“The left leg, it isn’t an original. Though it is a good replica. Ceres?”

“You have a good eye,” the robot said.

“Lost your leg in the war?”

“I lost a lot of things in the war,” the robot said.

“You’ve had some augmentation, too,” Mukhtar said. “I cannot make out the firmware at all. This is new occlusion protocols. Wildtech, at a guess. You went as far as Jettisoned?”

Mariam stared at the robot in fascination, for although Neom received visitors from across the inhabited worlds, she had never met anyone who had gone as far as Jettisoned, that lawless outpost on Charon. The people who went there seldom came back.

“My job got me about,” the robot said. “And I did not mind the long journeys.”

“Your job?” Mukhtar said sharply.

“I am a robot,” the robot said. “I must make myself useful.”

“Your skill set is somewhat restrictive,” Mukhtar said.

“It is useful.”

“You kill people?”

“A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. . . . I try to follow the Way of Robot when I can. Of course, the Laws were only ever a philosophical concept, and I must live in the world as it is, not as we may wish it to be.”

“That’s a long-winded answer to a simple question.”

The robot sighed. “Only when I get paid,” it said. “So what do you think?”

“Of your value as object? You’re missing some of the original parts. Your internal structure is hopelessly mangled with updates. And to be entirely honest with you, you’re not in the greatest condition.”

“I have noticed,” the robot said.

“Not to mention it isn’t strictly legal to deal in sentient-level machines,” Mukhtar said. “Even in a place like Neom.”

“Are we really sentient, though?” the robot said. “Or are we only very good at pretending?”

“That’s a philosophical question,” Mukhtar said. He shrugged. “To the right collector, sure. You’d be worth a fair bit. More if I strip you for parts. Is that what you want?”

“It is a conundrum,” the robot said. “I do need my parts. I do not know.”

“This . . . thing. Is it really that important to you?”

“It was once. Perhaps it still is.”

Mukhtar nodded. “Would you care to leave it here, for now? I will study it more carefully. There is someone I could ask. It might be possible to repair.”

“I would like that,” the robot said. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure you won’t sell it?” Mukhtar said, a little wistfully.

“I am sure,” the robot said. It got up. “Thank you for your time, and your hospitality.”

“You’re very welcome.”

The robot nodded to Mariam. “It was nice to see you again,” it said.

“You, too.”

“Goodbye.”

The robot left. Mariam let out a breath of air she hadn’t realised she was holding.

“Is it really a killer?” she said.