Hannah didn’t know what she was supposed to do with another human being. Except with her friends. Who were perhaps not friends but rather just a last-resort arrangement of strange children. Outsiders in a world of normal misery. It started out brilliantly, that day on which Don fled to Manchester for some reason or other. The cold of the room uncomfortable on her feet. Various registers of coughing in the building. Outside it was raining, the drops so large they looked like snow.

And Peter, the idiot. Lying there growing. He grew ten centimeters every day it seemed. He did nothing but eat, sleep, and grow. A bit like a cancerous tumor. Hannah looked at the cancer in the corner of the room, which looked like every room in every squatted building everywhere on earth. A clothing stand, a pile of clothing on the floor, broken shades, broken floorboards, a chair, a bed on bricks. And, of course, cold. And, of course, a bit dirty in case an adult were to enter. None did. Children don’t notice the dirtiness thanks to a dysfunction of the iris. “Are you listening, Peter?” said Hannah. “Don moved.”

PETER

Opened his eyes and nodded.

“Thanks for the terrific conversation.” He heard Hannah say as she ran out of the room. Peter didn’t know how he was supposed to act now. He’d made progress in mimicking so-called normality. He pushed himself to look people in the eye, they had a thing about that. He even let himself go so far as to allow minor physical contact. He did everything to integrate this “having friends” thing into his life. He learned to listen and give answers. He functioned within the bounds of others’ expectations and that way made a huge contribution to his resocialization. But at the moment he was overwhelmed. Don was gone. And Hannah upset. Peter had learned how to look when she was upset. Tight mouth, strangely baffled facial expression.

Peter lay there. His bodily functions were decelerated, his metabolism barely registering. He waited. Until there was a reason to move. Up to now that had only been when Hannah ordered him to leave the room to go hang around with the others. Or to be the lookout when the others went shoplifting. Food, potatoes, vegetables, that sort of thing.

Peter no longer went to school. For a long time now. He did better studying on the internet. Thanks to stolen electricity. Thanks to logging on to strangers’ Wi-Fi. He learned interesting things. About the Tempora project, about people who wanted to put their brains on computer chips to live forever online. He traveled the world with Google and strolled on beaches; he learned to make small talk in Portuguese and French.