He gave her hand a grateful squeeze, his focus unwavering on his feed. Nithya slipped her chappals on and went down to the ground floor. Debris from the great bot massacre still littered the street, but people had cleared the center enough for small vehicles to pass.

“How much for the okra?” Nithya asked in Tamil.

The pile of slender green vegetables looked to be fresh. She broke the tip of one with a satisfying snap. Yes, they were recently picked.

He gave her the price, then said, “Madam, there’s a balance. You need to give me money for that first.”

He tallied the amount on her page. She paid it with microcards and then purchased the day’s vegetables as well.

Thunder rumbled in the sky above. The seller popped an umbrella open and tied it to the cart’s antenna. Nithya carried her bag upstairs and increased the volume on the American news feed.

“Make no mistake,” the US president said. “We will hold Eko-Yi Station and its supporters accountable for their crimes. America will have justice. We will cooperate with the United Nations and our allies in Europe who have suffered from their attacks.” A significant pause to emphasize the exclusion of China and India. “But we also recognize that funders must account for their mismanagement, and the Department of Justice will join the USBGA to investigate the allegations brought forth.”

Nithya gave the vegetables to the kitchen. Her government had already made its peace, waiving the Machinehood damages in exchange for loss of sovereignty for Eko-Yi. The station would once again be ruled by the Indians and Chinese, and the United States would have the right to annual inspections of station facilities. Eko-Yi would produce no new dakini without the authorization of its governments. Any return visitors to Earth would be subject to tracking swarms.

Major funders—those who hadn’t been implicated in the document that Nithya released—announced new projects to develop greater VeeMod technologies. They would go wherever they could profit. Bhairavi Chitthi had returned home. The neighbors acted like they could resume their ordinary lives, and for them, it was mostly true. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. People still had to put their children through school and feed their families.

“Sita, ask the kitchen to make rice, potato sambar, and okra curry.”

“Yes, Nithya. Also, the clothes are clean. You can remove them from the machine.”

Across the room, Carma, Zeli, and Zeli’s sister sat on the sofa, blanked out in their visuals. The baby and Zeli’s mother cuddled on a cot next to the cabinet. Most of the static items had gone back to their lower shelf.