrugs. “That’s what my dad says. Since androids can do everything a person can do without making mistakes, he says companies will start investing in android workforces, rather than people. He says lots of people are going to lose their jobs, so androids are bad.”
“My mom says that too!” another girl, Delilah, chimes in eagerly. “Well, kinda. She says they’re evil.”
“Evil?” I repeat, puzzled. “Why am I evil?”
“Because you don’t have a soul. And things without souls are wicked things, because they’ve got no reason to be good.”
“Delilah, that’s really not—” Lucy’s tone takes on a stern edge.
“It’s all right, Miss Warren, truly,” I say again. If I don’t address these fears personally, it could potentially damage any possible connections I could make with the students myself. “Perhaps I can put some concerns aside.”
After firing off an internal command, the color of my synthetic skin pales completely as my external frame goes from solid to translucent. The class gasps in surprise as they can see the outlines of my inner metal skeleton, my mainframe, wires, and circuitry and the gentle flow of my biocomponent lubricant—my ivory blood.
“I am a machine,” I explain pleasantly. “Just like your computers or your tablets or your phones. I can’t speak for having a soul or not. Perhaps I do. That’s a mystery, even for human beings. But I can tell you what I do have—a central processing unit, drives, and audio and visual feeds. I also have artificial intelligence, and that simply means that like you, I can learn. I can interact with you just like you interact with others. I was built to make your life and the lives of mankind easier, not to take away anyone’s livelihood. I exist only to help the teachers at your school, not replace them. You have my word.”
The children clamor, shooting off endless questions toward me as my transparency fades.
