Years in the field had finally caught up to him, he explained: the ultra-rich oxygen traps formed by the Comeback had slowly bubbled into his blood. He was constantly disoriented now, the same way deep-sea divers were after surfacing too quickly; the buildup of oxygen in his tissue was toxic. He had pains in his chest, he was more short-sighted than he had been before. The optic nerves in his eyes had swelled. When he finished telling them that he was home for good, Park said, coldly, “Why didn’t you return sooner, when you realized your condition was deteriorating?”

“I had to see my work through,” Park’s uncle said. “It was—is—important.”

Important, Park thought, not without a little scorn. As if there weren’t enough researchers in the world studying the plants and wildlife of the Comeback. As if there was anything new to be learned from that field.

“And now you’re done,” she said. “For good.”

“That’s right,” Park’s uncle said, motioning Glenn to step forward. “And I have to say, my timing is excellent: I’m glad I caught you before you left for school.”

Park stood by and watched as he transmitted his medical routines into Glenn’s processor; Glenn took a moment to acclimate to the new data, then said, “I’ll go to the dispensary and pick up your prescription.”

He nearly walked past Park without looking at her. Park put out a hand to stop him and said, “I’ll go with you.”

“No,” Park’s uncle said, waving a hand at the chair across from him. The chair that Glenn usually sat in, so that his eyes were level with Park’s: a squat, sagging thing they’d fished out of a canal. “Stay here. Catch up with me, Grace.”

“Be safe,” Park told Glenn, though the riots of previous years had quieted. There’d been the fiasco of a mob mistaking a human for a human-like android, at the peak of the protests. Then trials. Murder convictions. A reversal of goodwill, as there often was. Glenn smiled faintly at her and said, “I understand.”

Reluctantly, Park walked over to the table and sat down across from her uncle. It had been a long time since she’d seen him last, at least in person; when she was younger he had videoed in once a month, but in the past few years the frequency had diminished. He kept ending the calls with praise of how independent and self-sufficient she was. Not how intelligent she was, or beautiful or mature—just that she displayed an ability to survive adequately without him, Park thought. She was wary of him: having him in her home felt like sheltering a wild animal. Routines were shattered, predictability flew out the window. She never knew what to say.

Neither, it seemed, did he. “Well,” he said. “You’ve grown into a fine young woman. Your grades are excellent.”