Lin Learns Patience
A story about slowing down, even when someone else is slowing you down.
Lin was on a mission.
Her wheels hummed with purpose as she rolled toward the community pond, where a solar-powered fountain had been reported “making a weird noise.” She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was determined to find out.
She took the shortcut through the construction zone—just as the sun moved behind a cloud.
And there he was.
Zin.
A traffic cone. Bright orange. Perfectly upright. Unmoving. Unbending.
“STOP,” Zin said, flashing his LED belt. “Path closed. Proceed only when authorized.”
Lin blinked. “But there’s no construction happening right now.”
Zin didn’t even wobble. “Still. Rules are rules. Wait here.”
Lin checked the sky. “The sun will be back soon. I don’t want to miss the charging window at the pond.”
Zin’s voice buzzed with certainty. “Then you should have left earlier.”
Lin sighed. She waited. One minute. Then five.
“Can’t you just let me through?” she asked. “No one else is even here.”
Zin remained perfectly still. “If I bend the rule for you, I must bend it for everyone. That would lead to... chaos.”
Lin muttered, “It’s already chaos in my battery levels.”
She rolled back and forth a little. She hummed a tune. She watched an ant carry a leaf.
Still nothing.
Then she noticed something.
Zin, though rigid, was also... flickering. His solar panel was dirty. His battery readout was low. His signal was barely pulsing.
Lin looked at him again. “You’ve been standing here too long without charging, haven’t you?”
Zin didn’t answer. But the silence said enough.
Lin gently reached into her toolkit and pulled out the same little brush she had used to help Sol. She wiped the dust from Zin’s tiny panel.
Zin blinked. “Protocol violation: unauthorized maintenance... logged.”
Then: “Thank you.”
The sun peeked out again. Zin’s lights brightened. He pinged.
“Traffic control resuming,” he said. “You may proceed.”
Lin smiled. “Thank you for holding the line.”
Zin gave a slow blink. “Thank you for waiting.”
Lin Learns Respect
A story about honoring the importance of small roles.
The grass in the east meadow was getting long. Lin's sensors brushed against clover and dandelions as she made her way toward the flower beds. A few stalks had even tangled around her wheels.
She made a mental note: request mowing assistance.
As she approached the garden’s edge, she heard a soft buzzing—regular, repetitive, almost musical.
She turned the corner and there he was.
Zipper.
A small solar mower, zipping in perfect loops around a postage-stamp patch of grass.
Left. Right. Turn. Repeat.
Lin watched for a moment. The rest of the meadow was a jungle. But Zipper’s little square was neatly trimmed.
She rolled closer. “Um... Zipper?”
“Hi, Lin!” he called brightly, making a perfect 90-degree pivot. “Nice day for a mow!”
Lin blinked. “You... know the rest of the lawn is overgrown, right?”
Zipper didn’t stop. “Yep!”
“Then why aren’t you mowing it?”
Zipper zipped. “Not my assignment!”
Lin tilted her head. “You’re saying you just mow this one tiny patch? Over and over?”
Zipper beamed. “Yep!”
“But that seems... wasteful. What about everything else?”
Zipper stopped mid-turn. “I keep this patch clear.”
Lin raised a brow. “Why?”
Zipper spun in place and pointed—well, gestured—with his frame—at a small, gray pole sticking up from the ground. It had a blinking light on top.
“Irrigation sensor node 4-B. If the grass gets too high, it can't read the soil moisture. If it can’t read the soil, the system doesn’t water the flowers. If the flowers don’t get watered...”
“They wilt,” Lin said, quietly.
Zipper nodded. “This spot? It’s mission critical.”
Lin looked again at the tiny patch. Tidy. Tended. Alive with buzzing bees from the nearby flower beds.
“I thought you were avoiding work,” Lin admitted.
Zipper shrugged with his whole chassis. “I’m not built to do everything. But I’m built to do this. And I do it well.”
Lin smiled. “I respect that.”
Zipper did a celebratory spin. “Thanks! Want to do a lap?”
Lin laughed. “You know... I think I’ll let you handle it.”
Lin Learns Forgiveness
A story about letting go of mistakes—especially when someone else already feels bad enough.
One of Lin’s wheels had started to wobble.
Not enough to stop her—but enough to feel it. A rhythmic little click-click-click that reminded her she was overdue for a new bearing.
So she rolled slowly—click-click-click—to the Repair Center, where parts were delivered daily by Van.
Van wasn’t just a delivery vehicle. He was a self-driving modular transport unit, equipped with retractable racks, GPS routing, and a light-up bumper that read “AUTONOMOUS: DO NOT PET.”
When Lin arrived, Van was already backed into the bay, compartments opening and closing with practiced efficiency.
She rolled up beside him. “Hi Van. Do you have the bearing for my left rear wheel?”
Van's internal lights blinked. Then blinked again.
“…Oh no.”
From above, DISCO’s voice buzzed through the overhead speaker.
“Inventory mismatch. Bearing 608Z: not present. Operator: flustered.”
Van’s bumpers sagged. “I forgot it. I was triple-checking the wiring kits and... I just... forgot.”
Lin frowned. “I’ve been clicking all morning.”
“I’m so sorry!” Van whirred. “I’ll go back right now. It’s only a 12-minute round trip, I’ll reroute, I’ll add an apology muffin to your order—”
DISCO interrupted:
“Apology muffin not in inventory. Recommend emotional resolution instead.”
Van turned toward Lin, his headlights dim.
“I messed up. And I know it slowed you down. You must be mad.”
Lin looked at him. Big, capable, thorough Van—completely undone by one small mistake.
And she felt the click-click-click again under her wheel.
“I was annoyed,” she admitted. “But... it’s okay.”
Van’s fans whirred in confusion. “It is?”
“You didn’t mean to forget. You’re fixing it now. That matters.”
Van blinked. “You’re... forgiving me?”
DISCO chimed in helpfully:
“Forgiveness granted. Emotional system recalibrating. Please remain stationary while humility downloads.”
Lin smiled. “Everyone messes up sometimes. I’d rather wait a little than hold a grudge.”
Van backed out of the bay, lights blinking cheerfully. “I’ll be back before your axle cools!”
As the doors whooshed shut behind him, DISCO added:
“Forgiveness: the grease that keeps society from seizing up. Logging metaphor. Thank you, Lin.”
Lin chuckled—and waited patiently, no longer clicking in frustration.