They could put walls up at night once Zeli and her family found a permanent residence—or returned to Senegal. People at the front lines of the al-Muwahhidun had expressed hope that dakini technology could help in their fight, too. Zeli was eager to go home, perhaps even to join the defense efforts. The family had been excellent guests, but Nithya would be glad to have the flat back to themselves.

Oh God, and she had better set Sita up to track her cycles again. Her period had returned a month earlier, after two weeks of not taking daily pills. The last thing their marriage needed was for her to get pregnant again.

Her abortion seemed like it had happened in another lifetime, though not even two full months had passed. Her body had recovered, but her relationship with Luis would bear the scars forever. As if they didn’t have enough stress, Synaxel had terminated her contract within hours of her exposure of their malfeasance. She’d received everything from death threats to offers of marriage from strangers around the world, but as others came forward to support her, she started to get new contract offers from smaller funders.

And then the miracle happened.

Like every adult, she’d set up a tip jar along with her bank account. It never got much money. Nithya didn’t do anything to earn tips. She didn’t have a flamboyant, entertaining job like Welga’s. Over the past week, though, her balance brimmed so full that she had no problems paying their bills. The vast majority came from regular gig-working people—in single-digit amounts—but the sum astonished her.

Carma tugged on Nithya’s arm. “Amma, I’m bored of this. Can I go upstairs to Shobana’s house?”

“Sure, but come when I call you for dinner.” Nithya sent a small swarm with Carma and pushed the feed to the upper left of her visual.

With schools now on summer holidays, they no longer had to care that the educational system’s WAIs hadn’t come back online. Trust in anything powered by artificial intelligence had eroded. The Indian government expected months, possibly years, before they finished reviewing and restoring all public WAIs and bots. They’d formed committees to review machine rights and to consider drafting laws about them, not as property but as forms of life. Private households, like their own, could take risks and turn their machines back on. Thank God for that.

“Incoming call request from Olga Ramírez,” Sita announced.

At last!

“Accept,” she said, joining Luis in front of a static camera on the wall.

They stared at each other for a full second before speaking all at once.

“Hi.”

“It’s so good to see you.”

“You look well.”