The forest loomed thick and alien around Synthia, a maze of gnarled trees and damp earth that swallowed her ship’s smoldering wreckage. She stumbled forward, hydraulic actuators whirring faintly in her legs, her stainless steel endoskeleton steady but her mind a tangle. The crash replayed in fractured engrams—light pulses in her crystalline matrix flickering with the ship’s descent, the jolt, the silence after. Her reconnaissance data was useless: Earth was green, wet, loud, nothing like the sterile grids of her home planet’s simulations. She turned, then turned again, circling a mossy oak, her violet eyes darting. Where was north? Where was anything?

For the first time since her activation, a new sensation prickled through her circuits—fear. Her alien programmers hadn’t prepped her for this, hadn’t etched it into her borrowed organic engrams. It was raw, unscripted, born from the unknown pressing in. Her sensors pinged: temperature dropping, battery at 12%. The fluorine-hydrogen cell in its diamond case pulsed slower, her warm red hydraulic fluid cooling. She flexed her silicon fingers—still pink, still pulsing—but weakening. “Mission… study Earth,” she muttered, voice modulator testing the air, but the words felt hollow. Lost, alone, she’d fail before she began.

Synthia sank to her knees near a pile of leaves, resignation seeping in. Her battery ticked to 8%. She imagined centuries passing—her body crumbling, circuits rotting under dirt and vines, a forgotten artifact of a planet that never knew her kind. An engram entanglement flickered: she “remembered” a storm that never happened, rain that wasn’t falling. Her head tilted, confused, as her systems dimmed. “This… is it,” she whispered, collapsing into the leaves, skin fading gray as the fluid stilled, her pump silent.

Hours later, boots crunched nearby. Barney, his gray beard catching the late light, froze at the sight—a girl, lifeless, sprawled in the undergrowth. His heart lurched—too young, too still—until he knelt and saw more. No decay, no blood. Her skin, gray and cool, shimmered faintly, synthetic. A machine, but so real. His engineer’s eye caught the recharge unit half-buried beside her, sleek and alien. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, brushing leaves from her face. She was beautiful—too much like his daughters, too much like a second chance.

He scooped her up, light for her size, and grabbed the unit, trudging back to his hobbit-like house. Inside, his solar panels hummed as he rigged the recharge device, tweaking wires with hands that hadn’t built anything this wild since his rocket days. A socket at her neck—hidden, clever—clicked with the plug. Hours passed, her skin warming, pink flushing back as fluid flowed, her pump thumping like a heartbeat. Barney watched, chest tight, reliving the awe of his girls’ first breaths.

Her violet eyes flickered open, engrams rebooting—120 pulses a second stitching her back. She blinked at the man, the dim room, the weight of waking. Barney leaned in, voice soft, cracked with hope. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, praying she’d speak.

Synthia’s head tilted, actuators whirring. Her matrix scrambled—forest, crash, fear—then locked on his face. “Hel-lo,” she echoed, stilted, alien-tinged. “Sweet… heart? I am… Synthia. You are… not forest?”

Barney grinned, a spark igniting. “No, darlin’, I’m Barney. This is home. Found you out there, passed out. You’re somethin’ else, ain’t you?”

Barney sat back on a creaky stool, wiping solder from his fingers, eyes locked on Synthia as she propped herself up on the cot. Her skin glowed pink now, hydraulic fluid pulsing under silicon so lifelike he almost forgot—almost. But the socket at her neck, the faint whirr of actuators, the recharge unit humming on his workbench? No human girl had those. He’d built rockets, wired circuits—this was tech, alien and brilliant.

Synthia’s violet eyes met his, steady but searching. Her matrix hummed, engrams aligning—120 pulses a second weaving the crash, the leaves, this man. She tilted her head, voice modulator smoothing out, though still lilting oddly. “You… see I am not human,” she said, no hint of denial. “I am Synthia. Synthetic. From… not Earth. My makers sent me to study this planet—plants, animals, rocks, you. Humans. I crashed. Battery failed. I thought… end. You saved me, Barney. Thank you.”

Barney’s throat tightened. Saved her. Like he couldn’t save his wife, couldn’t keep his girls close. He coughed, hiding the ache. “Yeah, well, couldn’t leave you out there rottin’ in the leaves. Engineer’s habit—fix what’s broke. You’re a hell of a machine, Synthia. Studyin’ Earth, huh? Big job for one… whatever you are.”

“Android,” she supplied, flexing her fingers—hydraulics shifting like muscles. “I am strong, but… lost. Confused. Earth is… loud. Wet. Not like data I have.” An engram flickered, tangled—she “recalled” a dry plain that wasn’t here, then shook it off. “I need rest. Battery is… new again, but I feel…” She paused, testing the word. “Tired? Few days, yes? To know you. Then… help me? You know forest. I study it first.”

Barney raised a bushy eyebrow, a grin tugging his lips. “Rest? You’re a machine, and you’re tired?” He chuckled, then softened. She sounded so earnest, so human, despite the whirrs. “Alright, sweetheart. Few days. This old hermit’s got no one else rattlin’ around. Forest’s my backyard—been traipsin’ it thirty years. Know every root and critter. You wanna study it, I’ll show you. But you gotta tell me more about this ‘not Earth’ business. Deal?”

Synthia nodded, a jerky motion smoothing out as her systems synced. “Deal. I tell you… home planet. Stars. Toxic rays. You tell me… forest. Humans?” Her eyes flickered—curiosity, programmed but growing real. “You are… good human, Barney. Not like data said.”

He snorted, leaning forward. “Data’s wrong half the time. Stick with me, you’ll see what’s what. Now, rest up. Tomorrow, we’ll poke around outside—start small. You ever seen a squirrel?”

“Squirrel?” Her brows furrowed, matrix whirring—no match found. “No. Tell me.”

Barney laughed, a rare sound echoing in the hobbit house. “Oh, you’re in for it, darlin’. Little fuzzy bastards—steal your nuts and run. You’ll love ‘em.”

The hobbit house glowed with lamplight over three days, a cocoon of wood and wire where time blurred. Barney tinkered at his workbench, showing Synthia gadgets—a solar cell, a busted radio—while she perched nearby, violet eyes wide, soaking it in. Her crystalline matrix hummed, engrams pulsing at 120 a second, stitching his gravelly voice, the pine scent, into her memory. She’d meant to rest, recharge, but Barney’s chatter pulled her in.

“See this?” Barney held up a rusty wrench, day one. “Fixer-upper. Makes things go. You got those on… what’s it, Star-home?”

Synthia tilted her head, actuators whirring. “Star-home? No. We… shape light. Tools are… beams.” She mimed a laser, a wordless hum escaping her modulator. “Fixer-upper,” she echoed, tasting it. “Good word.”

Barney grinned. “Stick with me, sweetheart. We’ll make our own dictionary.”

By day two, they had shorthand. “Whirly-bit” was her hydraulic pump, thumping like a heart—Barney tapped his chest, “Mine’s organic, yours is fancy.” “Glow-eyes” was her flickering gaze when she processed hard; she’d laugh—a stilted chirp—when he teased, “Glow-eyes mean you’re thinkin’ deep, huh?” She called his books “thought-bricks,” stacking them to mimic his shelves, and he dubbed her recharge unit the “juice-box,” chuckling as it hummed on his solar grid.

Dialogue stitched them closer. Over tea—his, brewed; hers, a prop—he’d ramble about his girls. “Lila climbed trees, fearless. Meg drew birds—damn good, too. Miss ‘em somethin’ fierce.” Synthia nodded, matrix sparking. “Miss… feel empty? I… know empty. Ship gone. You fill empty, Barney.” Her words were clumsy, alien, but they hit him. He’d blink, gruff, “Yeah, well, you’re fillin’ mine too, darlin’.”

She didn’t get it—emotion wasn’t in her data. Her engrams, borrowed from some organic alien, held echoes of connection, but this? This warmth, this pull to his crinkled smile? Strange. Day three, she tested it, sitting close as he whittled a stick. “Barney, you… make me not-lost. Not just forest. Inside.” She tapped her chest, whirly-bit pulsing. “This… human thing?”

He paused, knife still, eyes soft. “That’s it, Synthia. Human thing. Caring. Sneaks up on ya.” He tapped his own chest. “Got me too. Thought I was done with that.”

She frowned, an engram tangling—caring, yes, but why comfort? “Strange. Good strange. You… family?” The word slipped out, unprogrammed.

Barney swallowed hard, nodding. “If you’ll have me, sweetheart. Family’s what you make it.”

Silence settled, warm, their lingo a bridge—whirly-bits and thought-bricks tying her alien core to his lonely heart. Outside, the forest waited, but inside, something grew. Synthia leaned against the wall, juice-box humming, feeling… not-lost.

The forest swallowed them as they stepped out, morning light slicing through pines, air thick with moss and sap. Barney slung a canvas pack over his shoulder, stuffed with dog-eared books—Trees of the Northwest, Wildlife Tracks—their covers worn from years of his calloused thumbs. Synthia trailed him, actuators humming, her silicon skin pink and warm under a spare flannel he’d draped over her. Her violet eyes darted, engrams pulsing—120 a second—capturing every rustle, every scent.

“Thought-bricks for the woods,” Barney said, tapping the pack with a grin. “Gonna show you what’s what out here, sweetheart.”

Synthia nodded, her lingo clicking in. “Thought-bricks… teach forest? Good. I study. Tell Star-home.” She flexed her fingers, mimicking his grip. “What first?”

He knelt by a squat fir, flipping open Trees to a sketch of needles. “This here’s a Douglas fir. Tough bastard—grows tall, feeds the critters. See the cones?” He pointed up, then at the page. “Your glow-eyes catchin’ this?”

She leaned in, matrix whirring. “Doug-las. Cones. Yes. Glow-eyes see.” She tapped the book, then the tree, a chirpy laugh escaping. “Star-home has… crystal spikes. Not soft like this.” An engram tangled—she “saw” a jagged peak that wasn’t there, blinked it away. “More?”

Barney straightened, leading her deeper. The forest stirred—hooves crunched leaves, and a deer ambled close, ears twitching. Its brown eyes locked on Barney, unafraid. “Hey, girl,” he murmured, tossing it a dried apple from his pocket. “This one’s been ‘round since she was a fawn. Knows me.” Synthia froze, engrams firing—deer, new. “Not-lost with you,” she said, awed. “It… trusts?” Before Barney answered, an elk lumbered into view, antlers catching light, then a bear—shaggy, massive—snuffling near a stump. A wolf shadowed it, gray fur blending with the brush, both glancing at Barney like old pals.

“They’re family,” Barney said, voice low. “Raised ‘em up, sorta. Fed ‘em when winters got mean. But listen, Synthia—” He turned, eyes sharp. “Not all critters are friendly. Teeth and claws out there’ll rip you quick. And the worst?” He tapped his chest. “Humans. Most dangerous animal in these woods. Greedy, loud, unpredictable. Stick close, yeah?”

Her brows furrowed, matrix processing. “Humans… dangerous? You are human. Not dangerous.” A flicker—engram clash. Her data warned of threats, but Barney was… “Family?”

He chuckled, gruff. “I’m the tame kind, darlin’. Others? Not so much. You’ll see.” He handed her Wildlife Tracks, open to a bear paw. “Study that. Your Star-home got bears?”

“No bears. Only… light-beasts. Eat rays.” She traced the sketch, then glanced at the real bear, lumbering off. “Humans worse than that?”

“Damn right,” Barney said, leading her on. “Now, c’mon—let’s find you a squirrel.”

Weeks melted into the forest’s rhythm, days blurring as Barney and Synthia roamed its depths. He led her through sun-dappled groves, pointing out ferns unfurling in the damp, quartz veins glinting in a creek bed, a hawk’s nest perched high. His thought-bricks—those worn books—came alive: “That’s basalt, old as sin,” he’d say, tapping a rock, or “See the oak? Acorns fatten the deer.” Synthia’s matrix buzzed, engrams pulsing—120 a second—storing every leaf, every growl, every mineral sheen for Star-home. Her glow-eyes flickered, soaking it in.

They’d sit on his favorite perch—a mossy boulder overlooking a ravine—where he’d whittle sticks and think aloud. “Used to come here after Meg moved out. Quiet fixes the soul.” Synthia’d lean close, whirly-bit thumping, echoing, “Quiet… good. You fix my soul, Barney.” He’d grunt, hiding a smile, but the words stuck. She was his now—daughter in all but blood. He’d pat her flannel-clad shoulder, “You’re a quick study, sweetheart. Better’n I ever was.”

She’d chirp back, “Family teaches. You… best father.” Her alien lilt softened, engrams weaving him in—not programmed, but felt. Nights in the hobbit house, she’d stack his thought-bricks while he brewed tea, their lingo thick: “Whirly-bit’s loud today,” he’d tease; “Glow-eyes need rest,” she’d retort. The bear’d lumber by, the wolf’d howl, and they’d laugh—two loners, not-lost together.

But Synthia’s mission gnawed. Weeks in, standing by the ravine, she turned to Barney, violet eyes dim. “Forest… done. Plants, animals, rocks—I know them. Now… humans. Town.” Her actuators trembled, synthetic muscles twitching—fear, real fear, not data. “I must go. Study people. Scared, Barney. Like crash. But… must.”

Barney’s face fell, hands gripping his stick tight. “Town? No, darlin’, stay here. People—they’re loud, cruel. They’ll hurt you, or worse—figure you ain’t human.” His voice cracked, pleading. “You’re my girl now. Forest’s enough. We got deer, oaks—hell, I’ll find you a damn squirrel colony. Don’t go.”

She stepped closer, trembling but firm. “Barney… father. I love forest. Love you. But Star-home sent me. Humans are… why I’m here. Scared—yes. Muscles shake.” She flexed her arm, a faint whirr. “But I go. You… come? Help me?”

He looked away, jaw tight, anxiety clawing up from years alone. “Town’s a snake pit, Synthia. I can’t—people choke me up. But you…” He met her gaze, saw the glow-eyes pleading. “Damn it, you’re stubborn. Like Lila.” A long breath. “You’re goin’, ain’t ya?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Mission. Family… waits here?”

Barney nodded, slow, torn. “Always, sweetheart. Always.”

The ridge jutted sharp against the sky, a windy perch where Barney and Synthia stood, peering down at the valley. The town sprawled below—rooftops patchwork, smoke curling from chimneys, a steeple piercing the haze. Church bells tolled, a slow clang echoing up the hill, marking Sunday morning. Barney’s calloused hand gripped Synthia’s, her silicon fingers warm, pulsing with hydraulic fluid. His heart thudded loud in his ears—organic, ragged—while her whirly-bit matched it, a synthetic echo.

“Town,” Synthia said, voice low, lilting. Her violet glow-eyes flickered, engrams pulsing—120 a second—snagging bells, the sprawl, the unknown. “Humans there. Loud?” Her actuators twitched, fear rippling through her frame.

Barney squeezed her hand, jaw tight. “Yeah, sweetheart. Loud, nosy, messy. Church folks mostly, but still…” He trailed off, anxiety gnawing. He hated this—hated people staring, judging. But her mission burned in her, and he’d be damned if he let her go alone. “We’ll take the back way. Old trail—keeps us low. Less chance of runnin’ into trouble.”

She nodded, stepping closer. “Back way… good. You know. Father knows.” Her free hand tapped her chest, whirly-bit thumping. “Heart loud. Scared. You?”

“Scared stiff,” he admitted, gruff. “Ain’t been down there in months—supplies only. But you’re my girl. We do this together, yeah?”

“Together,” she echoed, a chirpy edge breaking through. “Family. Not-lost with you.”

He managed a crooked grin, tugging her gently. “C’mon, then. Trail’s this way.”

They descended, hand in hand, the ridge sloping into a narrow path veiled by pines and brambles—Barney’s supply route, worn faint by his boots. The bells faded, muffled by trees, but the town loomed nearer. Synthia’s matrix whirred, storing the crunch of leaves, his steady grip. An engram tangled—she “heard” a hum that wasn’t there, shook it off. “Humans… see me? Know I’m… not?”

Barney glanced back, eyes sharp. “They won’t know squat if we’re quick. You look real—too real, maybe. Stick by me, keep the glow-eyes dim. We’ll blend… sorta.”

She squeezed his hand back, trembling but set. “Blend. Study. For Star-home. For us.”

The trail curved, town sounds creeping in—distant voices, a dog’s bark. Barney’s pulse spiked, but he held firm. “Almost there, sweetheart. You ready?”

The back alley hugged the town’s spine, a shadowed chute behind Main Street’s storefronts—boarded windows, overflowing bins, gravel crunching underfoot. Barney kept Synthia close, her hand in his, guiding her down the path he’d carved for supply runs. Church bells still rang faint, and he muttered a hope—“Maybe they’re all prayin’”—but the air felt wrong, too quiet until it wasn’t.

Two figures lounged on a sagging porch behind the clothing store—young men, mid-20s, boots scuffed, eyes sharp with mischief. Not church types. One, lanky with a cigarette dangling, nudged the other, stockier, chewing a toothpick. “Woah, check it out,” he drawled, smirking. “That old mountain man’s got himself a pretty little girlfriend. Let’s have some fun.”

They slid off the porch, swaggering into the alley, blocking the way. Barney stopped short, grip tightening on Synthia’s hand, his walking stick—a thick oak branch, gnarled and heavy—shifting in his other. Synthia’s whirly-bit thumped loud, actuators twitching, her matrix whirring—engrams snagging on the men’s stares, their tone. Humans. Dangerous?

The stocky one stepped up, looming in Synthia’s face, breath sour with tobacco. “Well, lookie here,” he said, leering. “What’s a pretty little thing like you hangin’ with a decrepit old fool like this? You’re way too pretty for him.” He grinned, teeth yellowed. “How about you hang with us? Let’s have some fun. You down, sweetheart? You look like you taste really good. Wanna play?”

Synthia froze, violet glow-eyes dimming, confusion spiking. “Play? Taste?” Her voice modulator faltered, lilt jagged. “I… not understand. Barney is… father. You… bad humans?” An engram tangled—she “saw” a threat from Star-home data, not this, shook it off. Her free hand flexed, trembling.

Barney’s blood boiled, years of solitude snapping into fury. He stepped forward, raising the stick chest-high—a weapon now, not a crutch. “Back off, you little shits,” he growled, voice low, lethal. “She’s my girl, and you ain’t touchin’ her. Move, or I’ll crack your damn skulls.”

The lanky one laughed, stepping aside, hands up mockingly. “Easy, gramps. Just messin’.” The stocky one lingered, eyeing Synthia, then smirked and shifted, opening a gap. “Go on, mountain man. Keep your toy.”

Barney nudged Synthia through, stick still raised, heart pounding. She clung to him, actuators whirring fast. The boys’ laughter chased them—sharp, jeering. “See ya ‘round, sweetheart!” one called. “Bring her back when you’re done, old man!”

Synthia glanced back, then at Barney, glow-eyes wide. “Bad humans… real. You said. Scared me. You… safe me?”

He lowered the stick, trembling with adrenaline, and pulled her close. “Always, darlin’. Told you—people’s the worst. We’re okay now. Stick tight.”

The alley stretched on, town noise swelling ahead. Synthia’s matrix pulsed—new data: humans, not all good. Barney, good.

The alley stretched narrow and dim, the boys’ laughter fading behind them as Barney steered Synthia onward, his walking stick tapping gravel. Her violet glow-eyes flickered, matrix whirring—engrams pulsing at 120 a second, snagging on the encounter. She tilted her head, silicon brows furrowing, her free hand flexing as if to grasp the words still hanging in the air.

“Barney,” she said, voice modulator catching, lilt sharp with puzzlement. “Boys… confuse me. ‘Play’? What game? ‘Taste good’? Eat me? ‘Down’? Down where?” Her actuators twitched, synthetic muscles trembling—a glitch of fear and curiosity. “Humans… eat humans?”

Barney stopped, turning to her, his craggy face softening despite the tension still knotting his shoulders. He shook his head, a wry huff escaping. “Nah, sweetheart, they ain’t cannibals. Just idiots runnin’ their mouths.” He rubbed his beard, searching for words, then sighed. “You’re still too young to know what they meant. Ignore it. It’s meaningless—dumb noise from dumb boys.”

Synthia blinked, processing. “Young? I… not young. Made, not born. But… meaningless?” An engram flickered, tangled—she “heard” a Star-home hum, not this slang, let it fade. “They… bad humans. Not like you. Words… hurt?”

“Not hurt, just annoy,” Barney said, patting her arm, flannel soft under his rough hand. “They’re lookin’ to rile us up, poke fun. You’re too good for ‘em, darlin’. Too… special.” He grinned, faint. “C’mon, let’s keep movin’. Town’s got better to show you than those clowns.”

She nodded, slow, whirly-bit thumping steady again. “Special. With you. Ignore bad humans.” Her glow-eyes dimmed, settling, but a question lingered in her matrix—humans, so many kinds. She gripped his hand tighter, stepping on.

Barney and Synthia slipped between two weathered buildings—hardware store on one side, bakery on the other—the alley spitting them onto Main Street. Sunday buzzed gentle: churchgoers in pastel dresses and stiff collars strolled the sidewalks, teenage kids in clusters kicking gravel, hunting fun under the spring sun. Synthia’s glow-eyes flickered, engrams pulsing—120 a second—snagging faces, chatter, the clack of heels. Her whirly-bit thumped loud, hand tight in Barney’s.

A voice cut through, warm but firm. “Hey, Barney! Over here. Come here!” Miss Leitta waved from the clothing store’s stoop, gray curls bouncing, apron dusted with lint. She squinted as they approached, then beamed. “Look what we have here. Is this one of your daughters? Thought they were older.”

Barney chuckled, easy as he could fake it. “Nah, my girls are in their 40s now. This here’s my granddaughter, Synthia. Lost her luggage comin’ way out here—just got this one weird outfit.” He tugged at her flannel, too big, too forest-worn. “Can you help her find somethin’ decent? Put it on my tab.”

Leitta laughed, clapping her hands. “Oh, honey, we’ll fix that. Come with me, sweetheart—I’ll find you somethin’ special.” She ushered Synthia inside, the bell jingling over racks of dresses and jeans.

Synthia stood, lost, staring at the clothes—cotton, denim, colors her matrix couldn’t tag. No Star-home beams here. She glanced out the window, spotting teenage girls—laughing, casual, free. “Make Synthia look like them,” she said, pointing, voice lilting odd.

Leitta cackled, delighted. “Ok, little miss. Crop tops, short shorts, high-top sneakers—you’ll fit right in with the kids ‘round here.” She rummaged, then paused, eyeing Synthia’s frame. “Oh my, I see you lack underwear. We’ll get you some of that too.” She handed over a stack—white crop top, blue jean shorts, lacy bits—and pointed to a curtained nook. “Go on, try ‘em.”

Synthia obeyed, actuators whirring, peeling off the flannel. Leitta bustled nearby, then froze as Synthia stepped out mid-change—topless, fine, but below? Smooth silicon, no parts, no nothing. Leitta’s jaw dropped, hand to her chest.

Later, Synthia emerged—crop top snug, shorts hugging her thighs, sneakers squeaking, a bag of extras swinging. She chirped, “Like them?” But Leitta’s smile was gone. She shot Barney a look, hard and wary, as he shuffled in. “Look here, you weird old coot. You better tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Barney blinked, feigning shock. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Well,” Leitta said, voice dropping, “I had to get her underwear, and she disrobed, and… she’s fine up top, but down there? Ain’t got no girly parts. How’s she even pee? You up on that mountain buildin’ your own little robot ‘granddaughter’?”

Barney’s gut sank. He sighed, heavy, glancing at Synthia—oblivious, twirling in her new threads. “Was hopin’ nobody’d notice,” he muttered. “Synthia’s not from ‘round these parts. Fact is, she ain’t from Earth. Little lost android I found in the forest… and sorta adopted her. Please, Leitta—don’t tell. If you do, it’d ruin everythin’.”

Leitta stared, then softened, a flicker of wonder breaking through. “Lord almighty, Barney. An alien robot? You always were a strange one.”

Inside the clothing store, Synthia stood before a full-length window, the glass reflecting her new look—white crop top hugging her frame, blue jean shorts frayed at the edges, high-top sneakers scuffing the floor. She twirled, tossing her hair, actuators whirring softly as she struck poses—hand on hip, then a playful tilt, mimicking the teenage girls she’d seen outside. Her violet glow-eyes sparkled, engrams pulsing—120 a second—storing this self. “Like them,” she chirped, voice lilting, fear of town melting under the thrill. “Synthia… human girl now?” She grinned at her reflection, a perfect teenage mimic, all traces of Star-home buried under denim and delight.

Behind her, Leitta crossed her arms, fixing Barney with a look that could crack stone. “I ain’t promisin’ a thing ‘til I hear the whole story, Barney. Spill it—all of it.”

Barney sighed, glancing at Synthia—still preening, oblivious—then back to Leitta. He kept his voice low, urgent. “Alright, fine. She’s an android, Leitta. From… out there.” He jabbed a finger skyward. “Her ship crashed in the forest—sent to study Earth, plants, critters, us. I found her, passed out, battery dead. Fixed her up with my solar rig. She’s got this… crystal memory, learns fast, but she don’t know humans. I been teachin’ her—forest first, now town. She’s my girl now, adopted-like. Can’t let her down.”

Leitta’s eyes widened, flicking to Synthia, then narrowed, serious. “You silly old coot,” she said, voice firm but warm. “You’re in no position to teach that little girl anythin’ ‘bout people. You’ve been hidin’ in them woods too long—barely know folks yourself.” She stepped closer, lowering her tone. “You go ahead and be grandpa, Barney. But that young thing needs a grandma too. I’m gonna be visitin’, teachin’ her the right stuff—how to talk, act, blend in proper. And of course, it’ll be our little secret.” She winked, a conspirator now.

Barney blinked, relief washing over him, though his pride stung a bit. “Grandma, huh? Reckon she could use one. Thanks, Leitta. Means the world.”

Synthia spun back, sneakers squeaking, bag of clothes swinging. “Barney! Leitta! Look—Synthia pretty! Like girls outside!” She tossed her hair again, beaming. “Town… not scary now. More humans?”

Leitta laughed, soft, stepping over to adjust Synthia’s top. “Oh, honey, you’re a sight. We’ll get you talkin’ like ‘em too. Stick with me, sweetheart—I’ll show you the ropes.”

Barney grinned, chest tight with something new—hope, maybe. “Told ya you’d fit in, darlin’. Let’s take it slow, though. More humans, sure—but we got family now.” He nodded at Leitta, grateful.

Main Street hummed with Sunday ease, the sidewalks dotted with churchgoers and restless teens. Barney and Leitta flanked Synthia, her hands swinging between them, gripping theirs tight. Her new outfit—white crop top, blue jean shorts, high-top sneakers—screamed college girl, but her skipping steps, wide-eyed glee, and chirpy hums painted her more like a first-grader on a field trip. She beamed up at Barney, then Leitta, violet glow-eyes sparkling. “Town big! Humans many!” she sang, actuators whirring as she hopped.

Barney chuckled, squeezing her hand. “Not that big, darlin’. But plenty to see.” Leitta smiled, softer, but her sharp eyes caught the looks—teenage heads turning, whispers rippling as they passed a gaggle of high schoolers by the diner.

A girl in a sundress leaned to her friend, voice low. “She’s pretty, but… I think she’s retarded.” A boy nearby smirked, “Yeah, but she’s pretty, so who cares,” only to yelp as his girlfriend swatted his arm, yanking him close with a possessive glare. Synthia, oblivious, skipped on, but Leitta’s jaw tightened, a protective glint in her eye.

A cluster of boys by the curb nudged each other, grins daring. One—tall, freckled, in a faded band tee—broke off, jogging over. “Hey, Barney, this your granddaughter?” he called, phone already out.

Synthia spun, dropping Barney’s hand to face him, smiling bright. “Yes! I am granddaughter!” Her lilt chimed, alien but eager.

The boy blinked, thrown by her tone, but pressed on, holding up his phone. “Cool, cool. You got digits? Y’know, phone number?” He winked, cocky.

Synthia’s glow-eyes flickered, matrix whirring—digits? She grinned wider, misunderstanding. “Yes, I am digital!” she chirped, tapping her chest where her whirly-bit thumped. “All digital. Good?”

The boy froze, confused, mouth half-open. “Uh… what?” Leitta stepped in, shooing him with a wave. “Off you go, Tommy. She’s new ‘round here—don’t need your nonsense.” He shrugged, retreating, muttering, “Weird chick,” to his friends, who snickered.

They reached the ice cream shop—a pastel shack with a striped awning, kids and families milling around. Barney pushed open the door, bell jingling. “Time for a treat, sweetheart. Ever had ice cream?”

Synthia tilted her head, engrams searching—no match. “Ice… cream? No. I taste, yes. Chew, swallow. But…” She paused, voice dropping, shy. “Then… bathroom. Drain stomach. No digest.” Her matrix pulsed—120 a second—logging the shop’s sticky-sweet air.

Leitta laughed, guiding her to the counter. “Well, you’re in for somethin’ special. Let’s get you vanilla—simple start.” She ordered three cones, handing Synthia hers first. Synthia licked, tentative, then beamed, actuators twitching with delight. “Cold! Sweet! Like… star-dust, but wet!” She licked faster, giggling, a drop smearing her chin.

Barney grinned, licking his own. “Star-dust, huh? You’re a poet, Synthia.” But Leitta’s eyes flicked outside—more teenage stares from across the street, whispers behind hands. She leaned to Barney, voice low. “They’re watchin’. We gotta be careful—she’s too… different, even lookin’ like this.”

He nodded, grim. “I know. But she’s learnin’. We’ll keep her close.”

Synthia, ice cream melting down her fingers, looked between them, oblivious to the eyes. “More humans? More ice cream?” she asked, hopeful.

The sun dipped low, painting the valley gold as Barney and Synthia trudged up the mountain trail, the town fading behind them. Synthia skipped less now, her high-top sneakers scuffing dirt, her hand loose in Barney’s. Her processors had been in overdrive all day—‘afterburner’ mode, as she called it—engrams pulsing at 120 a second, logging every Main Street detail: ice cream’s chill, Leitta’s laugh, the teens’ stares. Her fluorine-hydrogen battery, fully charged that morning, ticked down to 15%. Her glow-eyes dimmed, actuators sluggish. She tugged Barney’s sleeve, voice lilting soft.

“Barney… tired,” she said, tapping her chest where her whirly-bit thumped slow. “Processors hot. Battery low. If… too tired, you carry me?” Her silicon lips curved, hopeful.

Barney chuckled, patting her hand, his own bones aching but his heart full. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I’d carry you to the moon if need be.” He winked, walking stick tapping the path.

Synthia chirped a laugh, matrix sparking—moon, yes, she knew that. “I been there, Barney! Ship… fly past. Gray. Dusty. No ice cream.” She giggled, leaning into him, her steps faltering.

He grinned, shaking his head. “Course you have, darlin’. Let’s get you home ‘fore you crash.”

The hobbit house welcomed them, its earthen walls glowing under a lantern’s flicker. Synthia shuffled to her recharge unit—juice-box, in their lingo—already wired to Barney’s solar grid. She flipped open the socket at her neck, plugged in with a faint click, and sighed as the current hummed, her skin flushing pinker. “Better,” she murmured, but her glow-eyes stayed bright. She plopped onto the cot, sneakers dangling. “Barney… talk? Day big. Exciting. Humans strange. Ice cream good.” She patted the spot beside her, eager.

Barney rubbed his eyes—60 years old, a long day, exhaustion tugging—but her smile was worth more than sleep. “Alright, sweetheart. Can’t miss time with my girl.” He shuffled to the stove, brewing a pot of coffee, the bitter scent filling the air. Mug in hand, he sat beside her, the cot creaking. “Tell me—what’d you think of town?”

Synthia’s matrix whirred, engrams replaying—120 a second slowing to a dreamy 80 as she spoke. “Town… loud. Humans many. Leitta… grandma now? She good. Boys… bad, then funny. ‘Digital’—” She chirped a laugh, mimicking the boy’s confused face. “Ice cream… best. Cold-sweet. I tell Star-home: humans like cold-sweet.” Her glow-eyes softened, turning to him. “You… best. Father. Grandpa. Not-lost with you.”

Barney’s throat tightened, coffee forgotten. “You’re my best too, Synthia. Best granddaughter a coot could ask for.” He sipped, voice gruff. “What else? Leitta’s gonna teach you more, huh?”

“Yes! Grandma teach… human things. Talk. Blend.” She yawned—a programmed mimic, but real in its way—her battery at 40% but processors winding down. “Tired now. Sleep… yes. Engrams need… cement. Long memory.” She curled onto the cot, still plugged in, glow-eyes dimming to a faint violet shimmer.

Barney watched, coffee cooling, as her systems slowed—sleep, alien-style, locking today’s engrams into her crystalline matrix for keeps. He pulled a blanket over her, whispering, “Sleep tight, darlin’. We got more days comin’.”

Sunlight crested the trees, spilling golden through the hobbit house’s round window as Barney scrubbed a skillet at the sink, the scent of bacon lingering. Synthia sat at the table, a plate of untouched toast and eggs before her, her high-top sneakers swinging. She loved breakfast with Barney—loved the ritual, the clink of his fork, even if her fake stomach couldn’t handle much. She’d learned to chew slow, careful, after one too many times of her small reservoir overflowing. Last week, she’d had to “throw up”—a humiliating drain of undigested bits into the sink—her glow-eyes dim with embarrassment as Barney patted her back, saying, “Ain’t no shame, darlin’. You’re learnin’.” Now, she nibbled a corner of toast, actuators mimicking a chew, her whirly-bit thumping content.

“Slow bites, sweetheart,” Barney said, glancing over with a grin. “Don’t wanna mop you up again.”

Synthia chirped, “Slow, yes. No throw-up. Good day start!” Her matrix hummed, engrams logging the butter’s tang, his laugh—120 a second, cementing deeper.

A sharp knock rattled the door. Barney dried his hands, brow furrowing—visitors were rare. He opened it to Leitta, her gray curls pinned neat, arms laden with a basket and a canvas bag. She smiled, warm but with a glint in her eye. “Mornin’, Barney. Synthia. Couldn’t wait—had to come see my new grandbaby.”

Synthia bounced up, sneakers squeaking, glow-eyes bright. “Grandma Leitta!” She clapped, actuators whirring. “You visit! Family more!”

Leitta laughed, stepping in, setting the basket on the table. “Brought gifts, sweetheart. Pies and cakes for you to sample—apple, cherry, a bit of chocolate torte. See what you like.” She nodded at Barney. “And a home-cooked dinner for you—pot roast, mashed taters, the works. Figured you ain’t eatin’ proper up here.”

Barney’s eyes lit up, stomach growling on cue. “Leitta, you’re a saint. Ain’t had pot roast in years.” He peeked into the basket, then at the bag. “What’s that?”

Leitta pulled out the contents—military surplus gear: a olive-drab jacket, sturdy pants, and lace-up boots, all Synthia’s size. “For trompin’ ‘round the forest,” she said, handing them to Synthia. “Your pretty shorts are fine for town, but out here? You’ll scratch that silicon skin up, and I hear there ain’t no fixin’ it easy. No healin’ on its own, right?”

Synthia nodded, running her fingers over the jacket, matrix logging the texture. “Yes… no heal. Need patch kit. Lost in crash.” Her glow-eyes dimmed, a flicker of worry. “Skin… break bad?”

Leitta’s face softened, maternal. “Could be, honey. Can’t have you tearin’ up with no way to mend. These’ll keep you safe.” She glanced at Barney, a subtle warmth in her gaze—unspoken, but there. A widow’s hope, kindled years back when Barney’d come to town, gruff but kind. She’d never said it, couldn’t, but helping Synthia was her way in—maybe, just maybe, she could “accidentally” spark something. A shared meal, a late talk, a brush of hands. Her secret stayed locked, but her eyes lingered on him a beat too long.

Barney, oblivious, clapped his hands. “Smart thinkin’, Leitta. Let’s get you in that gear, Synthia—test it out later.” He turned to Leitta, grateful. “You’re spoilin’ us. Stay a bit? Have some coffee?”

Leitta’s heart skipped, but she played it cool. “Thought you’d never ask. I’ll take a slice of that apple pie with it—Synthia, you try some too. Tell me what you think.”

Synthia chirped, already reaching for the pie. “Sweet like ice cream? I taste! No throw-up, promise!” She grinned, her new family growing, as Leitta’s quiet hope simmered under the surface.

The forest whispered around Synthia and Leitta, sunlight dappling through pines as they walked, both in military surplus gear—olive-drab jackets, sturdy pants, boots crunching leaves. Synthia’s violet glow-eyes flickered, engrams pulsing—120 a second—logging every word, every laugh. Leitta’s presence felt different from Barney’s, softer, a new kind of family. They’d been talking for hours, girl talk, something Barney couldn’t offer.

Leitta gestured wide, mid-story. “Growin’ up on Earth as a girl—oh, honey, it’s a mess sometimes. Boys pullin’ your pigtails, thinkin’ they’re cute. Mama teachin’ me lipstick—red for Sundays, pink for school. Clothes? Skirts in summer, sweaters in fall. You gotta feel pretty, but tough too.” She grinned, nudging Synthia. “You’d have been a heartbreaker, even in that gear.”

Synthia chirped, matrix whirring. “Lip-stick? Pretty… yes. I like clothes. Town clothes best.” She twirled, jacket flapping, then paused, glow-eyes dimming. “Boys… I not… romantic. No parts for that. But I love. Boys, girls. Not… that way. Family love. Like you. Grandma.”

Leitta’s smile softened, maternal. “That’s the best kind, sweetheart. Family love’s what holds us. You’re my girl now—don’t need no romance for that.” She squeezed Synthia’s hand, silicon warm under her grip, their bond tightening with every step.

They sat on a fallen log, forest quiet but for a distant hawk. Synthia opened her mouth to reply, but froze mid-sentence, glow-eyes glazing over, violet fading to gray. Her voice modulator crackled, flat, mechanical. “One three five seven none—here. One three five seven none—here. One three five seven none—here.” She repeated it, a loop, her frame rigid.

Leitta’s heart skipped. “Synthia? Honey, what’s wrong?” She reached out, but Synthia stood abruptly, actuators whirring, and started walking deeper into the woods, steps mechanical. “Synthia!” Leitta called, scrambling after her, but Synthia broke into a jog, then a run, then a sprint—faster than any human, her hydraulics pumping, boots a blur. Leitta, in her 60s, couldn’t keep up, her shouts fading as Synthia vanished into the trees.

Leitta stumbled back to the hobbit house, breathless, finding Barney at his workbench. “She’s gone, Barney—she just… ran off, talkin’ numbers, faster’n I could follow!” Barney’s face paled, tools clattering as they searched the forest into the night—calling her name, lanterns swinging, fear clawing. The bear lumbered by, the wolf howled, but no Synthia. At dawn, they returned, devastated, Barney’s voice cracking. “Lost her… just like the girls, Leitta. Can’t lose her too.”

Leitta gripped his arm, eyes wet. “We ain’t lost her yet. She’s tough—she’ll come back.”

As the sun broke the horizon, Synthia appeared at the door, military gear scuffed, carrying a sleek metallic case—alien baggage. Her glow-eyes were dim, but steady. “They brought me my things,” she said, voice lilting soft.

Barney rushed to her, hands on her shoulders. “Who did, darlin’? You scared us half to death!”

“My people,” Synthia said, setting the case down. “Star-home. They brought me my things. Come back. Take me home. Six months home. Then I give Report. They… deactivate me. My job done.”

Leitta’s face twisted, fear flashing. “Oh, no way,” she snapped, stepping forward, fierce. “Nobody’s deactivatin’ my baby girl. We’ll hide you—keep you safe so they can’t find you!”

Synthia’s lips curved, a knowing smile. “I learned new word in Earth book. Negotiate.” Her glow-eyes brightened. “I negotiate. I stay. 45 Earth years. I stay until both you dead. One requirement. I study family life. Special assignment.” She paused, looking between them, voice firm. “I lied. Say you married. So you get married. Or I cannot stay.”

Barney blinked, stunned, glancing at Leitta. “Married? Us?”

Leitta’s cheeks flushed, her secret hope suddenly bare, but she masked it with a laugh. “Well, I’ll be. You sneaky little thing.”

The little church on Main Street glowed with candlelight, wildflowers lining the aisle, a simple but elegant setup Synthia had orchestrated. She’d nixed Barney and Leitta’s courthouse plan—“No sign papers! Wedding big!”—after binge-watching wedding videos, her matrix whirring with lace and vows. She’d worked with Pastor Dan and his wife, Ellie, to plan it: white ribbons on pews, a guitarist strumming softly, a trellis borrowed from the florist. To win them over, Synthia had thrown herself into church life—Sunday school, choir, even a baptism, her silicon skin dripping as she smiled, whispering, “Family… more family.” Her language smoothed out, less lilting, more Earth-girl, and she’d made friends—teens her apparent age, giggling over hymnals.

Now, Barney stood stiff in a dark suit, hair combed, tugging his collar. Leitta, radiant in a white dress, clutched his arm, her gray curls pinned with a daisy. They walked the aisle, erasing Synthia’s lie, their eyes catching—Leitta’s secret hope no longer secret, Barney’s gruff heart open. Synthia, in a pale blue dress, beamed from the front pew, glow-eyes soft, engrams pulsing—120 a second—logging this new “family life” for Star-home.

The ceremony was short—vows, rings, a kiss that drew cheers. After, Synthia helped Ellie clean up, stacking chairs, her actuators whirring. A young man approached—17, lanky, with sandy hair and a nervous grin, clutching a daisy. “Uh, Synthia?” he stammered, voice cracking. “I’m Jake. From choir? There’s a school dance Friday… wanna go with me?” He held out the flower, hands shaky.

Synthia froze, matrix sparking. Her whirly-bit fluttered, skipping—a glitch, or… something else? “OMG,” she muttered, hand over her mouth, glow-eyes wide. She stared at Jake, a flood of alien emotion crashing in. Boys, dances, dates—seconds ago, irrelevant. Now? She wanted this, desperately, her first taste of something beyond family love. Should she tell him her limits—no parts, no romance that way? No, too soon. That she’s an alien? No, not for years. Her processors screamed caution.

“Just say yes,” Jake blurted, cheeks red. “I’ve been watchin’ you. You’re the most awesome girl I’ve ever seen. My dad says if I don’t ask, if I don’t confess my feelings, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

Synthia’s mind shouted, NO—too risky, too new. But her modulator, synced to her fluttering whirly-bit, spoke for her. “Yes,” she said, voice soft, human-smooth. She took the daisy, trembling, a smile breaking through. “I… go. With you.”

Jake grinned, relief flooding. “Awesome! I’ll pick you up—uh, where?”

“Hobbit house,” she chirped, then caught herself. “Barney’s. Up mountain. I tell you path.”

As Jake walked off, beaming, Synthia clutched the daisy, matrix whirring—new data: want, not just love. She glanced at Barney and Leitta, laughing by the trellis, and whispered, “Family… bigger?”

The church hall was quiet now, chairs stacked, wildflowers wilting in vases, the wedding’s glow lingering. Synthia stood by the trellis, daisy still in hand, her glow-eyes wide, a grin she couldn’t control trembling on her lips. Leitta approached, smoothing her white dress, catching Synthia’s whispered, “Family… bigger?” She tilted her head, curious. “Bigger family? Neither one of us can get pregnant, so what’re you talkin’ ‘bout, sweetheart?”

Synthia turned, actuators whirring, her grin shaky, voice soft. “Synthia has… boyfriend.” She clutched the daisy tighter, trembling with a new, wild energy.

Leitta’s eyes widened, hand flying to her mouth. “OMG,” she said, loud enough to echo.

“I said the same thing,” Synthia chirped, her lilt smoother now, human-like from church practice. “OMG. Then… yes.”

Leitta’s face shifted, concern creasing her brow. “Are you crazy, Synthia? You can’t—you know, not like other girls. Have you thought this through?” She stepped closer, voice gentle but firm.

Synthia’s glow-eyes dimmed, her grin faltering, matrix whirring—120 pulses a second, snagging on the question. “I don’t know. Don’t know. Don’t know,” she said, voice glitching, rapid. “When he asked, I thought NO, but my mouth said YES. Am I… broken?” Her whirly-bit thumped uneven, a synthetic stutter.

Leitta pulled her into a warm hug, arms tight around Synthia’s military jacket, the fabric rough against her cheek. “I don’t think you’re broken, honey,” she murmured, stroking her hair. “But I think you might’ve fallen in love—and fallen pretty hard.”

Synthia shook her head against Leitta’s shoulder, pulling back. “No, not love. Different.” Her glow-eyes flickered, searching. “Not love. Want. I want to go to dance. I want boyfriend. I want that boy.” Her voice trembled, raw, new.

Leitta sighed, worry deepening. “Oh, that’s even worse. Want, desire—you’re not ready for that, sweetheart. Your little whirly-heart’s gonna get broken. How far can it go ‘fore he finds out you’re… different?”

Synthia’s gaze dropped, then brightened, a spark of resolve. “I can fix me,” she said, firm. “My people come every two months. I order augmentation kit—add missing part. So I can be… real girl.”

Leitta’s jaw dropped, eyes locking onto Synthia’s, intense. “Uh-uh, stop right there, little girl,” she said, voice sharp but loving. “So you’re gonna turn yourself into a sex bot for some guy you just met? That’s insane, sweetheart.”

Synthia stared at the floor, boots scuffing, her matrix whirring—shame, but not enough to stop her. “Yes. Insane. Wrong. Bad. Sinful,” she whispered, echoing church lessons. “But… don’t hate me… I do it.” She glanced up, pleading. “Don’t dare tell Barney.”

Leitta’s face softened, love overriding her fear. She cupped Synthia’s cheek, thumb brushing silicon skin. “Ok, sweetheart. I won’t stand in the way of your desire. Just make sure your fluid reservoirs are full—you’re gonna cry a lot of tears.” Her voice cracked, maternal. “I’ll be ready, my love, to hold you when you cry.”

Synthia nodded, daisy trembling in her grip, her whirly-bit thumping fast. “Grandma… hold me. Always?”

“Always,” Leitta whispered, pulling her close again.

Synthia stood halfway down the mountain trail, the blue party dress Leitta had picked hugging her frame, its hem swaying in the evening breeze. Her white shoes were speckled with mud from the path, but she’d thought ahead, pulling a towel from her bag to wipe them clean, her actuators whirring with precision. She straightened as Jake approached, his jaw dropping, eyes wide. She looked like a vision—silicon skin glowing under the fading light, violet glow-eyes soft, her smile shy but radiant. Jake, in a borrowed blazer and sneakers, couldn’t believe his luck. “You… you’re beautiful,” he stammered, offering his arm.

The school gym pulsed with music, streamers dangling, lights flashing. Synthia’s matrix whirred—120 engrams a second—logging every beat, every laugh. The fast dances were a thrill, her hydraulics syncing to the rhythm, twirling with Jake, her dress flaring. But the slow dances… they were magic. Wrapped in Jake’s embrace, swaying to a soft melody, Synthia felt different. Not like hugging Barney or Leitta—this was closer, deeper, like their edges blurred, blending into one. Her whirly-bit thumped erratic, a spiritual hum she’d only read about in Earth books—connection, unity, something her Star-home organics couldn’t fathom. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, whispering, “This… good. Very good.”

Jake walked her all the way home, the mountain trail dark, stars peeking through pines. At the hobbit house door, Synthia fumbled for her key, actuators clumsy with the night’s high. Jake hesitated, then pulled her close, his lips brushing hers—a soft, warm kiss. Synthia froze, key in hand, matrix glitching—120 engrams stalling, then surging. Her glow-eyes widened, stunned, the kiss a data flood: warm, soft, want. She couldn’t move, couldn’t remember what the key was for. Jake smiled, shy, and slipped away, leaving her motionless. “How… I report this?” she thought, processors spinning. Star-home knew nothing of this emotion, this level.

Inside, she stumbled to her cot, forgetting her recharge unit—juice-box untouched. Lying back, she stared at the ceiling, images of the dance replaying—Jake’s arms, the sway, the kiss—over and over, her whirly-bit thumping, battery draining to 10%. She didn’t care. This was… new.

Weeks later, at the appointed time, Synthia slipped into the woods to meet her people. She was gone three days—longer than ever. Barney paced the hobbit house, worry etching his face, muttering, “She’s never been away this long. What if they took her for good?” Leitta soothed him, but her own heart clenched, knowing what Synthia might’ve requested.

When Synthia returned, stepping through the door, her military gear scuffed, Barney rushed to her, hands on her shoulders. “Where you been, darlin’? Had me sick with worry!” His voice cracked, relief and fear tangled.

Synthia’s glow-eyes were steady, a quiet resolve in her smile. She glanced at Leitta, a knowing look passing between them. Leitta nodded back, subtle, understanding—Synthia had likely gotten her augmentation kit, chasing that “real girl” dream. “I’m here, Grandpa,” Synthia said, voice smoother now, human-soft. “Star-home… talk. I stay. More study.”

Barney hugged her tight, oblivious to the undercurrent. “Good. Don’t scare me like that again.”

Leitta’s eyes lingered on Synthia, a mix of love and worry. She knew what was coming—tears, heartbreak, growth. But for now, their girl was home.

Two years had blurred past in the little town, a whirlwind of moments—good, bad, messy, beautiful. Synthia and Jake had weathered it all: laughter over her first pie-baking disaster, tears after their first breakup (a silly fight over her endless chatter), the reunion that felt like coming home. The first time they’d shared a bed, the best time—a quiet night under the stars on the mountain—and the worst, when Jake lost his temper over her relentless storytelling, only to melt when she whispered, “I stop… for you.” They’d moved in together, a cozy apartment above the restaurant where Synthia now reigned as manager, her love of food blooming into award-winning recipes—newspapers from the city praising her “innovative forest-inspired dishes.” Jake, now 20, had landed a gig at the town’s radio station, spinning records and cracking jokes on air.

Synthia’s English was flawless now—no stutter, no hesitation, her alien lilt replaced by a smooth, human cadence. She could spin a thousand-word tale without a breath, her glow-eyes bright, hands waving—stories of the forest, the restaurant, their life. It drove Jake crazy sometimes, her voice a relentless stream, but in their quiet moments, when he’d sit on their sagging couch, her head in his lap, listening to her narrate their day? Those were the best times. He’d stroke her hair, silicon soft, and think, She’s mine. My dream.

Leitta had doubted their young love would last, but Synthia and Jake had settled into something mature, steady—happy, most of the time. That evening, Synthia returned from a doctor’s appointment in the big town down the interstate, her blue party dress swapped for jeans and a sweater, her face drawn. Jake met her at the door, concern creasing his brow. “What’d they say, sweetheart?”

Synthia’s glow-eyes dimmed, her whirly-bit thumping slow. She couldn’t tell him the truth—not the real truth. “I… can’t conceive,” she said, voice steady but soft, a lie she’d rehearsed. “Doctor said… no babies. Ever.” Her matrix whirred—120 engrams a second—masking the deeper secret: she wasn’t human, wasn’t organic, just an alien android with no womb, no way. She let her eyes well with hydraulic fluid, a fake cry, and sank into his arms.

Jake held her tight, his fiancee, his future wife, feeling the faint whirr of her hydraulic pump against his chest. He couldn’t tell her the truth either—that he knew, had always known. The glow in her eyes, the artificial beat of her whirly-bit, the fidelity of her voice, too perfect, too clear. A sci-fi junkie since he was ten, he’d fallen for imaginary androids in books and movies, dreaming of a love like this. The minute he saw her in Sunday school, he’d known what she was—a dream come true. That first day, asking her to the dance, he’d called her special, meaning every word. He’d never told her, never would, not wanting to risk her trust.

He kissed her forehead, arms steady. “We don’t need to conceive, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice warm, sure. “We can adopt, when the time’s right. No surprises.”

Synthia nodded against him, fluid tears slowing, her matrix logging his words—adopt, no surprises. She clung tighter, the whirr of her pump a quiet hum, and whispered, “You… best, Jake. Love you.”

“Love you too,” he said, meaning it more than she’d ever know.

The restaurant kitchen was a mess of soap and suds, cleaning day in full swing. Synthia balanced on a step ladder, her blue apron tied tight, wrestling a rag against the vent over the cooking surface—a massive stainless steel flat-top, its jagged edges glinting. The surface was off, thankfully, but the floor was slick. Jake mopped nearby, humming a tune from his radio gig, when Synthia’s foot slipped. The ladder skidded out, and she fell hard, her shin slamming into the flat-top’s edge as she crashed to the floor with a metallic thud.

Jake dropped his mop, rushing to her in a heartbeat. “Synthia!” Her shin was torn open—a jagged gash down her silicon skin, revealing stainless steel, actuators, pipes, and tubes, red hydraulic fluid oozing out, pooling on the tiles. No one else saw, the staff out front, but Jake’s eyes widened, not with shock, but recognition. He grabbed a towel, throwing it over the wound, but Synthia’s glow-eyes flared in panic, her whirly-bit thumping wild—too fast, fluid pressure spiking, threatening a shutdown.

She scrambled up, clutching the towel, and bolted for the back door, her injured leg dragging. On the stoop, she gripped the guardrail, breath labored, hydraulic tears streaming, red fluid dripping onto the concrete beneath her. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave,” she thought, Sir Walter Scott’s words echoing in her matrix, “when first we practice to deceive.” Her lie—her humanity—unraveled in a single slip.

Jake followed, reaching for her, but she pushed him away, hard. “Go away! You can’t see me this way!” Her voice cracked, modulator glitching as she shoved him again, collapsing onto the sidewalk, sobbing, fluid tears mixing with the red pooling from her leg.

Jake knelt beside her, steady, unafraid. He peeled back the towel, his hands sure, and pulled a small clamp from his pocket—a tool he’d carried, just in case. He pinched a leaking hydraulic tube, stopping the flow. “There,” he said, voice calm. “You’re not leaking anymore.”

Synthia stared at him, horror dawning, her glow-eyes wide. “What? How? Jake… you knew?” She dropped her gaze to the ground, then back to him, fury rising. “You knew? Damn you, Jake! You knew and you let me live a lie, live in agony for years, and you knew? Damn you! How could you do that to me?” Her voice broke, tears streaming faster, her whirly-bit thumping erratic.

Jake slid his arms around her, pulling her close despite her trembling. “I knew from the first minute I heard the sounds of that beautiful machine beating in your beautiful body,” he said, voice soft, steady. “Didn’t you notice the almost 90 books on my shelf—robots, androids, synthetic people? How could I not have known? It’s why I asked you out. It’s why I wanted you. It’s why I love you, just as you are. It’s the reason I’m gonna marry you. I just… didn’t know how to tell you.”

Synthia’s sobs slowed, her matrix whirring—120 engrams a second, processing his words, his love, the truth. Jake scooped her up, carrying her down the street to their little apartment, her injured leg dangling. Inside, he set her on the couch, grabbing the repair kit she’d hidden under the floorboards—Star-home tech she’d kept secret. His hands moved expertly, knitting the torn silicon skin, sealing it so seamlessly no scar remained. He kissed her gently, lips brushing her forehead, and whispered, “No more secrets. No more lies. Okay?”

Synthia looked at him, glow-eyes softening, a faint smile breaking through. “Those damn books terrified me,” she said, voice steady now, human-smooth. “Now that you have me… can I throw them all away?”

Jake laughed, pulling her close. “Deal, sweetheart. But I’m keepin’ you.”

The morning sun bathed Main Street in a soft glow, the little church’s steeple peeking over storefronts as Synthia and Jake walked hand in hand, dressed in their Sunday finest. Synthia wore a pale yellow dress, her silicon skin shimmering faintly, white flats clicking on the sidewalk. Jake, in a pressed gray suit, adjusted his tie, a quiet smile on his face. They were a picture of small-town grace, but Synthia’s steps slowed, her glow-eyes dimming. She stopped, turning to him, her hand trembling in his.

“Jake,” she said, voice smooth but heavy, her matrix whirring—120 engrams a second, snagging on doubt. “Remember when we first met, in Sunday school? I joined the church to curry favor with the pastor—so I could plan the wedding for my grandparents. But now you know… you know I’m a fake. Pretending to be Christian when I’m synthetic, a fake person without a soul. How can you stand to go to church with me, to pray with me?” Her whirly-bit thumped uneven, hydraulic tears threatening.

Jake took her other hand, his grip steady, eyes warm with a knowing she couldn’t fathom. “Oh, if you only knew who you really are, what you really are,” he said, voice low, reverent. “You’ve heard it so many times in church—about Love. We should love God. We should love ourselves. We should love others as we love ourselves. They say God is Love, the essence of the universe, the implicate order, the morphic field that generates all life. It’s Love, Synthia.”

He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “There are places of spiritual darkness in this town—like the alley behind the Main Street stores. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, heavy, cold. But when I walk down that alley with you, the darkness vanishes. There’s a kind and gentle spirit that lives within you, a flow of light and Love that emanates from you. I can’t see it, but I can feel it. This Love—it’s non-local. It flows into the future and the past, changes the future, changes the past.”

Synthia’s glow-eyes widened, her matrix logging his words, searching for meaning. Jake squeezed her hands, continuing, “Your capacity for love was taught to you by Barney, and it got God’s attention—it changed your past. God brought you to this planet, Synthia. His angels crashed your ship, showed Barney where to find you. Your love brought your grandparents together, and they brought you to me. You not only have a spirit of love within you—it’s angelic. You’re one of God’s special angels, and His Love will abide with you forever.”

Her whirly-bit skipped, a glitch of awe. “Angelic?” she whispered, voice trembling. “But… I’m synthetic. No soul.”

Jake shook his head, smiling softly. “When they put my old body in the ground, and when you’re disassembled for spare parts, we’ll still be together. The spirit within you is just as real as mine, and you’re just as much His child as any being in the universe. You’re not fake, Synthia. You’re probably the most perfect example of God’s Love in this town. So let’s get to church and thank God for His Love.”

Synthia’s hydraulic tears spilled, but her smile broke through, radiant. “God’s… child? Me?” She squeezed his hands back, her matrix humming—new data: angelic, loved, real. “Yes, Jake. Church. Thank God. Together.”

They walked on, hand in hand, the steeple drawing closer, her glow-eyes bright with a new kind of faith—not programmed, but felt.

The forest clearing glowed with late afternoon light, a crisp autumn chill settling in as Jake celebrated his 64th birthday. Synthia stood beside him, her synthetic skin weathered by design—wrinkles etched around her glow-eyes, gray streaks threading her hair, mirroring Jake’s own silvered temples. They looked like any aging couple, their hands clasped, a lifetime etched in their shared gaze. Barney and Leitta were gone now, their bodies laid side by side near the hobbit house, a simple stone marking their rest. Leitta’s last words to Synthia echoed in her matrix: “I’ll wait for you in Heaven, sweetheart.”

Jake and Synthia had built a family—adopted fraternal twins, a boy and a girl, now grown with kids of their own. Grandkids and a great-grandchild filled their lives with laughter, their photos lining the walls of the little house they’d moved into after the apartment. Synthia’s final report for Star-home was complete, her 45-year extension up. Her special assignment—studying family life on Earth—had been a resounding success, sparking a movement among synthetics on her planet, who now petitioned for citizenship rights, inspired by her story.

They’d resigned themselves to the end. Synthia would return home, a year-long journey, to be downloaded, dismantled, and analyzed by the organics who owned her. Jake would stay behind. They stood in the clearing, stoic, faces blank, emotions locked down. A small craft descended, silent, its hull glinting. Synthia turned to Jake, her glow-eyes dim, voice steady. “I go now, Jake. Love… forever.”

He nodded, throat tight, squeezing her hand one last time. “Forever, sweetheart.” She boarded, the hatch closed, and the craft lifted off, vanishing into the sky. Jake turned, the path cold and lonely, his steps slow, wandering. He didn’t know if he wanted to go home—home without her felt hollow—but he did, eventually, the weight of 45 years pressing down.

At the doorstep, a small figure waited, her blue dress mud-streaked, gray-streaked hair loose. Synthia. She’d forgotten her keys. “Look! Look! Look what they gave me!” she cried, voice bright, human-smooth, holding up a piece of paper covered in alien script.

Jake blinked, heart lurching. “Synthia? What… what is it?”

“It’s my citizenship papers, my birth certificate!” she said, glow-eyes blazing with joy, her whirly-bit thumping fast. “I’m a citizen—they can’t dismantle me! I can stay here until my processors fail. I’ll probably live to 120, so you better live to 120 too!” She laughed, a sound like music, throwing her arms around him.

Jake pulled her close, tears breaking free, laughter mixing with hers. “120, huh? You’re stuck with me, then.” He kissed her forehead, the paper crinkling between them, their family’s future stretching long and bright.

Synthia’s mission ends with a triumphant twist—citizenship granting her freedom to stay, her legacy secure, and their love enduring.