“It’s on an Atari cartridge,” Mukhtar said, ignoring the question. “I have an auction running in virtual as we speak with three bidders on Mars, two in the Venusian cloud-cities and one warlord on Ganymede all in the running.”

“Where did you get it?” Mariam said, because Mukhtar loved talking about his business and how he got things and how much he sold those same things for and all the profits he’d made. He claimed not to care about the various objects he sold but he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all his clients. He was a terrible enthusiast for old, useless, rare things. They all were.

“I got it from some kid who was rooting inside an old Millennium Vault out in Oman. Amazing. The amount of garbage you find in these things—all kinds of digital ghosts and potpourri, and that’s if the cores aren’t all corrupted or if no one’s robbed it by then. They’re worse than the pyramids for robbing, those vaults. The people who made them always thought they were really clever in hiding them away, and that’s what drives your average vault hunter, you know, the challenge. If you could find one. If you could find one that works. If you could find one that has something. Well, this kid had something and he didn’t even know what he had. A Pac-Man! It’s a part of history, it is. A valuable piece.”

Mariam stared, because coming down the avenue towards them was a small and rather singular figure, pushing a cart in front of it, and it looked strangely familiar.

“I think we have a visitor,” she said.

“Seller, or buyer?” Mukhtar said, still admiring his whatever-it-was.

“I’d say seller, by the looks of him,” Mariam said.

“Good, good. Let’s make some tea, then.”

“I don’t think that would be necessary,” Mariam said, still staring.

“What? Why not? I always make tea,” Mukhtar said.

“Because it’s a robot,” Mariam said.

The doorbell rang. The shop checked the robot for weaponry and started going haywire. The robot stood outside and waited politely.

Mariam pressed a button on an antique intercom and said, “All weaponry must be left outside.”

The robot nodded. “I’m afraid I cannot do that,” it said.

Mariam pressed the button again.

“Why not?” she said.

The robot nodded.

“I am the weaponry,” it said.

“Is it a real one?” Mukhtar said. He brought up a virtual screen, scrolled through the diagnostics. “How fascinating. It’s completely scrambled. How old are you? Wait.” He nodded to Mariam, who pressed the button.

“How old are you?” she said.

The robot nodded.

“Old,” it said.

“Let it in, let it in,” Mukhtar said. “I will make tea. I always make tea.”

Mariam pressed another button. The locks slid open. She pressed the first button again.

She said, “Come in.”