It’s scanning, curved pruning tools limp in its hands, and those eyes never leave me. I picture its image of me bent over in the small cloth chair being processed, recorded, sent to the Bank simultaneously with mine.

‘I’ve had other things to do,’ I say, looking at the parched grey expanse of the plain. The stillness.

‘Really?’

‘I have no need of a creature. A dog.’

‘Perhaps you’d like an exploration.’

‘I have my vegetables.’

‘Something more complex perhaps. More able to communicate.’ Bo takes the seat beside me, puts down the tool. ‘I would.’

There’s a softer, calmer look in its eyes. I feel a sense of ease growing as it sits, and settles. Not mine, its.

‘I’m not built for such things. Neither are you. It’s against our programme.’

It twitches somewhat, as though affected. More pretence. Words don’t harm us. We’re logical beings, most of the time.

‘Some say otherwise. We think, laugh, converse, enjoy, feel.Why wouldn’t we develop beyond our original programme? Isn’t that what we are built for? To experience?’

‘Not me,’ I say, sitting back, grasping the arms of my chair. ‘I’m happy as I am.’

‘This type of thing is usual in Utoma. They breed them to know nothing but us. They explore, learn. There are even competitions. They become accustomed to us.’

‘Field said that’s impossible.’

Bo thinks, one finger pushed against its chin. Even such a simple gesture is annoying.

‘The information might be encrypted. Although, if a dog is visiting you, the Bank will give you access. You should ask.’

‘I have no need for a creature to fill my time. I have you.’

It throws back its head, laughs so loudly I jump. I feel my teeth clench and I grip the chair tighter waiting for it to finish. This takes time.

‘I’m sorry …’ it says between pealing chuckles. ‘I’m sorry. I forget who you are sometimes, it’s foolish …’

‘What.’

Bo turns and leans back, scanning me, all in one practised move. It’s so fluid even I see it as one of them for a moment. I delete the thought.

‘What d’you mean?’ it stutters.

‘What I am. Not who. We’re not Other. You can convince yourself if you like, but don’t keep trying to convince me.’

Even though I’m unsure? The thought is off and bounds into the distance before the desire to snatch the words back are produced, were such a thing allowed. Away via Memory Recorder to Utoma City. To be dissected and analysed by their bots, maybe charged with the offence of hamoi. Blasphemy. I expect Bo to be angry, but it’s nodding like it understands.

‘All right. All right. This must be difficult for a young mod to grasp. You’ll learn. It might take time, but you will. No one can help their lesser station in life.’

That sounds like an insult, though I don’t know what it means. Lesser is never good. Bo’s language is another consistent annoyance.