“A bachelorette party. They hired him out for a stabbing. The whole crowd of them went at him with kitchen knives and meat cleavers. There was a power failure, but they were all so drunk they didn’t even notice. Do you remember all the blackouts we had last February? His rebuild program couldn’t connect with the server for repair instructions. He was dead for almost half an hour. Now he has the shakes and he forgets things. His insurance wouldn’t cover his injuries because there was a company rule against having more than two assailants at a time, even though everyone ignores it. He’s worse than completely broke, and the state board won’t renew his license. He can’t die for a living anymore, and he isn’t fit for anything else.”

“Have we agreed I shouldn’t offer you sympathy? I don’t want to overstep.”

She flinches, as from a biting insect. “I wouldn’t deserve your sympathy even if you had any to give. I’m a snotty, selfish, entitled little bitch. My dad lost everything, and I’m in a pissy mood because we’re not doing what I wanted for my birthday. He got me the best gift he could, and I was going to drop it in front of a train. Tell me that doesn’t sound ungrateful.”

“It sounds like the latest disappointment on a stack of them. Ancient religions used to tell people that letting go of yearning is the highest form of spirituality. But Buddha had it wrong. Yearning is the difference between being human and being a Clockwork. Not to want is not to live. Even DNA is an engine of desire—driven to copy itself over and over. Nothing spiritual about a hair dryer. What did you want to do for your birthday?”

“Me and my friends were going to the top of the Spoke at sunset to see the stars come out. I’ve only ever seen them in pay-per-vision streams. Never for real. We were going to drink Sparklefroth and shoot sparks and then ride Drop Bubbles back to earth. After, we were going to put on Hideware and go down to the Cabinet Carnivals. My friends all think I’m getting a new face today, because that’s what they got for their birthdays. No way that’s happening. My mom is so cheap I bet she won’t even buy me a new battery for my busted-ass Monowheel.”

“And you can’t tell your friends you can’t afford a new face right now?”

“I can—if I want pity for my birthday. But Sparklefroth tastes better.”

“I can’t help with the new face,” he says. “Theft is prohibited. But if you want to see the stars come out from the top of the Spoke, it isn’t too late. Sunset is in twenty-one minutes.”