But once the picket line appeared, Park had to take steps to ensure that Glenn always quietly broke off from her, several yards from the school entrance. She didn’t think that any of the protesters were disgruntled enough to hurt Glenn—they might not even recognize him as an android, if they weren’t looking attentively—but she couldn’t take any chances. Every morning she read about seething crowds of rioters flooding the city, bearing down on innocent courier androids or the sexbots loitering on the corners. Every morning she saw image-grabs of how the demonstrators had unleashed their fury, tearing their victims apart, scattering their metal limbs to the streets. Wires dangling gruesomely, synthetic skin flapping like loose chicken flesh. They were sending a message, one man told the news. Telling the big robot companies that their products weren’t welcome in the city anymore. It was the only way they could get anyone to listen, to stop them from sending “the clunkers” in. The protesters didn’t want to do it—destroy the robots, that is—but it was their only choice. “Hit ’em where it hurts,” the man said to the cameras, smugly. “Their wallets.”

“They’re idiots,” Park said whenever she watched these interviews. “Why hasn’t anyone arrested them? Destroying androids is illegal.”

“As illegal as knocking over trash cans,” Glenn answered imperturbably. He was also scanning through the newsfeeds, though he downloaded them directly into his processing unit, while Park had to scroll through them on her wrist console. “Most of the perpetrators are issued fines to cover the property damage, but few seem to comply.”

“They’re idiots,” Park said again.

“They’re afraid,” said Glenn. “From my understanding, it’s different. But also, in some ways, the same.”

No, she couldn’t risk anything happening to Glenn. He had orders from her to draw as little attention to himself as possible; when he could help it, he was to go straight home after dropping her off. If someone tried to hurt him, she gave him permission to enact self-defense protocols—but Glenn told her that if he had to harm a human in order to defend himself, his programming would render him catatonic. “Safety measures,” he said, to which Park answered, “I don’t care about their safety. What about yours?”

Anxiety felt like a knifepoint in her forehead whenever he was away. Park viewed her own presence as a kind of protective charm for Glenn, a shield; no one was going to destroy another person’s android right in front of them. It was only when they caught the robots out alone that the mob got whipped into such a frenzy. Without their human to accompany them, it was easy to view the androids as nothing but machines: unfeeling, unconnected, unmoored. It was easy to hurt them. To the demonstrators, it was a “victimless” crime. Only wallets got hurt.