Page 9 of Atticus
My third directive, although the most simple, is ultimately the most powerful. I must do everything within my capabilities to please the person who owns me. I anticipated that this would be Principal Judith Carlisle.
Instead, it is Lucy Warren.
I cannot help but gaze at her, memorizing her features. Ombre red hair intertwined with black is styled in—I do a swift internet search for the proper description—fashionable goddess braids. Her warm eyes are peppered with rich flecks of amber, and her deep sepia complexion glows. She shuffles with some papers and other objects around the room, actions I deem as those of an anxious sort. She is nervous.
Am I the cause?
My owner is very pleasing to the eye. This is a curiosity to me. I was not aware that I had any sort of measurement for human beauty. Is she aesthetically pleasing because she is my owner and I am hers? Or does her appearance simply inherently please me? I shall have to thoroughly scan my programming later.
“You’re staring at me a little hard there, sweetie. What is it?” she asks. Her voice is light, and if my sensors are correct, slightly apprehensive.
“I am still waiting for your response,” I reply.
She studies me quizzically. “My response?”
“I said hello,” I remind her.
She blinks furiously for a moment before snorting and muttering to herself. “Wow, right. Sorry. My brain is—” Her hands move all around in the air in front of her.
I stare at her hands, trying to make sense of what she’s trying to say. “Your brain is?”
Her core temperature rises yet again. “It’s been a long day. I’m the newest teacher here, so I’m at capacity at the moment, I guess. I’m very absentminded right now. I apologize.”
I respond with another smile, the easiest human gesture of reassurance. “No apology necessary, Miss Warren. I’m looking forward to assisting you in the classroom.”
“You already know about that?”
I nod. “I was briefed. All information regarding my directives as an assistant to school educators was already downloaded to my memory drive prior to my activation. It only took a few moments to review.”
She seems relieved. “Then you know how important it is that we both impress.”
“Indeed,” I agree. “Your heart rate and behavior indicate that you are nervous. Are you all right?”
“You can read my heart rate?” she asks with surprise.
“Of course.”
She folds her arms, her gaze flitting down from my face to my standard-issue BioNex shoes and back up again. “What about minds?” she says wryly. “Can you read those?”
I shake my head, knitting my brow. “Unfortunately, telepathy and mind reading remain in the realm of science fiction, Miss Warren. I am incapable of anticipating your thoughts.”
She chuckles at me, a light and merry sound that is pleasing to my receptors. “It was a joke. Let’s get ready to meet the children. Now,youare unfortunately going to steal my thunder.”
I watch as she moves to her desk and shuffles through a small gray duffel bag. “Steal your thunder?” I repeat in confusion. In a matter of seconds, I connect to the internet and search for the meaning of these words. To ensure harmony between us, it is important I learn quickly and adapt to her turns of phrase so that I may best anticipate her needs. “Ah. Draw attention from you?”
“Yes.” She withdraws holobins filled with sweets and removes their lids, presenting me with dozens of homemade cookies and cupcakes. “And what better way to compete with the cool new robot than with something edible?”
I’m not sure I understand. “To clarify,” I begin hesitantly, “you mean to bribe these students for their affection by offering treats prepared with high sugar content?”
She laughs, a sound I would like to hear again. “Precisely.”
Each of the baked goods seems to be made with great care. Even the vanilla frosting looks painstakingly applied it to each cupcake. “Do such attempts work, Miss Warren?”
Miss Warren grins at me brightly, nodding. “Absolutely.” She sets up the cupcakes and cookies on her desk, then straightens when she’s satisfied. “Oh—call me Miss Warren while we’re in class, but when we aren’t, just call me Lucy.”
My circuits thrum. I am honored by her permission. “Very well. Lucy. What is my informal designation?”
“Informal what, now?” She stares at me. “Oh! Your name?”
