I turn again to Igby, who rolls his eyes and mouths, She’s forty-five. We walk away toward the far side of the big room.

“So, she performed the same surgery on you guys too?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Igby replies. “No more cuffs, no more cameras. She can’t remove the heart device—it’s embedded and woven through a bunch of arteries and stuff. Even with our healing it would kill us if she tried.”

“A brand-new friend!” an odd, cartoonish voice yells out from somewhere above me.

“Oh Final Gods, give me strength,” Igby mutters.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, still looking for the source of the voice.

And then from the third floor I see a blur of lights zipping toward me.

“Apple-Moth, power down!” Igby calls out, but the drone—which is no bigger than a sparrow—doesn’t seem to hear, and before I know it, it’s spinning around and around my head.

“Hi, new friend! I’m Apple-Moth, what’s your name?”

“Umm, what?” I manage.

Igby steps forward and raises his voice. “Apple-Moth, power down!”

The drone—which I now recognize as a companion drone—ignores him and continues speeding around and around my head. “I love making new friends! What’s your name? Do you wanna hear a joke?”

“Apple-Moth!” Igby screams, and the drone stops dead, hovering in front of my eyes.

“Oh, hi, Igby!” Apple-Moth says, a note of caution in its computerized voice.

“I told you to power down.”

“But I don’t want to power down!” the drone replies, sounding sulky now.

“I don’t care, I’ve asked you to power down, so do as you’re told.”

Apple-Moth, whose lights had been glowing yellow, fades to an angry pink. The drone zips over to Igby and projects the face of an angry ogre over Igby’s own face. The effect is so convincing that I’m actually taken aback for a second.

“Whoa!” I say.

“What is it?” Igby asks. “Is the stupid drone using its stupid face-changer app?”

I laugh as the ogre face moves perfectly in time with Igby’s words.

“Dammit, Apple-Moth, power down!” the Igby ogre commands.

“Fine!” the drone says, and floats moodily to the floor, the ogre face fading away from Igby’s.

Apple-Moth’s lights go off completely, except for one tiny red light blinking near the base.

“What on Earth is—” I start, but Igby holds up a hand to silence me.

“Apple-Moth,” Igby says, glaring down at the small, insectile machine, “I know you haven’t powered down.”

There are a few seconds of silence, and then the companion drone replies, “Yes, I have.”

“How are you replying if you’ve powered down?” Igby demands. The drone is silent. “Well?”

“Fine!” the drone replies finally. And this time, the small flashing red light goes out too.

I look up at Igby. “What?” is all I can manage through my confusion.