People could get so attached to their artificial pets.

When Miranda saw that Jonathan, only seven years old, was becoming inconsolable about STEM’s increasing lack of response and inability to recharge himself at night, she knew it was time to visit Professor Cordelia. She remembered how soothing the Professor had been when her very first Little Helper, TIM, had needed to be unplugged for the final time. She gave Jonathan a big hug, suggested that they put STEM into a little cardboard box, and told him that they were going to visit an old friend who would make everything better.

 

Professor Cordelia had a workshop on the edge of town. Since her retirement from the university she had eschewed modern technological comforts and preferred to live and work out of the same run-down old house where Miranda’s mother had first brought her all those years ago. It was all warped and leaning wood, faded pink and yellow and green, famously stuffed with the remains of machines from days gone by. Miranda had made an appointment for early afternoon, and in the cramped front room Professor Cordelia looked at her through thick eyeglasses and welcomed her with remembered warmth.

 

“You must be Jonathan,” she said, stooping over to get on the boy’s level. “I understand that you have a Little Helper who’s not feeling so well.”

 

The boy, his eyes red from crying, nodded and held up the little box. Inside, STEM’s round metal hull showed the wear and tear from years of constant use, and the green lights in his vision disks were faded.

 

“I see,” said the Professor. “What’s his name?”

 

“STEM. He used to be fun, but now he mostly just sits there. He won’t even do his tricks.”

 

The Professor touched the top of STEM’s casing and watched one of his vision disks brighten slightly. “You know what I think, Jonathan?” The boy shook his head.

 

“I think you’ve had STEM a long time and maybe he needs a nice long rest. Maybe let him have some new robot friends. After they have spent so long with humans, that’s really what Little Helpers want most.”

 

Miranda put a comforting hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.

 

“Tell you what,” said Professor Cordelia. “Let’s go into my workshop and look at some of the amazing things I have. You’ll see how many different kinds of robots there are and how nice it can be for them after they get too old to work anymore. Would you like to see that?”

 

The boy nodded and Miranda, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, mouthed a silent “thank you” as Professor Cordelia opened the narrow door at the rear of the waiting room and led Jonathan and his box into the room that remained the talk of the city for people interested in robot technology.

 

The boy’s sorrow seemed instantly forgetten as the giant room opened itself to him and he gazed up at the shelves, boxes, stacks — all of them overflowing with a lifetime of mechanical dreams. There were circuit boards and antennas, broken treads and relays, artificial faces of every type, all tossed together with wires and transmitters that snaked down and around.

 

“Were these all robots?”

 

“That’s right. You know, I spent my whole life building robots: some were Little Helpers, like STEM here, but some were great big tools for companies and for governments, and some were just fun projects that I invented for myself. But sooner or later they all lived out their time, and I brought them all here.”

 

She eased herself down on her haunches and looked into Jonathan’s face. “Do you what I think Robot Heaven is?”

 

“Robots don’t go to Heaven!”

 

Professor Cordelia smiled. “Well we don’t know, do we? I know they’re not as real as people, but sometimes it feels that way, doesn’t it? We love them and play with them and teach them to do things for us, and sometimes it feels like they love us back.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“Well after our robots get too old to work anymore, I bring them here to rest so they get a whole new kind of life. Sometimes I take pieces from one robot and use them to bring another one to life for the first time, so those pieces get to start over. Sometimes I take the whole thing and give it a shelf of its very own so I can remember it the way it used to be. But I don’t think anything ever gets wasted, even after its time is over. Do you?”

 

The boy considered the box in his hand. “I guess not.”

 

“So how about we take STEM and give him a special place of his own? Find a spot where he can see all the other robots and old pieces in here, maybe make some new friends, and you can come visit him sometime. How would you feel about that?”

 

The tears on Jonathan’s face were gone now. “Ok.”

 

She gestured to the closest shelf. “Would you like to find a place for him?”

 

Silently the boy considered, then took STEM out of the box and snuggled him into a little space between a cracked green monitor and a mesh wire grille. He looked back at his mother, still visible through the open door to the waiting room, and she nodded at him, smiling bravely. When he looked back to make sure STEM was comfortable, Professor Cordelia reached up and with one swift, experienced motion applied pressure to the back of his neck and disconnected his neural input cord. The boy’s head dropped down and he stood unmoving, the soft whirr of his breathing circuits quickly powering down.

 

Through the open door, Miranda mouthed the words “Thank you” again, and Professor Cordelia looked around the warehouse for a larger empty space.

 

People could get so attached to their artificial pets.