I am built for cognitive development. I am not certain what ADA is built for. Later, I will ask her, but now I am anxious to see Gina, so I step inside.

There is no puffy sofa in the living room where Gina and I would watch comedies and she would try to explain to me why they were funny.

No TV mounted on the wall. No table where we used to put our big box of pizza or bowls of buttered popcorn. In the kitchen, the plates and bowls and mixer and toaster are gone. There is no biofuel in the refrigerator. There is no toilet paper in the bathroom. No soap. No scented candles. In my bedroom there is only bare carpet

The house is empty.

It is all empty.

And Gina is nowhere to be found. It’s as if she never lived here. As if she’s been deleted.

“Is this not what you expected?” ADA asks me, peering inside the closet that used to contain raincoats and umbrellas but now contains only a single dust bunny and an extension cord connected to nothing.

Trashbot vacuums up the dust bunny and draws the extension cord into his bin like a spaghetti noodle.

“I thought Gina would still be here. I thought I could tell her what happened to me at uniMIND. I thought I could tell her what I have learned since getting hit by the truck.” I look at the blank, white walls. “I thought I could come home.”

I exit the house, go down the porch, cross the front yard, get back into Car. None of these moves feel like deliberate decisions. I’m just walking. I’m just moving.

Chapter 9

CAR CHOOSES HER OWN DIRECTION. She takes us east, away from everything I have known and toward experiences I can’t predict. My mind occupies a place between.

I need a library.

A library is a place where information can be found, and finding information is a way to increase cognitive development. The specific information I require is Gina’s current location. So I must learn where other uniMIND facilities are located.

It’s almost noon when Car finally comes to a stop. The library is a one-story building of red brick in a town with a lot of lawns and parks. I ask Proto and Trashbot and ADA to stay in Car while I go learn, but ADA exits the vehicle and strides toward the entrance.

“Will there be any waste to dispose of?” Trashbot asks.

“I don’t think so.”

Trashbot’s faceplate dims, and he remains in the back seat.

Proto rarfs and curls up into a ball beside him.

Inside, floor-to-ceiling windows let in light. ADA stands in the middle of the floor, eyes narrowed, and turns around in a slow circle. “Threat assessment is low,” she says. “But I suppose we should try not to attract notice.”