“Where?” His voice was flat and calm; she could see the sensors in his eyes spinning, analyzing the situation. “They are blocking the only exit from the schoolyard.”

“Into the school,” Park said. “Wait it out. Until things calm down.”

But Glenn was shaking his head. “It would not be strategically sound to trap ourselves in a building,” he said. “Particularly one occupied solely by other synthetics.”

They’d quietly edged back from the center of the commotion by now. Harry Bip was holding the sobbing Alexia as if she might fall to pieces without his embrace to hold her together. The female student was recording the goings-on with her wrist console, smirking in a tight, nervous way. The two businessmen were listening to Alexia’s story, looking over at Glenn and Park suspiciously; one of them was calling someone on their teletooth.

“You,” the one who wasn’t calling said to Glenn. “Come here.”

“Stay,” Park said. Glenn gave no sign that he had heard the businessman address him.

“Is that your bot?” the man asked. He was young, not that much older than she: a recent college grad, she would have guessed. His arms were too thin for his clear vinyl business suit. “She said it just attacked her.”

“She attacked me,” Park answered coldly. “My android just prevented further violence. It’s in his programming.”

“I think it’s going to have to be taken in.”

She felt as if someone had injected lead into her spine. “I’ll see to that,” she said. “Who are you?”

“We run a robot repair firm,” he said, gesturing to himself and the other businessman, who was still on the phone. “We handle problem bots. Malfunctioners.”

“Great,” Park said. She suddenly realized that she couldn’t unclench her fists.

“You should turn it over to us. We’ll take a look at it and repair whatever’s going on in its head. We saw the whole thing. That’s not programming.”

“It is.”

“It’s not. Look—we’ll give you the receipt. You can come pick it up in a day or two.” When Park didn’t answer, the angle of the man’s shoulders sharpened; all she could read was anger and fear in the lines of his body. He swayed, as if preparing to charge. “You really need to turn it over. If not to us, then to somebody. Defective chapdroids can be a real menace if they’re let loose without corrective programming.”

“I am not defective,” Glenn said tonelessly. “My systems are operating at optimal capacity.”

The man didn’t look at him. “It wouldn’t know if it was defective,” he said to Park. “That’s the whole point. The part that should know it’s malfunctioning is malfunctioning itself.”

“He’s fine,” Park snapped. “Leave us alone. Unless you’re the police—”

“Get the police!” This was Alexia, from amidst the storm of her tears. “It hit me!”