“It’s probably defective,” her boyfriend said. This was Harry Bip, Park realized, with the sculpted jaw and the hands that could crush a melon; his parents had had him optimized for a sports scholarship, before they’d understood that sports were going extinct. Not enough room, in the post-Comeback world—and no use for it if you were bound for the colonies. Now they were trying to pass him off as a future combat specialist. Park couldn’t imagine him specializing in anything other than eating enough junk food to fuel his overgrown body and adjusting himself when he thought no one was looking.

“It’s not defective,” Alexia said. “The freak probably programmed it not to talk to anybody but her.”

Glenn’s eyes flicked to Park, over Alexia’s shoulder. His mouth formed a faint frown. Alexia, sensing the look, began to turn, but before she could see Park properly, Park said, “What are you doing?”

Harry Bip jumped. Alexia squinted; Park had positioned herself so that the sun was at her back, glaring into their eyes if they tried to look at her. It was instinct, she supposed: her reptile brain positioning her on dominant ground. Alexia tried to smile and said, “Oh, Grace. We were just having a talk with your—friend.”

“You don’t need to talk to him. Whatever it is, you can ask me.” She looked at Glenn—bent all of her will into her gaze. Silently, he moved to her side.

“He’s a very advanced model,” Alexia remarked. “We were just admiring his specs.”

“Yeah,” Harry Bip rumbled. “He’s crash. Real lifelike.” A smile twitched on his face; Park looked at him and thought about how jangled and out of place his genes must be. A throwback, she thought; a figure beckoned out of an age that didn’t exist anymore. No wonder he preferred following Alexia’s lead; she knew his place, and told it to him with ease.

“So what do you do?” Alexia said to Glenn. “Now that she’s here, you can answer. Do you just follow Grace around all the time?”

“Leave him alone,” Park said, in clipped tones. She knew this was a tactic, meant to expose her vulnerabilities—but she hated the thought of anyone ridiculing Glenn, who couldn’t defend himself. It felt as if they’d come into her home without her knowing and rearranged the furniture; stolen her diary and passed it around, jeering. She had never known true anger like this before—frustration, yes, but not rage. How dare they? she thought. She felt as if there was a hot, weeping itch in her heart.

“Glenn, let’s go,” she said.

“You don’t have to be so protective,” Alexia said, still with the round-eyed look of innocence. “I was just trying to make conversation. No one’s going to steal your walking vibrator.”