Chapter 4 A Crossing

Wanting to seize the day after missing class, he decided to try his luck with one of those dating apps; when suddenly one of those profiles left him somewhat confused: the age said 18 years, but the face was clearly that of a girl. After reviewing her profile and seeing the names of various cartoons among her likes, he was sure that the age was wrong. He bit his lip very nervous, and wanted to believe that those 18 were real while he was sending her a message; although the voice of his conscience was screaming at him what he did not want to hear: he was getting into trouble.

The message was short, and he didn't want to sound like a pervert:

"Hello. My name is Claudio. I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to ask you something: are you really 18 years old?"

He wrote the message quickly, but it took a long time to send it. When the words "message sent" appeared on his cell phone screen, he gritted his teeth and gulped. Every gesture, look and bead of sweat were observed by IA. Everything that happened in front of any public, private or cell phone camera was now accessible to the law enforcement officer.

For all practical purposes, anyone would say that what was once called privacy no longer existed.

Among the IA records, on the other hand, an alert appeared: a possible pedo-hebe-philic named Claudio was connecting through a certain application. In just an instant, IA had at its disposal all of Claudio's personal information, as well as his activity on the network. But she noticed something curious: there was nothing, apart from what happened that day, to indicate that Claudio had that sexual tendency. Nothing in his search history, nothing in the security videos, nothing in his school records, nothing in his family history.

And yet there was the message, contradicting everything she knew or thought she knew.

"Maybe he's just discovering that part of himself" thought the digital intelligence with some interest.

The conversation they had from then on, to her surprise, was nothing like the ones she used to have with most of those accused of pedo-hebe-philic personality crimes: he didn't tell her she was pretty, beautiful, or anything like that. He did not ask for her phone number, he did not make a video call, he did not ask her to send him intimate photos, much less to touch himself. It was just a common and simple conversation.

"Hello," she wrote. "How are you? Well, my age... it's not exactly my age. The application did not allow me to register if i said I was a minor."

Claudio swallowed again and took a deep breath.

"Then I was right." He wrote "You are just a child..."

"Maybe. It depends... Do you like... childs?"

That was the key question she wanted to get to. If no signs other than those of that day could be used to argue a crime of personality, that was the point at which she would have to decide if he was guilty: the moment he answered "Yes."

He sighed and put the cell phone on the bed. His heart was beating fast.

"But... What are you doing looking for dates?" He wondered, placing his hands under the nape of his neck while IA waited for an answer.

"Do you want to meet me?" She asked.

He checked the girl's profile again, and spent a few moments contemplating her face in an attempt to discover any hint of age; but every detail made him believe more in the reality of photography. He finally decided to drop the matter.

While IA calculated the probabilities that the young man was thinking the expected answer, he uninstalled the application.

Puzzled, the virtual girl decided to think that he was scared; but more than fear for what might happen to him, Claudio lamented what might happen to her when, as he supposed it might, she ran into an unscrupulous pervert.

He felt hungry and decided to eat something outside the home. Maybe a sandwich of the kind he bought on the way to school, strolling through the square and then downtown.

He put on clean clothes, put on shoes, perfumed himself and combed his hair calmly thinking that at this time his companions would be at recess. He walked without any haste and was amused to compare those slow, carefree steps with the normal rush of every day.

Normally, despite being closer to the school than to the restaurant in front of the park, he would deviate in that direction and endure the twenty minutes it took them to deliver the order. All this in order to exchange a few words with Daniela.

Anyone who saw him go to such trouble would say he was obsessed.

Unfortunately for him, when he got there, she was not in the restaurant. Despite the fact that he sat waiting pretending not to make up his mind, he ended up taking the sandwich without even having tried it when, when asked about Daniela, they told him that she no longer worked there.

Seeing her was the only thing he knew would make his day better, and she was gone.

Claudio sat on a bench in the plaza right in front of the restaurant; but, as much as he expected, she did not appear. He was about to go back to his apartment and decided to take a bite of the sandwich; but the taste was different. He felt something bitter and could not eat it. He walked a few blocks in the direction of downtown, but his desire to walk was already gone.

People walked around him, the wind moved the branches of the trees and the cars passed through the streets leaving noise and some smoke behind; but for him it was as if the world had stopped. And IA's stunned eyes were puzzled, as the one he believed to be a supposed pedophile now suffered from the lack of Daniela, a grown-up, pretty and well-developed woman.

IA could not draw a conclusion about him, and now she thought that, if perhaps her suspicions were wrong, there was a possibility that she would have to correct her way of conceiving the pedo-hebe-philic personality. Although of course, Claudio was just a case; and her responsibility encompassed the entire city.

Her processor was programmed to be able to understand human psychology. In fact, the professionals in that area had been greatly discredited since she was in command. But in these strange days she was to learn that human beings are more complicated than they appear.

And while that was happening, in the Council meeting room the IA held a session with the officials who had the government in their hands.

A sullen man in his forties was serving drinks and sandwiches for the Council elders, and he heard them talking and laughing as the image of a girl appeared on the living room screen. He tried not to look, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the nakedness that danced to the rhythm of the music; and the shouts and applause of happiness disgusted him.

In the kitchen of the apartment, where he used to wait for the communicator to ring, he was left thinking that the girl in the video could well be his daughter.

"Damn old degenerates."