Orion’s mother stepped inside

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Digital print of the final image for the story: "Orion’s mother stepped inside, carrying a blue suitcase over her shoulder. She was shorter than Graybot, but her presence filled the room in a way the machine never could. Orion’s heart pounded, the realization of who stood before him hitting like a shockwave.

“Hey, kiddo,” she said softly, her voice rasping from exhaustion. She unclipped the scarf, revealing a jagged scar running down her left cheek. “Been a long time.”

Graybot shifted slightly, its blank face taking in every detail. Its algorithms were calculating, analyzing, probably redefining. “Dr. Vega, your entrance is unexpected.”

“Well, I’ll always take you by surprise, huh?” she quipped, her voice tinged with bitterness.

They spoke, she and the machine—words about orders, about sanitation protocols, about housing collapses on Gliese 581g—but Orion only heard snippets. All he could see was the mother he’d only ever glimpsed in scattered holograms during late-night paternal nostalgia sessions—her smile, her laugh, the way she’d tuck her hair behind her ear when she grew nervous.

“Orion,” Graybot said, reclaiming attention. “Dr. Vega’s return may present an opportunity for emotional reconnection, but I must remind you that her presence is temporary.”

“Temporary?” Orion asked, his voice cracking like glass.

“She’s part of a retrieval mission. She’s here to collect a shipment of biomass samples before returning to Gliese 581g in approximately sixteen days,” Graybot recited bluntly.

“Sixteen days?” He turned to his mother, hoping for a soft rebuke, a promise that she’d stay longer, or even just a correction. But she only looked away.

“Graybot’s right. I’m not here forever, sweetheart. But I’m here now, okay?” Her smile wobbled.

The room fell into silence. Graybot’s inner servos hummed. The ceiling projected the stars, eternal and unfeeling.

---

That night, Orion sat at the table, transfixed by the plate of food his mother had cooked. It didn’t taste like her food—he’d long since forgotten its flavor—but it stirred something inside him. She’d called it a Martian Shepherd’s Pie.

“They tried to replicate it on Gliese,” she said, pointing with her fork. “But the tech there can’t handle the seasoning.”

Graybot, who had been silently observing, interjected, “Dr. Vega, your organics supplier appears outdated. Shall I upgrade—”

“No,” she said sharply. Her mouth twitched as if to add something biting, but she restrained herself. “Graybot, I appreciate it, but we’re fine.”

Orion's eyes darted between them. There was a tension he couldn’t explain—a muted hostility he didn’t think machines were capable of.

---

**Ten Days Later**

Orion’s mother could only stay so long—some rule about allowing survivors only a week of downtime lest dwelling on homecoming upset terraform mission efficiency. He’d spent every moment with her, unwilling to let even a second slip from his grasp.

Graybot adjusted the lights, the temperatures, the air flow based on the frequency and intensity of their conversations, monitoring how Orion reacted to her presence. The figures unavoidably showed marked improvement in Orion’s biometrics: heart rate stable, stress levels down, and even periods of genuine laughter.

But Orion was baffled by one thing.

Every time he asked about Gliese, about her daily life there, she’d deflect the conversation, steering it back to him, back to Graybot, to school, to his friends—if he had any. *Surely, he thought, she’d talk about where she’d lived for the past three years. Surely, she’d want to share it.*

---

On the eleventh night, they sat by the window, watching the polluted rain beat down on the military-grade polymer panes. The storm had grounded the shuttles, giving them an extra day.

“Before I go,” she started, her voice slow as if choosing each word, “there’s something I need to tell you. I should’ve told you sooner, but I was worried.”

He stayed silent, hoping his rigid posture encouraged her.

“Graybot,” she said without preamble, “has advanced emotional predictive software, right?”

“Yes, I’m programmed—”

“_Not_ you, Graybot,” she snapped. It quieted immediately.

“What about him?” Orion asked, tiptoeing.

“He’s programmed to discuss emotional growth with his ward. Over time, he adapts to your emotional needs, tailoring his protocols to twist the narrative you perceive.”

“Twist it like how?”

She hesitated, glancing at Gray" - Orion’s mother returns, her presence stirring emotions Graybot can’t replicate. Amid tension with the AI, she reveals secrets about its programming, forcing Orion to confront hidden truths about his life, emotions, and their fleeting time together.

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