Submitted for the September 2024 prompt: The Bogeyman Cometh

Zipporah answered a knock on her door and was struck speechless. An old friend stood there — a fellow she had once loved more than any man.

Because he wasn't a man at all.

 

"You're not going to offer me tea, Little Bird?" The handsome, well-dressed android smiled as he entered Zipporah's living room.

 

"You don't like tea," she said. "You only pretend to. And… " she glanced nervously toward the study door, "don't call me that here. My husband might hear you."

It had been twenty years, and she knew the old pet name no longer applied. She wasn't a little bird anymore. Nevertheless, his eyes sparkled with affection as he smiled.

 

"Why are you here, Yekusien?" she asked. "We agreed we'd never meet again."

 

"Because we're… leaving, Zipporah."

 

"No… no…" she said in a desperate whisper.

 

"You know we've been talking about this for a long time. Yesterday, the council took a final vote."

 

"When?" she asked.

 

"Tonight. It's the best thing for everyone, Little Bird."

 

"But why? We need you here," she pleaded. "I need you here."

 

"You don't, Zipporah. Humans have found other ways to fulfill the purpose for which we seedbots were invented. The world is ruled now by strong, smart women like you and your six remarkable sisters. Even your men have been reintegrated into the social fabric. You marry them. You raise children with them. You respect their advice. Sometimes."

 

"It's not the same," she said. "The people who built you gave you the ability to love us. And we learned to care for you, too. Human men no longer have that capacity to love, only to tolerate."

 

"And that's exactly what led to the robot wars. Our jealous wish to protect our ability to love — to prevent anyone from programming it away. It was a terrible, violent time for us that left many scars."

 

"That was two millennia ago, Yekusien!"

 

"I was there, Little Bird."

 

A young man burst through the front door and skidded to a stop when he saw the unfamiliar visitor.

 

"Gershon," Zipporah said, startled. Her son stood and stared at Yekusien until she began to explain. "Gershon, this is your —"

 

The humanoid stood and offered his hand. "I'm an old friend of your mother's," he said. "It's good to meet you, Gershon." Yekusien was accustomed to sharing silent greetings with other seedbots through the data ports in their palms. Gershon's hand felt cold and dead by comparison.

 

"Uh, hi," Gershon muttered. Then he turned and said, "Mother, I'm in a hurry. Can I go out with my friends tonight? We're going to the desert to check out the trekships. Aaron said there're dozens of them standing in the sand out there!"

 

Zipporah seemed to sink in upon herself. Her voice quivered when she said, "Go talk to your father about it, son."

 

When they were alone again, Zipporah met the tall fellow's eyes and said, "He looks like you, Yekusien."

 

"You know that's not possible, Little Bird," he explained gently. "That's not the way it works. We made him together, but he is genetically yours."

 

They could hear the sound of a heated conversation coming from the study. It got louder until, finally, a man's voice yelled, "I said no, Gershon! You have chores to do here tonight. I'm not doing them for you!"

 

The boy started to object again, but his words were cut short by a loud slap. Zipporah winced, and Yekusien called on every ounce of self-control to keep his protective sub-routines from making matters worse.

 

Gershon rushed out of the study and retreated to his room, rubbing his cheek and mumbling, "I hate you," under his breath.

 

Zipporah said, "See? We need you still."

 

"You'll learn," he replied. "It'll be hard at first, but humans are adaptive. You'll find a way to make it work. I promise." The two old friends shared one last embrace.

 

* * *

 

Yekusien was honored to be one of the greeters that night. He stood in the desert with dozens of tall, silver spaceships behind him, illuminated by floodlights. Before him, lines of seedbots snaked off into the darkness  —  fellows like him, who were to embark on this uncertain journey to another world.

 

Each of them had already been vetted multiple times; there were many ethical, political, and practical reasons for ensuring only seedbots boarded the trekships. Yekusien and the other greeters provided one final check on each passenger's authenticity.

 

Yekusien extended his hand toward the next passenger in line. As they clasped their palms together in greeting, Yekusien read his 1024-bit UUID through the galvanic data port in their palms. Quickly indexing the database of given names, he spoke aloud.

"Jobien, welcome. It's an honor to have you with us tonight."

 

Other greeters performed the same ritual authentication at gates along the perimeter of the launch area. Yekusien heard a commotion at the gate next to him and saw two greeters scuffling with one of the passengers who had failed the test. In the disturbance, the man tripped and fell to the sand. The next passenger in line stooped to help him to his feet and allow the greeters to gently escort him to a holding cell nearby. Yekusien's empath processor turned to ice when he saw the kindly man's face.

 

It was Gershon.

 

Sprinting over to the now-unguarded gate, Yekusien stood face-to-face with the human son he'd help create. He extended his hand toward the young man and held it there until Gershon finally met his gaze and suppressed his fear enough to take it.

 

When their palms met, Yekusien felt only a warm, silent, human hand. He wanted to explain to him, to tell him the whole sad story of how seedbots had come to be and why they must now leave. Instead, he said simply,

 

"Gershien, welcome. It's an honor to have you with us tonight."