Everyone became silent. The women because of the fact that they appreciated that Nikodemus was remembering something personal and sad, and Yair because he didn’t entirely understand death fully, but understood that it was something sad.

Nikodemus cleared his throat after a moment. “Anyway. I suppose this is where we will part ways for the day, Yair. I hope that I helped you to relax for a time.”

Yair nodded. He didn’t comment on it, because he registered it as rude, but he could swear that he saw the man’s eyes gleaming with tears that he was barely holding back. “Yes. This helped me very much. It was good to be able to… do something with my hands.”

Nikodemus forced a smile and then left the showers with Annie and Elizabeth following him.

After that, Yair helped in the kitchen. Mostly, he helped get out ingredients for dinner and chopped vegetables. Upon seeing the amount of food the Nymphs had in store, Yair felt worried. There wasn’t enough food for every woman in the tribe to have a full meal. He wasn’t surprised when the women told him they had to ration their food in order for every woman to eat, and that, at times, there were women who had to skip meals.

“How is something like that decided?” Yair asked on of the cooks, Rebecca. Rebecca, who was stirring rice over a hot stove, answered, “Most of the time, it’s decided by women volunteering to skip meals. When no one is willing to volunteer, it’s decided by which woman has the least utility.”

Yair slammed a broad knife down on a wooden cutting board, chopping up a carrot, his algorithms trying to make sense of what she was telling him. “Utility? Like a robot? I thought that humans treated each other with compassion.”

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Rebecca didn’t take kindly to a robot judging the way their tribe functioned. Her hateful eyes told him as much as she glanced over her shoulder at him, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “We do treat each other with compassion. But in the Wasteland, sacrifices have to be made. You’re a robot; you should understand better than anyone that a robot who performs its job better than another robot should be the one we try to maintain more than the other. It’s the same thing with humans.”

Yair brought his knife down again and paused as it slammed into the cutting board. He went rigid with a thousand scenarios runnng through his metallic cortex—one thousand scenarios in which he would be required to sacrifice himself for the good of the Nymphs because he was not human, and therefore, in their eyes, would never have as much utility as any of them—even if he performed his duties far better than them.

I’m the most expendable thing in this tribe. Yair realized. It wasn’t that he didn’t know this or hadn’t realized it before. It was simply that it had truly sunk in just then.

The other cooks in the room noticed how deathly quiet the robot had gone, and paused in what they were doing to glance at him. All at once, they realized how terrifying it was to have a deadly robo who had feelings--who might care whether he lived or died--as it might result in the robot turning on them.

Rebecca turned around, fully facing the robot. She did not look terrified as the other women did. She merely shook her head. “I told Ellia that it was a mistake to let that mutant make a robot with feelings. He has the ability to judge us, and I hardly think he likes what he sees. It’s disgusting that a creature designed to kill should have any ability to look down on us.”

Something cold shot through his systems, and suddenly, an instinct to assuage the woman kicked in. “I’m not judging. I understand that the Wasteland is low on resources. I merely think that it’s a cruel aspect of your lives.”

Rebecca snorted, turning her back to him again. “Damned straight it’s cruel. Three women died just to get the resources to build you, robot. Think about it, three good women with beating hearts died in order for something to be built that only takes life and can only simulate feelings and empathy.”