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over the boy, acting almost hostile to his own children, making it difficult for her to play a part in the human’s care.
    She watched the waves hurry up the beach, nearly touching Beachstone’s feet, but stopping just short. Behind him, the cliff’s shadow crept toward the water, poised to ensnare him, as though he sat in the light between two realms.
    There had been moments when it seemed that Beachstone was pleased to see her. The way he relaxed when she came into whatever room he was in. She wished to message him at those times, but there was no way she could, and she didn’t want to speak aloud in front of her father or brother. If only they had time alone.
    She watched him some more. What was she afraid of? Hurting him? Being useless? Having misread his human cues? That he cared for her no more than he did for Kent? His manner when she had saved him from her brother had been anything but grateful. She reviewed every time they had been together. There was so little she understood.
    There was only one way to learn.
    She hurried to the beach stairs and didn’t pause at the bottom, afraid to lose her momentum. She crossed through the cliff’s shadow to the border of sun a few feet from the boy. Her shadow preceded her, and he looked back before she was alongside him.
    â€œHello,” she said.
    He squinted at her. “Move over one step. The sun’s in my eyes.”
    She came around in front of him, on the wave-smoothed part of the sand, so the sun wouldn’t be a concern. “Are you watching?” she asked.
    He scratched his thigh. “I’m reading.”
    â€œFather taught you.”
    He turned back to the screen. She could see all the muscle movements in his face, the strain under his eyes above the cheekbone, a quivering millimeter at the left corner of his mouth, his ears pulled forward. His eyes were not following the words. He was uncomfortable and . . . angry. She had been wrong. He didn’t care for her. “What are you reading?”
    â€œStories. About long ago when there were no robots, only people.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause they’re exciting.”
    â€œExciting like going to a carnival, or exciting like imminent danger?”
    He looked at her, his eyes narrowed, and there was the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Mary felt relieved. She hadn’t realized quite how badly she needed him to like her. All those years of hearing her father speak of the Vandleys almost like gods. She wanted something like that for herself.
    â€œI’ve never been to a carnival,” he said at last.
    â€œNeither have I,” she said. “But I know of them.”
    â€œSit down,” Beachstone said. “I don’t like you standing over me.”
    She complied, sitting cross-legged in front of him.
    â€œNext to me,” he said. “So we both can see the water.”
    She didn’t understand why, but she did it anyway. He resumed reading without saying anything, scratching his leg occasionally. A sandpiper skittered to and fro, following the waves with precision. A group of gulls swooped at the water and then pulled up to land on the beach. Mary had seen these things before, but she studied them to avoid looking at Beachstone, knowing enough at least to know that staring made humans uncomfortable. After several minutes, Beachstone threw the tablet on the sand in front of them. Mary reached for it without thinking, and as she picked it up, she uploaded the story he had been reading.
    It was about some kind of human with abilities no human ever possessed—flight, excessive strength, nearly instantaneous healing—as he fought a murderous cyborg.
    â€œThere was a cyborg—”
    â€œHe was defeated, but not deactivated,” Mary said.
    â€œYou uploaded it?” Beachstone asked. His head flopped back in annoyance. “I was going to tell you the story.” He grabbed the tablet and tossed