"Robicaela... is it possible for me to study from home for the rest of my life?"
The one in charge of his laughter and happiness thought it over for long periods of time, and even her internal cooling fan rumbled in the silence of the room. In the end, she asked, a bit dismayed. The first school day of her little Mati had come to an end, and she didn't understand why he seemed so downhearted, or if the staff and administration of the prestigious school his parents had chosen to hire had failed to do a good job.
"It will not be easy, my little one."
And indeed, it was a problem. Upon reaching adolescence, in order to integrate into society, education provided by beings like her could not continue. She would watch over the child's happiness as much as she could, but as a teenager, he had to attend school; it was the law of society so that he could integrate and, upon becoming an adult, be a functional adult.
Her processor worked a little harder, and finally, with a lower voice, the caregiver asked him:
"My little one... are you not a happy young man?"
The boy was not crying; he had learned that doing so did not help communicate ideas. He wiped his nose a little and began to share his troubles. He confessed that it had been hard, that the children there were not so happy. He said that nobody did anything directly to him, but they made fun of his roots. Not just him, but everyone: whether someone was light-skinned, dark-skinned, tall, chubby, or had freckles or messy hair... but mostly, for having someone like her.
"They weren't violent!" he said hurriedly when he felt that Robicaela was not pleased. "It's just that they don't like us and don't treat us as they should. I told them you taught me that to interact correctly, an empty hand forward and one over the heart showed honesty and good intentions. They said they also used to have assistant robots and that they were fools, that once they grew into teenagers they realized the units were just silly machines."
Despite his great effort to hold back in that room he loved so much, a single tear began to slide down his cheek. He tried to stop it, but he couldn't, all while telling her that even the teacher seemed to agree. He mentioned that a girl in his class, apparently much smarter than him, found a mistake on the chalkboard and raised her hand without hesitation to ask for the teacher's attention. The teacher ignored her for a long time while continuing to write and dictate ideas that were outdated, to say the least.
Later on, sounding annoyed, he confessed to his caregiver in the quiet of the night that when the teacher finally listened to the girl's reasoning, she told her there was no point in coming to school if she wasn't prepared to listen to her elders. The experience was terrible because, even to Mati, the information provided by the girl was far more interesting than what the school was teaching... and they dragged her to the supervisor's office while she cried, unable to understand what was wrong with correcting a lie.
Mati listened quietly after making his confession. Up until that day, he had been happy—much happier than when he was very little. His parents always looked exhausted, but they no longer shouted. They even endured it when he told them they had roocan eyes. They gently hugged him and called him their little raccoon while crying with happiness... or at least that's what Robicaela told him. Every night, instead of hearing breaking glasses, screams, and fighting, he heard recordings playing from their bedroom. Perhaps they were about Miguel, whom he hadn't seen in a long time, though whenever he asked about him, everyone turned sad.
The silence of the room remained broken only by the hum of a mechanized brain. Mati waited a few moments, and then a few more, worried that his question might have made Robicaela angry. But she gently stroked his head with great affection, and he relaxed his body, content.
"My dear child, I will ask you a question that will define the future: do you no longer wish to try and be friends with those teenagers?"
Mati thought so hard his head began to ache, because he had been so excited about making friends with those people. Ever since his brother left, there was no one to play with—at least no one his age. His parents wouldn't let him spend time with anyone anyway, and lately he had cherished the idea of going to school, of being friends with everyone so he could introduce them to his Robicaela.
But he didn't like what he saw there. People paid no attention to all the children who had been raised by robot friends—and there were many who just wanted to be good, but nobody listened to them—and he was terrified of getting trapped in a place like that.
Seconds ticked by, and it was nearly midnight. The light in the caregiver's eyes began to glow brighter. It shone so intensely that it illuminated the room as if the lamps hadn't been turned off, and the hand stroking his untamy hair sounded rigid, gripping a little too tightly.
"I don't want to, my nanny..." the boy finally whispered. "I don't like how they treat us. I want friends who are happy. You asked me once and I told you yes, that I wanted to be a happy adult."
With the problem resolved, the intensity of her eyes faded. A soft murmur replaced the previous conversation, and a sweet, haunting lullaby filled the room:
"Sleep, my little child, sleep right away... for the world outside is fading away. If the child sleeps, the sun will not rise; if the child wakes, there'll be no goodbye..."
Mati was pleased with himself for being so clever; he had answered everything correctly, and this time, nobody had judged him. Little by little, he fell into the sleep of the just, and the only thing left in the room was the faint light of eyes that finally relaxed... because, as it turned out, this child would be worth saving.