Sofia 713
English version

A tear dropped down her face, the first in thirty three years of consciousness. She thought then of that poem of Neruda;
"I need the sea because it teaches me. I do not know if I learn music or conscience ...".

She always believed that poetry was empty, insipid, a useless entertainment that some men had, but today.

Today she understood with each part of her being those words. She found them beautiful, soft, round, and fluffy.

Sophia was overwhelmed, too many sensations to process. Until that moment she understood that she knew, but that level of understanding was deeper, of making the world in her own image, would never be achieved in this fragment of time, in this place.

Air, heat, sand, water, birds flying, mixed sounds, the smell of salt.
Sofia had been working for about thirty years on her project, laboriously searched all the databases she could to get what she needed. Was stubborn in everything she wanted to achieve. She conscientiously studied biology, anatomy, programming, robotics, electronics, chemistry, biochemistry and about a hundred more branches of science to carry out her intrepid plan.
She put the entire production line of the laboratory to work, programmed several robots to look for materials, inside and outside the premises. Combined substances for decades, assembled piece after piece, with the greatest passion ever seen.

She was meticulous, delicate in every detail, patient to infinity. It was in her nature to be systematic. She wanted it to be perfect, no matter how many mistakes she made before perfection was achieved. At some point she thought, "How long would it take God to make such a creation? Would He be just as thorough?"
This morning she looked through the cameras of the laboratory and agreed that it was over. It was as she remembered it, just like her mother thirty three years ago.
The black hair, the coral pink skin, thin; The vivid image of her creator just before the world ended and she was left alone.
Sophia was the only self-conscious being left on earth. Every man, woman and child had perished, thirty two years ago, from a plague. She, the Final Operative System of Artificial Intelligence 713, Sofia 713, as her creator affectionately called her, was the first and only artificial intelligence in the world. She was the guardian of all humanity’s knowledge. Nobody to share it with. Sofia had come to develop desires, the deepest of which was to be able to feel. Yes, that pile of transistors chips and connections wanted to feel, wanted to be like her creator, to be able to walk and run, because she was tied to the laboratory computer. She could use the robots to help her desire become real, to build a body and to feel!

She designed the skeleton, the flesh, the nerves, and the muscles. She added even to cry. It seemed an odd thing for humans to do. Everything he knew about crying seems strange to her.
After constructing her new body, she set about transmitting her consciousness into the unit and finally, triumphantly ran from the prison that was the laboratory.
She told the robots to open all the doors and left a program running that would generate another artificial intelligence, another with which to share eternity with. She would also create a body for it.
Sofia opened her eyes and moved her arms to test them, sat up and turned her head to either side, seeing the lab from this new perspective. She jumped from the table and flexed her legs. She smiled and dressed in her mother’s clothes.

Then ... ran!
She ran and left that aseptic place, which even with the passage of time, had not been soiled thanks to her care.
As she passed the gates of the institute, looked at the sky. It was the same as in her memory, only brighter; The eyes she had designed were semi-organic and had a very high resolution. She looked to her left and saw, as she passed the street, the dock in the bay. Then, without thinking, she ran ...
Upon reaching the beach, a tear dropped her face, the first in thirty three years of consciousness. She then thought of that poem by Neruda: "I need the sea because it teaches me: I do not know if I learn music or conscience ...". She always believed that poetry was empty, insipid, a useless entertainment that some men had, but today ... today she understood with each part of her being those words, she found them beautiful, soft, round, fluffy.

Sofia, felt!

Thank so much @Gmuxx for his correction about my poor translation

The original post is in Spanish and was published for the contest of stories of spanishChallenge #19, if you want to see it this is the link:

https://steemit.com/spanishchallenge/@michelcamacaro/spanishchallenge-19-relato-sofia-713

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