Welga shut the machine down and covered it again. Her mother’s picture gazed down at her from the wall above. Laila Boothe-Ayala had never let legality stop her from helping others. I’m following in your footsteps, Mama. Welga kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the image.

NITHYA

It was only a matter of time before this happened. Of course the Machinehood is a SAI—a sentient AI. It’s obvious! Wouldn’t you be angry if you woke up to discover that your kind had been treated like slaves for years? Bots do our babysitting, our medical care, our yard work, our hair, our cooking and cleaning. We keep them as pets. We have WAIs that are personal secretaries. We all knew we’d pay the price when they woke up, and now they have. You’re scared? You should be!

—Elton Morales, People for Machine Liberation (registered nonprofit organization), speaking at a rally for machine rights in Paris, March 13, 2095

“I don’t want to go to school today,” Carma said. Her voice broke. Tears fell. They were all on edge after the events of the past two days. “Papa’s gone, so I won’t have anyone to play with!”

Nithya hugged her tighter. “I won’t be on flow, remember? I’ll play during your school breaks.”

She calmed Carma down enough to eat a few more bites of breakfast, dry her tears, and connect to her classroom. Luis had left early. He hadn’t spoken a word since their argument the night before, sending her only an image of a request for on-site care-bot supervision. It had arrived during the night, and those types of gigs paid better than remote work, so he had accepted it without consulting her… again. She contained her anger. Of course he would give her the silent treatment today, but if he kept on for the whole week, she’d lose her mind.

Fighting back her own tears—of exhaustion, after a night of little sleep—Nithya sat in her alcove. The words and numbers from the latest simulations swam in front of her eyes. A yawn stretched her mouth. Sita’s news alerts kept flashing in the lower section of her visual. With a sigh, Nithya logged a sick day.

“Sita, remake the sofa into a bed.”

She skimmed for some mindless gigs. The majority of the postings were for news-feed verifications and harassment reporting. The former was easy enough. Like half the world, she couldn’t keep her mind off the Machinehood. Numerous people had inquired about the biochemistry of organic blox after seeing the close-up of the attacker who killed Briella Jackson. The micropayments from verification gigs were pittances compared to Synaxel’s rate, but she could get a boost to her expertise ranking, and they still paid better than behavior policing.