Chapter Text
Roxanne is sitting at her desk, notebook out and ready for her first lecture of college life, expecting a few things: 1. to be confused, 2. her hand to cramp from frantic note-taking, and 3. her professor to speak way too fast for her tiny walnut brain.
Roxanne has never been a robotics person. Yeah, she likes the concept of AI and the possibilities it can open up for human advancement, and the idea of programming personalities- but she's never been interested in anything further.
She's a people person.
Like, literally.
She's pre-med.
And has a wonderful habit of analyzing every little thing a person does- she’s great at parties, but that’s besides the point
Where her especially nerdy friends would ramble about robots and engineering and god knows what for hours on end, she'd be rambling back about the many mechanisms in the flesh and blood of a human being, about the programs of disease and other such stupid comparisons- that has been her and her best friends dynamic for just over four years now. She stayed in her human lane, and he stayed in his robotic lane.
Yet now, Roxanne is sitting in a required intro to AI class, very much out of her comfort zone and fundamentally shattering those very precise lanes they were set in.
And the kid sitting next to her is yelling about AI.
She discreetly snaps a selfie of herself with wide eyes and shitty eyeliner to send to her friend as a first day update, before tuning back into the animated conversation unfolding next to her.
"-you're talking about sending fully intelligent and self aware rovers into deep space and leaving them there? That’s borderline-"
“Gentlemen, please - settle this outside of class time.” The professor's voice cuts through the argument, and Roxanne watches as the boy sitting next to her flushes in embarrassment, before sinking back into his seat.
“Although,” their instructor continues, “Kudos for at least discussing the subject of this class: ethics. This will be your introductory class to ethics in robotics and will hopefully serve as the foundation for your moral framework. At least, when it comes to engineering. Otherwise, that’s up to you.”
A few people chuckle, and the professor smiles as he goes to the next slide on the smartboard at the front of the lecture hall.
“This class has a focus on working in pairs as well, to prepare you for future partner work. I’ve already assigned partners for all of you at random, so when you hear your last name called, please raise your hand.”
If all her classes were like this, Roxanne didn’t know how she’d survive. Hands keep popping up around her, and people are moving to either sit next to their partners or pass slips of paper with contact info. She jots down her own number on a neon orange sticky note, mind wandering as random names are called, but the second she hears “Isler,” her hand shoots up.
“-and Ammassari.”
And Roxanne watches, to her abject horror, as the guy next to her raises his hand.
She crumples up the sticky note.
“Well, that works out.” Their professor chuckles at their placement, and Roxanne cringes as she lowers her hand, more names being called out. She glances at the boy next to her, who looks equally non-thrilled about the arrangement.
"So…" Roxanne trails off, fidgeting awkwardly at a blue braid, her choppy self-cut bangs giving her the aura of a manic pixie dream girl, minus any intention of being a MPDG. She was always messing with her hair in some way, whether cutting and dying it or just fidgeting, it was one of the many recognizable things about her. Hell, it was half the reason she started growing her hair out again after she rocked a pixie cut all of middle school.
"Sorry about the yelling earlier." The boy adjusted his glasses, having the decency to at least look a little abashed about it. Roxanne nodded, chewing on the inside of her lip while she thought about her dorm and how badly she wanted to get out of class and burrow under her blankets, hiding from her unfamiliar room and this weird fucking courseload. She'd gotten a scholarship from the San Fransokyo Institute of Health Sciences, which had been her dream school, but it came with a catch.
Because SFIHS and the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology were partnered universities, she was technically enrolled at both schools, and her scholarship required her to take classes at both schools. Instead of her declared biology major, she was labeled a "biological engineering" student with a specialization in medical sciences.
It wasn't even her second day yet.
She sighed, shut her laptop, and turned to the boy next to her, trying her damndest to make her smile seem like it wasn't forced.
"I'm Roxanne. Pre-med, bio major." Like hell she was saying that mouthful. Her lab partner glanced at her, then her clearly labeled SFIHS ID, her blue braids, and her lackluster notes. She maintained eye contact, practically daring him to say anything about it after his earlier outburst. Thankfully for both of them, he simply held out his hand, which she gladly shakes with a smile.
“Matteo, astronomy and robotics.”
“Oh cool, is it any fun?"
Matteo shrugged, turning back to his laptop. "I mean, this is the only real class I've had for either so far, but I think it was a decent choice. For me, at least.” Roxanne nods, eyeing Matteo up and down.
“Yeah, seems like you're, um, really passionate about the subject.” He scoffs, side-eying her with a weird expression.
“Engineering without ethics leads to disasters, my apologies for having a moral code.” He sounds self-righteous about the whole thing, which immediately has Roxanne bristling, and with a clatter she tosses her pen onto her desk, irritatedly sifting through her backpack.
“Cool it, Matt,” she scoffs, “I wasn't trying to insult you and your code .”
“ Matteo , not Matt. Don't call me Matt.”
With this Roxanne pauses, turning to look at Matteo. He’s staring straight at her, making fierce eye contact. His eyes are a light brown, a little lighter than Roxanne’s own, but they’re almost fiery with deep-seated discontent. Roxanne breaks the near-uncomfortable eye contact first, looking down at their desk.
Her notes are sparse. He’s not taking any, or if he is, it's on his laptop that’s covered with vinyl stickers of generic galaxy print. His nails are painted black, chipping, and when he looks away from Roxanne, his hands twitch. She looks back up at his face, clearly irritated with his eyes dark behind clear frame glasses, and she sighs.
“Look Matteo, I'm sorry. I'm just… I'm not a robotics person. I don't understand any of this AI shit, and I'm fully out of my depth here. I'm only here because I have to be, and I just wasn't expecting my lab partner to have such strong opinions, let alone be so outspoken about them.” Matteo glances at her, and shuts his notebook.
“You have to have strong opinions when it comes to things like this, Roxanne. And more importantly, you have to be willing to defend those opinions. When things like sentience are involved, you need to find your hill to stand on. That's your first step into robotics.”
“Hmm. You remind me of my friend, he's pretty big on robotics too.”
“I'd assume so, if he goes here.”
She takes a deep breath. This is at least good training for her bedside manner when patients are, in no better terms, fucking assholes.
“Wow, you aren't great at conversations- do you have any friends?”
Nice one, Rox.
Matteo turns to look at her, slightly taken aback. It’s unclear what shocked him, the bluntness or the rudeness, but they almost seem to cancel each other out and he responds with an appraising look.
“Yeah, I have friends- can you say the same?”
“Um, more than you, I’d bet-”
“Miss Isler and Mr. Ammassari? I assume you two are busy discussing this class’ first project?”
Fuck. Lie.
“Yes, sir-” “Yes, professor-”
“Well then, if you could please enlighten the rest of us as to what it is? Considering that I haven’t explained it yet.”
Fuck. Lie better.
The pair is silent. Every single set of eyes in the room is hyperfocused on them, and all Roxanne can think about is how she really should have gone to art school instead. Her face burns, her breathing goes shallow, she’s out of her depth here.
Fuck!!! Fuck this stupid scholarship, she’s dropping out the second this class is over. Her face burns fiercely, clashing with her blue hair, every nerve in her body feeling like pure electricity. She’s trying so hard not to work herself up, but everyone is staring, and-
And then Matteo speaks up.
“I’m sorry, sir. It was my mistake, I distracted us discussing our partnership. It won’t happen again.” As he speaks, Roxanne watches as his hands twitch again, and an accent lingering from a second language floats into the way he pronounces his “r” s. Their instructor looks at the both of them, and then down at a clipboard on his desk at the front of his lecture hall.
“The first thing you need to know, class, is that you will inevitably make mistakes. It’s a part of robotics, and by extension, a part of life. Instead of worrying over how to be perfect, worry about how to recover from those mistakes. Understand, Mr. Ammassari?”
Matteo nods. “Yes, Professor Callaghan.”
The older man smiles and nods, before turning back to the smartboard in the front of the room.
“The first assignment for this class is to create a product with an ethical dilemma. Don't make it too obvious, but ensure there's something to fix. Each pair will present their product to the class, then as a group we'll assess and look for the best solution.” He types as he speaks, and moments later Roxanne's laptop pings with an assignment on whatever generic classroom site the SFIT system uses.
“Robotics without ethics leads to chaos. As students and future engineers, I hope that's something you'll all take to heart. Class is dismissed.”
At the end of his sentence, students stand, gathering their things and slowly filing out through the double doors on each side of the lecture hall. Roxanne turns from her sparse notes to face Matteo, who’s putting his own laptop away. She places both of her hands on the desk in front of them, and makes painful but sincere eye contact.
“Again: I’m not good at this. Obviously . But I want this class to be bearable, and I think it’ll be better for our project if we’re at least friendly with each other.”
Silence, and then he meets her eyes.
“I’m clearly not great at this either. But I’m willing to be civil if you are.”
Roxanne beams widely, and yanks out her planner from her bag.
“When’re you free this week? We could get coffee or something and start planning our project?”
He sighs, opening his phone, a generic calendar app popping up with countless multicolored highlights nearly every day.
“I’m busy most of this week… but I'm free Friday after this class.”
“That’ll work. We’ll talk later?” Roxanne uncrumples her sticky note and slaps it down on the table, and with a side-eyed glance, Matteo jots down his own number and passes it to her, before putting his laptop in a canvas messenger bag and leaving. Roxanne waves bye with a braces-clad grin as she packs her own bright orange backpack. She stands, and just as she’s moving from her seat, a deep voice carries across the empty lecture hall.
“Miss Isler. Can I speak to you for a moment?”
Mother of fuck.
Roxanne nods and nervously moves towards the front of the room, bag slung over her shoulder.
“Yes, Professor? Is this about earlier in class?”
“Yes and no. Roxanne, is it?” Professor Callaghan sits on the corner of his desk, motioning for her to take a seat at one of the desks in the front. She does, subtly looking over her instructor, taking in the little details. He’s an older man, grey hair and an aged face, but he's not wearing a wedding ring. His hands don’t twitch, and he’s got a nice quality watch, though it’s not one of the high-end KreiTech ones. His sweater vest gives off a decidedly friendly aura, but he’s clearly a man who can be serious when he needs to be.
Instead of an irritated, stern look, however, he’s looking at Roxanne with a kind expression, waiting for her answer.
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your major, Roxanne?”
Goddamnit. That fucking question is gonna be the curse that follows her for the next four years, she can just feel it. She sighs, grits her teeth, and responds.
“Biological engineering with a specialization in medical sciences. I’m pre-med.” Roxanne holds up her SFIHS ID, current expression not quite matching her perky smile in her ID photo.
“Professor Callaghan,” she begins, “I’m sorry about earlier in class. But I’m just completely out of my depth here. I’m not a robotics student, I don’t know anything about AI, and I'm probably the worst engineer in the building. I’m only here because my scholarship says I have to take classes at both SFIT and SFIHS to qualify. I’m a mediocre medical student and probably the worst roboticist you’ll ever teach.” She anxiously twists at her hair, refusing to make eye contact with her instructor.
Professor Callaghan, to his credit, doesn’t immediately begin talking again. He lets them sit in the quiet of the lecture hall for a reflective moment, and just before the silence becomes unbearable, he speaks up again.
“I had a feeling you were a bit out of your depth. For starters, you were the only one taking notes on paper-
“I think better in tactiles-”
“-But Roxanne, that’s perfectly fine.”
Roxanne finally looks up to make eye contact with the older man, who is smiling kindly. He continues after a beat.
“You may not be a robotics expert, or even interested in robots at all, but you’re taking classes anyway. You’re broadening your horizons and trying to expand your knowledge base, and that’s quite admirable. Who knows, you may eventually find an interest in tech yet.” Roxanne nods and tugs on a braid, smiling slightly.
“Thank you, Professor Callaghan.” He smiles back.
“That’s all I wanted to speak with you about. You seemed panicked there for a moment, and I like to make sure my students are alright, even if they don’t necessarily want to be in my class. But I’d like you to at least try”
“I will, Professor Callaghan.”
“Good. You’re dismissed, Roxanne."
Roxanne beams and stands, bowing her head slightly as she exits, an old habit she picked up from a relative when she was growing up. He nods back, and she’s walking out the door, into a bustling hallway. She lets the natural progression of students guide her out- she doesn’t have another class until 2:30- and shoots off a text as she walks, nails clicking against her phone screen as a string of charms clacks against her case.
Roxanne glances around the busy halls for a moment, and checks the time. She pulls out a piece of paper, a comparison of two schedules, times written out side by side. Double checking the time, she opens her phone contacts, and dials a number she’s had memorized since high school.
“Do you have a minute to chat? My first class was a fucking trip .”