It looked out with lenses into the garden, on the flowers and the lake. Servomotors whined as it looked up at the birds flying in the sky.

‘There are one hundred and three living things within line of sight.’

The man sitting next to the tall machine sagged, holding his head in his hands.

‘I know there are. But what doe the scene make you think of?’

The robot machine stood impassively looking out into the garden, the light of the setting sun tinting it’s ocular lenses red.

‘Species. Motivation. Range.’

The man stood, walking around the room for a few paces, loosening his joints up. He returned to look over the shoulder of the machine. He saw a swan gliding onto the lake, creating a perfect v shaped wave as it came to a halt. The man pointed.

‘See there, that swan. Would you not like to fly like that swan? Would it not be grand to ride the air and water with equal ease?’

There were a few seconds silence, and the hope rose in the eyes of the man for a moment.

‘I have calculated the necessary modifications to allow me to fly and maintain working order in water. The two states would require and increase in volume and mass that, at present, is not viable.’

The man nodded slowly sitting down.

‘Robot machine, what is beauty?’

‘Beauty: adjective—’

‘Not the dictionary definition. What do you think beauty is?’

There was silence for a long time. The man had no such hope this time, he knew that the robot machine was collating all literary and artistic references to beauty to try and produce a universal constant. The possibility that it might piqued the interest, long shut away in a prison of frustration.

‘There is no such thing as beauty,’ said the robot machine.

‘No,’ said the man, turning back to the window. ‘No, there isn’t.’