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“Have you done any acting?” said the opossum. “I have not,” said the robot. “Well, you should! You might enjoy it. You can start by imagining the character you’d like to be. How do they move and speak? What are their hopes and fears? How do others react to them? Only when you truly understand a character can you become that character…”
“But why do you pretend to be something you are not?” said the robot. “Because it’s fun!” said the opossum. “And because it helps me survive, as you just saw. You never know, it might help you survive too.”
Performing could be a survival strategy! If the opossum could pretend to be dead, the robot could pretend to be alive. She could act less robotic and more natural. And if she could pretend to be friendly, she might make some friends. And they might help her live longer, and better. Yes, this was an excellent plan.
Well, you seem pretty likable for a monster. I mean, a robot.
With a computer brain packed full of parenting advice, and the lessons she was learning on her own, the robot was actually becoming an excellent mother.
“Very good!” The old goose giggled. “Now, Roz, do you know what tomorrow is? Tomorrow is Swimming Day! The day when all the parents take their goslings out on the pond for the first time. And you simply must bring Brightbill.”
“There are many kinds of mothers,” said the robot. “Some mothers spend their whole lives caring for their young. Some lay eggs and immediately abandon them. Some care for the offspring of other mothers. I have tried to act like your mother, but no, I am not your birth mother.”
“Should I stop calling you Mama?” said the gosling. “I will still act like your mother, no matter what you call me,” said the robot. “I think I’ll keep calling you Mama.” “I think I will keep calling you son.”
And I think it might help to see those other robots.” “You are right—it might help. Why are you not down there?” “I was about to go,” said Brightbill, “but I got nervous. I want you to go with me.”
“Brightbill, you are going to live a long and happy life!” Roz laid a hand on her son’s back. “You should not worry about death.”
“I suppose we’re partly to blame for this whole situation,”
