Back at the garage, Kevin O’Conner has already gone home for the night. I had assumed he lived here or something, since he is caretaker for the robot that does live here, but it looks like he doesn’t care enough to do anything like that.

AR73 doesn’t seem too lonely about his absence. Right now it just seems excited about getting a bunch of new paints to experiment with.

Still, I bet the kid would do well if it had a better caretaker helping it around, someone who cares more about companionship. Like if it were raised by Karina. Or maybe even me. Okay, not me; I think I spelled doom for my short-term legal guardianship hopes with how I handled Kobi.

Heh, the thought of R8PR raising another robot as its own pops into my head. That would probably spell the end of human society pretty quickly, but it’d be kinda funny.

“You know, you’re a pretty good robot, and I don’t say that lightly,” I tell AR73.

“You’re a pretty good human too.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Well, thanks for taking me to the art supply store. I got to meet a lot of new people and study nature, which I don’t get to do that often. I really hope you and Karina will visit me again soon.”

“Speaking of that… It’s already dark. I wonder if Karina’s okay?”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“You should call her,” AR73 says.

“Already on it.” I take out my cell phone and call her.

She immediately picks up.

“Hello? Morgan? I was literally typing your number on my phone when you called.”

Uncanny.

“Hey. Just checking to see if your practice went okay.”

“I showed up half an hour late… But I didn’t get kicked out at least. How was AR73? Anything interesting happen?”

“AR73 foiled an armed robbery.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh, okay then…”

“You know, AR73 is actually really awesome. I never knew a robot could be so much fun. We need to come here more often.”

“Wait, what? Are you joking?”

“No. What?”

“You… you never say stuff like that.”

“I… uh… crap. I’ll see you tomorrow, Karina.” I hang up quickly and try to forget I ever portrayed a genuine emotion to another person. I almost blew my cover.

AR73’s gone, I just realized. Must have gone inside when I was in my phone call. Well, I was going to make some final catchy farewell like, like “Paint me a picture, will ya?” or something, but I guess we’ll have to leave it at that for now.

But only a moment later, AR73 returns, holding a large sheet of cardstock. “Hey, Morgan. I made this for you. It’s probably not any good, but I hope you’ll accept it anyway.”

Gee.

It’s not a painting, but a pencil drawing it must have made in just moments– a portrait of me. It’s essentially a photo replica drawn onto a dot matrix, but it’s pretty cool-looking. I don’t know enough about art to say if it’s good or not. Still. Awwwwwww…. “Thanks,” I say. “I’m going to keep this.”

“Interesting. I wasn’t sure how you’d react. You’re a perplexing individual, Morgan.”

“Thanks.”

I bend down, shake AR73’s hand, and make my way back home. If I hurry, I can probably catch the ten o’clock news and see if any mayoral candidates insulted each other in particularly-nasty ways today. My favorite sporting event.

“Today wasn’t so bad,” I say to myself. It’s honestly kind of weird.