CHAPTER 1

Mech6.0 stood against the hangar’scharging wall, one of hundreds of mutesentinels watching the passengers flutterby with their hovering luggage carts andexcited chatter. Before her, the massiveTriton hunkered imposingly in the centerof the hangar, dwarfing the crowd, asgreeters scanned the ID chips of their

guests and ushered them aboard. A ship’smaiden voyage was always a festiveoccasion, but this one seemed morevibrant than usual, as the Triton wasabout to set the record for largest cruiserto ever be launched. Waiters werepassing glasses of champagne to thepassengers as they boarded and had theirbelongings escorted away, women weredonning their finest kimonos and hanbokand cocktail gowns, and even a live bandhad been hired for the entertainment.

Against the festive backdrop, the shipitself appeared menacing to Mech6.0,with its polished metal paneling andsmall round windows glinting beneath thehangar lights. It hadn’t seemed so big

when she’d been working on it, runningwires, soldering frame pieces, andscrewing on protective paneling. At thetime, she’d almost felt like she and herbrethren were a part of this enormousmetal beast. A thousand tiny movingpieces making one efficient machine. Butnow the result of their labors was readyto set sail, and she no longer felt attachedto it at all. Only dwarfed by itsmagnificence.

And perhaps a little abandoned.As the guests giggled and chattered and

discussed how many space cruises they’dbeen on before, the beauty of the newship, and all the comforts the ads hadpromised, Mech6.0 watched and listened.

The thrumming of electricity warmed herinsides.

“All aboard! Triton to debark in sixminutes. Six-minute warning! Allaboard!”

The crowd dwindled. The monotonousbeep of the ID scanners trickled to anoccasional, sparse rhythm. One ramp roseup to the ship, closing with a thud thatvibrated through the hangar floors and upMech6.0’s treads—then two ramps, thenthree.

“Wait!” A woman’s voice echoedthrough the hangar, followed by the hastypadding of feet. “We’re coming! We’rehere,” she said, breathlessly dragging ayoung girl behind her.

“Just in time,” said one of the greeters,scanning the woman’s wrist. “Up you go.”

She thanked him profusely and pusheda lock of messy hair off her face.Retightening her grip on the girl’s wrist,she gave her floating hover-cart a pushand jogged up the ramp.

Mech6.0’s scanner caught on somethingsmall and flat as it dislodged from theyoung girl’s backpack and fluttered downtoward the greeter, who didn’t notice.Her programming alerted her to theincongruence, and she shuffled throughproper responses.

If she found something that a human hadlost, she was to return it.

But she was not to interrupt the

boarding process, particularly once thecaptain had called for the ship to besealed and prepared for takeoff.

As soon as the ramp began to rise offthe ground, Mech6.0 knew that heropportunity to return the lost item to thegirl was gone. She kept her scannerpinned to that small card until the ramptilted up and up, and the card slipped offand came spinning and twirling throughthe air. Past the greeters that were alreadypulling back the ropes for the ticketinglines, past the statuesque forms of herbrothers and sisters, past the hiredmusicians, until it landed againstMech6.0’s own treads and stuck there.

The roar of the ship’s engines pulled

her attention back toward the Triton andher scanner lifted up and up as the hangarceiling began to open. The gears crankedand rumbled, revealing first a teasing hintof moonlight, and then a gap filled withstars. Then, slowly, an entire galaxyopened up above the hangar.

It was beautiful. Mech6.0 loved thismoment—anticipated it every time theycompleted a new project and prepared tosend it off into the sky. That short glimpseof the galaxy was not like anything else inher world, a world that was normallyfilled with mechanics and tools and thedark, shadowy spaces inside a quiet,lonely spaceship.

The galaxy, she had come to

understand, was vast and bright andendless.

A surge of electricity startled Mech6.0,like a spark straight to the processor thatwas protected beneath her torso paneling.Startled, she turned her head to peerdown the line of identical androids—toher left first and then to her right.

Not only did they not seem to have feltthe sudden surge, but none of them wereeven looking up at the sky. Stiff and un-curious, they remained staring straightahead.

Mech6.0 returned her attention to theship, as it rose up off the ground andhovered on the magnetic field beneath thehangar. The thrusters burned white hot for

a moment, and the ship rose higher andhigher, breaching the ceiling before itswooped gracefully up toward the starrynight sky and disappeared.

As the cheers died out and the crowdbegan to disperse, the musicians beganpacking up their instruments. Theenormous ceiling lowered in on itself andclanged, shutting them in tight again and,not long after the space had cleared, thelights shut off with three loud bangs,plunging the mech-droids into pitchblackness and silence.

Four minutes passed, in whichMech6.0 was still remembering the viewof the stars, which she knew weresomehow always there and yet always out

of her reach, before she remembered thegirl’s lost card.

Her sensor light flickered on, creatinga circle of pale blue light around her. Herneighbors swiveled their heads, perhapsin curiosity, but more likely indisapproval, but she ignored them as shecast the scanner down toward her treads.Extending her arm, she pinched the cardbetween her padded grippers and held itup.

It was thin, but stiff, like a sheet ofaluminum, and one side was scrolled infancy, shiny lettering: Celebrity Holos,Collector’s Set, 39th Edition, 124 T.E.

She turned the card over and aflickering, pale holograph rose up from it

and began to rotate. She was looking atthe likeness of a teenage boy with shaggyblack hair and a relaxed smile. Heseemed vaguely familiar.

Mech6.0 felt her fan stutter in an oddway, and wondered if there might besomething wrong with her internals. If thiskept up, she was going to have to alert themaintenance mechanic. But this thoughtwas fleeting as she opened the hollowstorage compartment on her abdomen andtucked the holographic card inside.Maybe she would return it one day, sheconsidered, although her statisticalcalculations told her that it wouldprobably never happen.

CHAPTER 2

Two days passed before Mech6.0 wasgiven a new assignment, along withfourteen of her fellow mech-droids. Shestood in line with the others as TamSovann, the shipyard’s owner, pacedaround the project’s underside, inspectingthe landing gear and discussing the planswith their new client, Ochida Kenji.

Ochida-shìfu was a middle-aged manwith a little facial hair and a veryexpensive-looking suit. His ship was arecreational yacht, luxurious and spaciousenough for those who could afford luxuryand space. Mech6.0 scanned the shipwhile she waited to receive herinstructions, plugging the information intoher database. A 94 T.E. Orion Classic,one of the most expensive ships of its dayand one of the most popular forrefurbishing over the past decade. Thename Child of the Stars had been paintednear its nose, but had faded with time.

“The body is in good shape, Ochida-shìfu,” said Tam, “but we’re looking at afull-engine rebuild to bring it up to code,

and remodeling the interior to include allthe most modern amenities will requirethat we take it down to the paneling. I amconfident we can meet your deadline,though, while maintaining the ship’soriginal character.”

“Your reputation speaks for itself,”said Ochida Kenji. “I have no doubt she’sin good hands.”

“Excellent. Let me introduce you to theengineer who will be heading up yourrebuild. This is Wing Dataran, one of ourbrightest stars.”

Like a programmed reflex, Mech6.0’ssensor swiveled toward the group.Though Wing Dataran had been workingat the shipyard for almost a year, their

paths had never crossed. The Triton hadbeen much too big, and she had neverbeen assigned to any of his smallerprojects.

But she had known about him. She hadconnected him to the net database the firsttime she’d seen him—as she did with allof her human employers—but somethingabout him had kept that profile in theforefront of her memory. A younghardware engineer, he had been hiredstraight out of tech-university where hehad specialized in spaceship engines withextracurricular work in internal designand mechanical systems.

For reasons that didn’t fully compute,she frequently found her sensor seeking

him out in the crowd of androids andtechnicians, and every time she spottedhim, her fan did that strange little jumplike it had when she’d seen the holograph.Only now did she realize that there weresimilarities between Dataran and theholographic figure. All humans weresimilar, with their two eyes andprotruding noses and five-fingered, fleshyhands. But Dataran and the boy in theholograph both had pronouncedcheekbones and slender frames thatsuggested a particular grace. And theyhad both made her fan sputter.

What did that mean?Dataran unclipped a portscreen from

his tool belt after they’d finished their

introductions. “I’ve already begunworking up some initial plans,” he said,showing something on the screen toOchida, “but I want to discuss with youany special requests you might havebefore I finalize it. Particularly those newluxury features, which can put addedstress on the engine. I want to make sureit’s fully…”

He trailed off, eyes snagging onsomething over Ochida’s shoulder.Everyone followed his gaze, includingMech6.0.

A girl had emerged from the ship,wearing an orange and white kimono.

“Ah, there you are, my princess,” saidOchida, waving her down toward them.

“Have you been inside the ship this wholetime?”

“Just saying good-bye,” said the girl,floating down the ramp. “When I see heragain, it will be like meeting an entirelynew ship.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You and I aregoing to be involved every step of theway, making sure my little girl is givenprecisely the ship she wants.” Ochidawrapped an arm around her shouldersbefore raising an eyebrow at TamSovann. “If that isn’t a problem?”

“Of course not. We welcome yourinput, and want to make sure you’re fullysatisfied with the end result.”

“Good, good. Gentlemen, this is my

daughter, Miko. I may have my opinionsand my wallet, but she’s the one youreally have to please with this rebuild.Think of it as her ship, not mine.”

Miko dipped her head respectfullytoward the shipyard owner and Dataran,who stood straighter when her eyes methis.

“This is a very busy place,” said Miko,glancing around at the ships of varyingsizes and states of construction, at all themen and women and androids scurryingaround their landing gears, and wheelingenormous toolboxes back and forth.“How can you keep it all straight?”

“Each project has a separate crewassigned to it,” said Tam, “and they’ll

stay focused on that one project frombeginning to completion. We find it’s themost efficient use of our workers.”

Her gaze settled on Dataran again.“And you will be on our crew?”

There was a tinge of color in hischeeks, Mech6.0 noticed. Perhaps it waswarmer than usual in the hangar, althoughshe didn’t come equipped withatmospheric temperature gauges to tell forsure. “Yes, Ochida-mèi,” he stammered.“I’ll be your engineer. I’ll be the one…pleasing… er.” His flush deepened.

“You can call me Miko,” she said witha friendly smile. “I know a little aboutmechanics myself, but perhaps I’ll learnsomething new from you during this

process.”He opened his mouth to reply, but no

sound came out.“Why don’t we get these androids

started on some of the exteriordismantling?” said Tam. “Dataran,perhaps you could give Ochida-mèi a tourof the shipyard while we sign off on somepapers?”

“O-of course,” he said, fumbling toreplace the portscreen on his belt. Hedislodged a small, shiny chain, which hequickly tucked back into his pocket. “Ifyou would like that?”

“I would, very much.” As her fathernudged her forward, Miko reached for theback of her neck to adjust the hair that

was bundled there, and Mech6.0’s sensorpicked up on something small and darkthat suggested an abnormality—abirthmark, perhaps, or a tattoo?

As her processor received its first setof instructions, Mech6.0 claimed a spotnear the front of the ship, where she couldback out screws while keeping her sensorturned toward the bustling hangar. Shewatched as Dataran pointed out thevarious machinery and ship models, andtried to guess what he might be tellingOchida Miko about. The purpose of thedifferent tools? The history of the ships?How they had the most efficient system ofandroid-labor in any shipyard in theCommonwealth?

She saw him introducing the girl todifferent mechanics and engineers thatthey passed.

For a while, they disappeared into thealmost-completed WindWalker800, andMech6.0 could only catch glimpses ofthem through the cockpit windows. Shenoticed they were both smiling.

Dataran took Miko through partsstorage, the painting room, even past theandroid charging docks, and whileMech6.0 couldn’t hear them, shefrequently recognized the dimples of hislaughter, and noticed how his gazes grewmore daring, settling on the girl withincreased frequency, just as her eyessettled on him.

By the time Dataran was opening thegate and ushering Miko up onto theplatforms that hung suspended over thewater supply and refueling tanks,Mech6.0 realized that she had stoppedworking.

She turned her sensor toward the ship’spaneling that had only two screws stillfastening it to the hull, then glanced at herbrethren beside her. They all had at leastthree panels already taken down.

This was very odd. Not only herstrange fascination with the humans, butthat it could overpower her need tocomplete her task. Perhaps somethingreally was wrong with her.

Yes, she would have to check in with

maintenance after this shift.Then, as she was removing her first

panel, someone yelled. Mech6.0 turned intime to see one of the enormous cranes tiltbeneath a too-heavy load, its outstretchedarm swaying dangerously for a momentthat stretched out for ages, before it foundthe tipping point. The enormous metal armcareened toward the suspended platforms,as bolts snapped and cables whipped intothe air.

Still on the hanging walkway, Mikoscreamed.

Dataran pushed her out of the way.The arm of the crane cracked against

his head, the sound reverberating rightinto Mech6.0’s hard plastic shell. He was

unconscious before his body fell into theoil vat below.

Miko screamed again, clinging to thewalkway railing. The crane landed hardand one of the cables flew loose from theceiling. The platform tilted to one side,but the remaining cables held.

Mech6.0 did not take the time toprocess the situation or calculate the bestcourse of action—she was already rollingtoward the containers. Around her,people yelled and machinery screechedand halted, footsteps thundered, and therickety walkway trembled overhead.Someone called for a ladder or a rope,but Mech6.0 already had her magnetsactivated to collect the panel screws and

with single-minded precision, she foundherself climbing the side of the enormoustank, her grippers spread out against itsmetal sides, heaving her body upward. Itwas an awkward climb, one her bodywas not made for. Her treads bangedagainst the tank and her arms flailed forevery purchase. Her joints strained underher weight. But then she was haulingherself up onto the ledge that was justbarely wide enough for her to stand on.

The vat of oil was black as the nightsky without stars. Black and terrifying.

Mech6.0 tipped herself over and wentin.

She sank fast, and though sheimmediately turned her sensor light on to

full brightness, it did little to help her.Extending her arms as far as they wouldgo, she searched the bottom of the tank,knowing that he was here somewhere, hewas here, he was—

Here.She tightened her grippers and dragged

her body toward him through the thick oil.It was seeping through her paneling now,blocking her input plugs, glugging into thecharging inlet. But she had him.

She wrapped her arms around his torsoand heaved him upward. He was heavierthan she expected and it occurred to herthat the bolts connecting her arms to theirsockets may not hold, but she kept going.Finding the tank’s wall, she planted her

prongs against the side again and startedto climb. There was no light anymore, nosenses at all but the sound of her grippersand the tread bumping into the wall andthe pressure of his body pressing downonto her as she forced both of them up,up, up…

They broke through the surface. Soundcrashed into her, more screams and gasps.Then someone was lifting his weightaway and Mech6.0 barely managed tocollapse sensor-faced down onto thetank’s ledge before her programmingrecognized self-destructive behavior andkilled the power to her limbs.

She laid there, hollow and helpless, asthe oil dripped off her sensor. She began

to make out human shapes on the platformand her audio picked up on a discussionof towels and air passageways and lungsand blood on his head and it seemed totake so very long, the oil dulling all hersenses, but then he was coughing andvomiting and breathing and the humanswere rejoicing and when they had finallywiped enough oil from his face that it wassafe for him to open his eyes, Dataranlooked around at all the humans first. Andthen, for the very first time, he looked ather.

CHAPTER 3

Dataran had been taken away to a hospitaland Mech6.0 was in the androidmaintenance office, her limbs beingrubbed clean—or as clean as possible—by a man in green coveralls who keptshaking his head.

“These won’t be salvageable either,”he said, clicking his tongue as he

inspected her input plugs. He wasn’tdoing a particularly good job of cleaningher, Mech6.0 thought, and she was feelingmore sluggish and drained by the minute.

It began to occur to her that maybe shecouldn’t be fixed. That maybe hewouldn’t even try.

Sighing, the man spun around on hisrolling chair so he could enter somethinginto a netscreen on the wall. Mech6.0glanced down at her body, her joints andthe seams of her paneling stainedbrownish-black from the oil. At least hervision was clear again, and her processorseemed to be working, if slower thanusual.

She was surprised to see a collection

of screws still clinging to her side fromwhen she’d been removing the panel fromthe Orion Classic. She reached hergrippers toward them, glad to see that hersensor-gripper coordination wasfunctional as she plucked them off one byone and set them onto the mechanic’stable. She reached for the final screw andtugged.

Then paused. Then tugged some more.It was not a screw at all, but the link of achain that had wrapped around to herback. She gave the chain a yank andwhatever had magnetically sealed itself toher came lose. She found herself staringat a locket, which she suspected wouldhave been gold if it hadn’t been

blackened by the oil.Her memory saw Dataran tucking a

chain back into his pocket.This belonged to him.The mechanic spun back toward her

and she hid the locket behind her back.He was eying her suspiciously andshaking his head again when the officedoor opened and the shipyard’s ownercame strolling in.

“Well?”The mechanic shook his head. “Its body

is ruined. I could spend a couple weekstrying to clean it up, but I frankly don’tsee the point. Better off just getting a newone.”

Tam frowned as he looked the android

up and down. “What about the processor,the wiring … can it be salvaged?”

“There will probably be some parts wecan hold onto for later use. I’ll start todismantle it tomorrow, see what we’vegot. But as for the processor andpersonality chip… that much must havebeen fritzing even before the oil.”

“Why do you say that?”The mechanic brushed his sleeve

across his damp forehead. “You saw howall the other androids reacted whenDataran fell in?”

“I don’t think they did anything.”“Exactly. That’s what they’re supposed

to do. Just keep working, not get involvedwith drama and upsets. What this one

did… it isn’t normal. Something’s wrongwith it.”

A spark flickered inside Mech6.0’shead. She’d begun to suspect as much, butto have it confirmed was worrisome.

“What do you think it is?"“Who knows? You hear stories about

this once in a while. Androids whoseartificial intelligence reaches a point oflearning at which they develop almosthuman-like tendencies. Unpracticalreasoning, near-emotional responses.There are plenty of theories for why ithappens, but the important thing is, it isn’tgood.”

“I’m not sure I agree.” The ownercrossed his arms over his chest. “This

mech-droid may have saved Dataran’slife today.”

“I realize that, and thank the stars. Butwhat will it do next time there’s adisturbance? The fact is, an unpredictableandroid is a dangerous one.” Heshrugged. “My advice: Either send out thecomputer for reprogramming, or scrap itentirely.”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Tamlet his gaze travel over Mech6.0’s body.She squeezed the locket tighter in herthree-fingered grasp.

“Fine,” Tam said. “But let’s worryabout it tomorrow. I think we could alluse the rest of the night off.”

They left her on the table in the

mechanic’s room, and as the lights of theshipyard thudded into blackness, Mech6.0realized it was the first night in herexistence that she hadn’t been pluggedinto the charging dock.

Because charging her wasn’tnecessary. Because tomorrow she wouldbe dismantled and put on a shelfsomewhere, and the bits of her thatweren’t worth saving would be sent off tothe scrapyard.

Tomorrow, she would be gone.She analyzed those words for a long

time, her processor whirring andsputtering around them, trying to calculatethe hours and minutes left in her existencebefore there would be only a black hole

where her consciousness had been before.She wondered if Dataran would give a

single thought to the malfunctioningandroid who had saved his life and beendestroyed for it.

Dataran. She had something thatbelonged to him now. It was in her codeto return it to him if she could. Shebrought the locket up in front of hersensor and scanned its dimensions and thesmall hinge and the tiny unlockingmechanism. It was a challenge to openwith her clumsy prongs, but finally shedid—

And the galaxy expanded before her.The holograph filled up the entire

office. The sun and the planets, the stars

and the nebulas, asteroids and comets andall the beauty of space contained in thattiny, unimpressive little locket.

Mech6.0 clipped it shut, storing theuniverse away in its small prison onceagain.

No. She couldn’t stay here. She couldnot stand to be lost to the darknessforever, when there was still a wholeuniverse she’d never seen.

CHAPTER 4

Mech6.0 had never been outside of theshipyard before, not since she’d beenprogrammed and built and purchased. Shequickly discovered that the world waschaotic and loud and filled with so muchsensory information, she worried that herfrazzled synapses would be fried beforeshe ever reached her destination.

But she tried to focus on the map ofNew Beijing and the profile she’ddiscovered on the net as she turned intothe first street of market booths, crowdedwith barrels of spices and wovenblankets that hung from wire racks andnetscreens chattering from every surface.

“Robotic cats, two for the price of one,today only! No shedding, just purring!”

“Depression? Low energy? Infertility?What’s your ailment—we have cures! Weeven have the newest prevention dropsfor the blue fever, tried and true!”

“Plum wine, rice wine, come try a freesample!”

“Big sale on serv-droids, now’s thetime to upgrade! New models, just in!”

She kept her sensor down andattempted to look inconspicuous. The netwas filled with stories of android theft,and she was worried that being crushedtogether with so many humans, she wouldsoon find herself snatched up and saddledwith some new owner, who would nodoubt have her dismantled anyway oncethey discovered her damage.

Finally, she spotted a nondescriptbooth exactly where the market directoryhad said it would be. The walls werelined with shelves that sagged from theirjumble of tools and android parts andoutdated portscreens stacked three-layersdeep.

Mech6.0 rolled up to the table that

blocked the entrance. A girl was standingnear the back of the booth, wearing thickwork gloves and cargo pants, scanningsomething with a portscreen. She pausedand tapped her fingers against the screen,then reshuffled some items on the shelfbefore scanning another item.

“Pardon… me,” said Mech6.0, hersenses crackling at the effort. She did nothave many opportunities to speak at theshipyard, and the long trek had alreadydrained her power source.

The girl glanced toward her. “Oh—sorry! I’ll be with you in just a minute.”She finished entering whatever data shewas working on and clipped theportscreen to her belt. “How can I help

you?”“Looking for… Linh Cinder.”“You found her.” The girl tilted her

head to one side, furrowing her brow. “Isyour voice box on the fritz?”

“Whole… body,” said Mech6.0.“Purchase… new?”

It took a moment, but then Linh Cindernodded. “Oh, sure. I can do that. Is yourowner around?”

Mech6.0 felt a sudden drop in power,but was relieved when it was only atemporary loss. Now that she’d found themechanic, she shut off her net database inorder to conserve what energy she could.“No owner.”

Linh Cinder’s brow furrowed. Her

eyes darted to the android dealer acrossthe way. “Oh. I see.” She reached for herportscreen again and set it on the tablebetween them, before typing in a fewcommands. “Well, all right. I can orderup a replacement mech body today, but itusually takes about a week to get here,unless the warehouse downtown has somein stock. You’re a 6.0, right? It doesn’tlook like they have any. Do you mindwaiting a week?”

“Can I… wait here?”“Uh…” Hesitating, Cinder glanced

over her shoulder at the booth clutteredwith machines and toolboxes. Then sheshrugged. “Sure, I can probably clear aspace for you.” Tightening her ponytail,

she sat down in the chair that had beenpushed beneath the table. “But if youdon’t have an owner… how do you planon paying for this?”

Paying.Money. Currency. Univs. To give

compensation for goods or services.Androids did not get paid.“Trade,” said Mech6.0.“Trade?” Cinder dipped her gaze over

Mech6.0’s battered form. “For what?”Mech6.0 opened the compartment in

her abdomen. Her prongs found the metallocket on its chain first and wrappedaround it.

Her fan slowed—almost stopped.Releasing the locket, she searched

again, and her grippers emerged with thesmall holographic card instead. Sheplaced it on the table.

Removing the glove from her righthand, Cinder picked up the card andflipped it over, reading the words on theback, before turning it so that theholograph projected from the flat surface.

“A Prince Kai holographic tradingcard,” she muttered, rubbing her browwith her gloved hand. “Because that’s allI need.” Sighing, she peered at Mech6.0again. “I’m sorry, but this is only worthabout 20 micro-univs. It would barely buyyou a screw.” She looked trulysympathetic as she handed the card back.Mech6.0 pinched it gently between her

prongs.“Do you have anything else?”Her processor pulsed. The locket.But it was not hers. It belonged to

Dataran, and she was going to return it tohim. When she had her new body. Whenshe saw him again.

Her power source dropped low again.The colors of the world dimmed beyondher sensor’s eye.

“Nothing… else.”Linh Cinder frowned sympathetically.

“Then, I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”Mech6.0 analyzed the situation again,

calculating the potential worth of thelocket and the importance of a new body.But despite her logical reasoning telling

her that the locket might be valued highenough to complete the trade, there was anew factor involved in the calculation.The value of her one possession—something that had been Dataran’s. Thevalue of his smile when she returned it tohim.

She knew that the decision wasillogical, that she would be returningnothing at all if she didn’t get a new body,and yet she still found herself tucking theholographic card against her torso andturning away. Which is when she realizedthat she had nowhere to go, and besides,she wouldn’t get very far. She spotted theused-android dealer down the way and adarkness settled in her vision, washing all

the color away entirely.Her treads clattered as she started back

through the crowd.“Wait.”Pausing, she spun back to face the

mechanic, who was rubbing her fingersagainst her temple again, leaving a darksmudge on her skin.

“My little sister really loves that guy,”she said, gesturing to the holographiccard. “So… here, I think I might havesomething. Hang on.”

Pulling herself from the chair, sheheaded toward the back of the booth.Mech6.0 waited as Linh Cinder shuffledaside toolboxes and miscellaneous bits ofmachinery.

“Well, she’s not a huge improvement,”she said, “but I do have this.” Sheemerged from behind a towering shelfwith the body of a girl draped over onearm. Shouldering aside a toolbox, shedropped the girl on the table with a thud.A limp arm splayed out toward Mech6.0and her scanner picked up on preciselytrimmed fingernails, the natural curve ofher fingers, the faint blue veining beneathher skin.

And then she spotted the near-invisibleimprint across the girl’s wrist. Abarcode.

She was an escort-droid.“She’s almost thirty years old,” said

Cinder, “and in pretty bad shape. I was

really just keeping her around for spareparts.” She adjusted the head so Mech6.0could see her face, which was beautifuland convincingly lifelike, with dark irisesand sleek black hair. With her empty gazeand a rosy flush to her cheeks, she lookedlike she was dead, but only recently so.

“If I remember right, something waswrong with her voice box. I think she’dgone mute and the last owner didn’t wantto bother replacing it. She was also proneto occasional power surges, so you mightwant to look into replacing her wiring andgetting a new battery as soon as you can.”Cinder brushed some dust off the escort-droid’s brow. “And on top of that, withher being so old, I don’t really know how

compatible she’s going to be with yourpersonality chip. You might find that youexperience some weird glitches. But… ifyou want her…”

In response, Mech6.0 held out theholographic card.

CHAPTER 5

“So… you’re an electrician?” said TamSovann, scanning her profile on hisportscreen.

Mech6.0 nodded, smiling as she hadseen humans do. It had taken her nearlytwo weeks to set up a net profile andmanage to steal some proper work clothesthat fit her, even though it went against

everything her android code told her.Still, she had done it and she had madeher way back to the shipyard and she washere, with a humanoid body, a convincingidentity, and Dataran’s locket snappedsnugly in her pocket.

“And you specialize in classicpodships and cruisers, particularly theluxury lines… impressive.” He glancedup again, as if trying to decide if theprofile could be believed.

She kept smiling.“And you’re… mute.”She nodded.He squinted suspiciously for a moment,

before going over her profile again.“Well, we certainly do work on a lot of

luxury lines like these…”Which she knew.“. . . and I have been faced with a high

turnover of electricians lately.”Which she also knew.“I’d have to start you at a base salary,

until you prove you can do the work. Youunderstand that.”

She nodded. Having never received asalary before, she did not even knowwhat she would do with that measly basepay.

“All right. Well. Let’s give it a shot,”he said, as if he couldn’t quite believe hewas saying it. Mech6.0 wasn’t sure if itwas her muteness that had himunconvinced about her, or the fact that her

escort body was startlingly attractive,even in her drab work clothing. “Andwhat was your name again?” he said,before flinching at her patient smile.“Right, sorry, uh—” He scanned throughher profile again. “Hoshi… Star.”

Mech6.0—no, Hoshi Star, nodded.“Well, then. Welcome aboard, Hoshi-

mèi. I have a project that I think will beperfect for you. This way.”

She braced herself before rising off thechair. Her personality chip hadn’tsynched quite right with the outdatedescort body and Linh Cinder was right—it had caused a peculiar glitch thatmanifested itself whenever she walked.The effort caused pain to shoot through

the wires from her legs to her chest,burning into her synapses. The first time ithappened, she had gasped and collapsedonto the sidewalk and sat trembling on theground for close to an hour while blindinglight flooded her senses.

Pain.She had never known pain before—

androids should not have been able toexperience it at all. But she had no doubtthat’s what it was. Just as the human brainused pain to recognize when somethingwas horribly wrong, her processor waswarning her that this body was not hers.That this combination could not last.

The third time it had happened, she hadconsidered going back to the market and

pleading with Linh Cinder to take thebody away, but she had ultimately refusedto do that, not before she saw Dataranagain. With time, the pain was becomingmore bearable, even if only because shewas learning to compartmentalize it awayfrom the rest of her sensory input.

Clenching her teeth, she pushed herselfto her feet and followed Tam-shìfu outinto the shipyard.

She began searching for him themoment she stepped into the massivehangar. Her eyes were darting fromhuman to human, searching for a gracefulframe and an easy smile. She’d beenworried ever since she’d left, terrifiedthat he hadn’t fully recovered from the

fall into the oil, terrified that she hadn’tgotten to him in time.

Though her gaze darted from onecorner of the yard to the other as theywalked, there was no sign of the youngengineer.

“Here we are,” said Tam, gesturing tothe space yacht, the Orion Classic. Overthe past two weeks, the exterior had beennearly completed, but she could guess thatthe interior still had plenty of work to bedone. “This is for one of our premiumclients, and he doesn’t want to spare asingle expense. But of course, he’s on atight schedule, as they always are. I’lltrack down some electrical blueprints foryou. And—ah! You’ll be reporting

directly to Wing-jūn here. Dataran, comemeet our newest electrician.”

He came around from the front of theship, a portscreen in his hand and a stylustucked behind one ear, and a surge ofelectricity coursed so fast through herbody, she thought for a moment she wouldexperience an actual meltdown. But shedidn’t, and when he politely bowed hishead, she remembered to politely bowhers as well.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said.“You’ll be working on the Orion Classicwith us?”

She smiled, but Tam was alreadywaving his hand. “That’s right, she saysshe’s an expert with the classics. Keep

her busy. Let’s see what she can do, allright?” He glanced at the port. “I have tocheck on the racer. Dataran, do you mindshowing her the ropes?”

“Not at all, sir.”Tam was gone almost before he’d

finished talking, and Dataran waschuckling after him. “Don’t take itpersonally. He’s like that towardeveryone."

His kind smile made the pain ofstanding recede almost fully from of herthoughts, and she beamed hopefully back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”Lashes fluttering, she opened her lips,

but of course, there was nothing.Flinching, she patted a hand against her

throat. Dataran frowned. “Did you loseyour voice?”

She shrugged. Close enough.“Oh. Then, um. Should I call you…”

He frowned, not able to come up withanything appropriate on the spot.

Perking up, she grabbed his sleeve anddragged him back toward the front of theship, where she gestured up at the namethat had been freshly painted on its side.Child of the Stars.

“Uh—stars? Star?”When she beamed again, he laughed.

“That wasn’t so hard. It’s a pleasure tomeet you, Star.”

She tried her best to speak through hereyes, her stretched lips, her trembling

fingers that had released his sleeve andwere too afraid to reach for him again.It’s me, she thought, willing him tounderstand. I’m the one who rescued you.I’m the one who found your locket. It’sme, it’s me, it’s me.

But Dataran just jerked his headtoward the landing gear. “Come on, I’llshow you the engine room and how farwe’ve gotten in the wiring so far—whichisn’t much. We could definitely use yourhelp.”

Before he turned away, he glancedtoward the cockpit windows one level up,and his mouth quirked fast to one side.

Star followed the look.Ochida Miko and her father were

sitting in the cockpit. He appeared to beteaching her something, gesturing at thedifferent controls, but Miko had spottedDataran outside and didn’t seem to belistening.

Star had a sense that the bashful smileMiko gave him had not been intended forher, or Miko’s father, to see.

CHAPTER 6

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” said Miko, sitting onDataran’s other side.

Star knew that she was talking aboutthe ship that was about to leave the hangar—a sleek, flashy thing that had beencommissioned for the annual Space Raceto Neptune (which everyone knew was afallacy—the race officially ended at

Jupiter, but the sponsors claimed thatdidn’t have the same ring to it). It was abeautiful ship, with its elongated thrustersand needle-sharp nose. The painters hadoutdone themselves, creating a veryrealistic montage of New Beijing’sskyline across its frame.

But Star did not care so much for theship. Her attention had gone back up tothe ceiling as it pulled back to reveal theendless sky. Although her new life as ahuman had given her the opportunity togaze up at the night sky as often as shewished, her eyes never tired of it. Thesense of vastness and eternity, theyearning to see what else the universe hadto offer, even for one as small and

unimportant as she was.Star didn’t think that Miko had glanced

up at all since the ceiling had lifted toallow the ship an exit. Of course, she hadalready been to space countless times.Would be going again as soon as theOrion Classic was finished—another twoor three weeks at the most. Ochida-shìfuhad been growing more and moreimpatient, urging them to tighten theschedule, to work longer hours, to finishearly.

Miko and Dataran, on the other hand,seemed to become more and moremiserable as each step of the rebuild wascompleted. If anything, Dataran’s pacehad slowed as the ship’s deadline

loomed.Star pulled her attention away as

Dataran was explaining the differentfeatures of the racer, gesturing at theelegant curve of its back, the powerbehind the rocket boosters, and on and on.Star was more interested in the sound ofhis voice than his words. The subtleinflections. The careful pronunciation ofvery technical terms. The way he talkedfaster when something struck him asingenious. Listening to him felt like beingplugged into a power dock, feeling thegentle current of electricity warm andenliven her.

She glanced over at him, and thecontented smile fell from her lips.

Dataran had laced his fingers withMiko’s and was holding her hand on hisknee, while his other hand drewexplanatory pictures in the air.

Something flashed in Star’s chest—aspark maybe, or a power surge. Herfingers curled into fists, tightening withthe urge to reach across Dataran and riptheir hands away from each other. Toshove Miko aside. To wrap her ownfingers around Miko’s neck.

Grimacing, she turned away, andwaited for the flood of white to fade fromher vision.

It was not the first time such horriblethoughts had come into her head.Generally, she found that she enjoyed

Miko’s company. She was a smart girlwho talked just enough to keep Star fromfeeling strange that she couldn’tparticipate in the conversation, and whohad insisted that Star take the occasionalwalk with her in a nearby park when shedeemed that Star had been working toohard lately.

But when they were with Dataran,which was more often than not, Star foundherself withdrawing from Miko’sfriendliness and discovering a darker partof her programming. She figured it had tobe another glitch—this strange desire tohurt a human being—that seemed toemerge only when Dataran found somesubtle way to touch Miko. Just placing a

hand on her elbow or brushing a lock ofhair off her shoulder.

These little moments made Star feellike she was disintegrating inside.

Maybe the malfunctions were gettingworse. Maybe a new processor wouldhelp. Had she earned enough money nowto afford one? She wasn’t sure, and sheneeded to weigh it with her need for apower source that didn’t threaten to dienear the end of every workday.

“Star? Are you all right?”Prying her eyes open, she forced

herself to look at Dataran. A quick glanceconfirmed that their hands remainedentwined, but she still forced her lips tocurl upward and her head to bob up and

down.The concern lingered in Dataran’s

gaze, but then a cheer rose up from theaudience and the racer was taking flight,and Dataran and Miko shifted their giddyattentions back to the spectacle.

Star tried to focus on the ship, or eventhe night sky, but she couldn’t get theimage of her own pale fingers aroundMiko’s neck to fade from her thoughts. Itdisturbed her that her processor wascapable of imagining something sohorrific, and the shipyard mechanic’swords flashed through her head.

The fact is, an unpredictable androidis a dangerous one.

Was she unpredictable?

Was she dangerous?She felt a shudder along her wires as

soon as the ship lifted up off the ground,to another uproarious cheer.

Her energy was running out.She switched her internal settings to

power-saving mode, and the world dulledto shades of gray, the sound in her ears ajumbled hum as her audio receptorsstopped sorting and cataloging the input.

She set a hand on Dataran’s shoulderand climbed to her feet. The movementcame with a jolt of pain that threatened tocripple her. She grimaced and waited amoment before waving good-bye.

“Where are you going?” Dataranpointed at the ship. “It will only be

another few minutes. We can take a hovertogether.”

Her fan whirred faster. She had madeup a home address that was near to his onher third day at the shipyard and theyoften left together when the workday wasover. Sometimes Miko joined them too,and Star thought she and Dataran mighthave plans that didn’t involve her, and yetthey were always so good to not suggestshe was an unwanted intruder.

Those hover rides, simply listening toDataran talk and laugh, were some of thebest of her short existence.

But this time, she shook her head. Sheneeded to find a charging dock, andquickly.

He did not expect her to explain, anunexpected benefit of being mute, and sohe simply nodded, still frowning, and lether go.

But Star had not gone a dozen stepsbefore she felt the power drain from herlegs. Warnings pounded into herconsciousness, but they were too late—she was falling. Her head crashed into thehard floor and she lay there with her armstwitching so hard, she worried theywould yank right out of her shouldersockets.

She picked out Miko and Dataran’syells even from the chaotic roaring in herears, and then they were above her,tenderly turning her onto her back. She

scanned their faces, recognizing shock,fear, panic, uncertainty. Dataran wasspeaking, but she couldn’t comprehend.Miko was pressing a hand against herforehead.

Her processor began to flicker back tolife, programs gradually rebootingthemselves. Though she still had nocontrol over her legs, she could onceagain make out Dataran’s concernedquestions raining down on her likeshooting stars.

Then Miko laid a hand on Dataran’sarms and said, with calm authority,“Bring her some water.”

With a frantic nod, he pushed himselfto his feet. When he had gone, Miko

sighed, her gaze full of sympathy as shetucked a lock of Star’s hair behind an ear.

“The fit seems to have passed, but justlie still.”

Star withered from embarrassment toknow that Dataran had seen her like this.

“I’m sorry if I offend you by askingthis,” Miko whispered, glancing in thedirection Dataran had gone, “but… areyou an escort-droid, Star-mèi?”

Eyes widening, Star tried to sit up, onlysucceeding when Miko tucked an armbeneath her shoulders and lifted her. Sherealized the thought of Miko knowing hersecret terrified her, but Miko’s smile waskind. “Don’t worry. I don’t think Dataranhas noticed anything, and I won’t tell

anyone. You are very… convincing.” Herlashes dipped, and she murmured, “Butlike recognizes like.”

Star scrutinized her. Like recognizeslike. The words repeated in her head, butshe couldn’t seem to compute them.

Then Miko reached a hand for the backof her neck, where Star had noticed thatstrange dark spot a dozen times since herreturn, always hastily covered up. “I’mnot an android,” she said, shaking herhead. She cleared her throat and dared tomeet Star’s gaze again. “But I am acyborg.”

Cyborg. The definition was in herdatabase, but Star doubted its accuracy.Miko? Lovely young Miko?

Miko glanced around to make sure noone was near. They had been sitting nearthe paint booth, which offered a goodview of the ship’s takeoff without all thecrowds, and no one was paying them anyattention.

Sitting back on her heels, Miko pulledup the wide sleeve of her silk kimono.Star watched, mesmerized, as Miko dugher fingers into her elbow and began topeel the skin back. A perfect, thin layer offlesh rolled down her arm like a tightlyknit sleeve, and beneath the skin was afinely crafted arm made from lightweightcarbon-fiber polymer, the same materialStar’s body was constructed from.

As soon as Star had seen, Miko rolled

the skin back into place, rubbing at thesynthetic until the edges had mergedseamlessly back together.

Gaping, Star pointed to where Dataranhad gone.

“He knows,” said Miko. “I told him assoon as… well…” She stared down ather prosthetic hands, now clutchedtogether in her lap. “As soon as I realizedthat I was falling in love with him. Ithought for sure it would put an end to us.That he wouldn’t want anything to do withme once he knew. But… he isn’t like that,is he?” A happy flush bloomed across hercheeks, but was smothered as she glancedout toward the rows of ships in variousstages of incompletion. And down the

lane, the Child of the Stars. “Not that itmatters. As soon as the ship is done,we’ll be leaving, and nothing will changemy father’s mind. I know he thinks it’s formy own good, but…”

Star listed her head, urging her tocontinue.

“We’re leaving the Commonwealthbecause he’s afraid that I’ll be selectedfor the cyborg draft if we stay. I know it’sby random selection, and the odds are sosmall, and yet he’s convinced that thedraft skews toward female cyborgs, andyoung ones at that. I don’t know how hegot this into his head, but… That’s why hebought the ship, why he’s so insistent thatthey finish it as soon as possible. And

when it’s done… I’ll have to say good-bye.”

Star thought she detected a shimmer inMiko’s eye, but it was gone just as fast. “Ishould be grateful. I know that. He’sgoing through so much trouble to keep mesafe. But I can’t help but feel I’d rathertake my chances with the draft, if it meansbeing with Dataran.”

Star looked away. She knew thatfeeling so well. The pain that joltedthrough her vertebrae when she walked.The torture of seeing how his eyes latchedonto the bright-colored obi that wrappedaround Miko’s body. How agonizing itwas, this life of silence and yearning.

Yet how very worth it when his eyes

found hers. She could still recall the lookof disbelief and gratitude and curiositythat had passed over him when she’dpulled him from the oil tank.

“Here, I usually keep a portablecharger with me,” said Miko, pulling herhandbag toward her. “Dataran will beback soon, and it will be difficult for meto explain why you aren’t drinking anywater unless you seem recovered. Is thereceptacle in your neck?”

Star nodded and tried her best to begrateful as Miko opened the panel beneathher ear and inserted the charging cord, butthere was something dark lingering still,making her dig her own fingertips into herthighs. An impatience with Miko, a

throbbing irritation with her presence.Ever since she’d returned to the

shipyard, Star had thought of Miko’sdeparture as an ending—and a beginning—and that feeling grew stronger by theday. She was only biding her time untilMiko was gone. Then she would buy anew body that didn’t rebel every time shewalked, and she would return the locketthat contained the whole galaxy toDataran and explain everything to him.She would tell him that something in hissmile had changed her, back when itshouldn’t have been possible for her to bechanged. She would tell him that she wasthe one who had saved his life, becausesomething about him made her

unpredictable, and maybe dangerous, andshe couldn’t exist in a world without him.

THE END

Star dragged a finger across the screenimbedded in the wall, and the lights of thecockpit went dark. She swirled itclockwise; they gradually brightenedagain. Counterclockwise, they dimmeddarker. A tap here to raise thetemperature, here to lower it. She testedevery command: Play music, adjust the

air-filtration system, seal the cockpitdoor, heat the cockpit floor, place anorder for a beverage through theautomated beverage service.

Confident that everything was workingjust as it should, she shut the panel ofwiring beneath the screen and gathered upthe tools that she’d used, hooking themneatly into her tool belt. She then paused,preparing herself to walk, before headingtoward the ship’s main exit. Her bodyscreamed at her as she walked, and sheknew that the exertion was beginning totake its toll on her system. For weeks shehad done her best to ignore the pain andthe knowledge that sooner or later, herescort-droid body would rebel and reject

the installed personality chip altogether.There were times when she felt she washolding her body together through sheerwillpower.

It wouldn’t be long though, before shecould afford a new body. Just a littlewhile longer.

A voice made her foot catch and shepaused on the exit ramp.

Dataran.Turning, she peered into the common

room that divided the front of the shipfrom the living areas. An assortment ofcomfortable seats, accented with silkpillows and cashmere throw blankets,were arranged around a gurglingaquarium that reached from the floor to

the tiled ceiling. The brightly colored fishhad been brought to their new home a fewdays before, and seemed content to floatmindlessly among their artificial coralreef.

Star crept toward Miko’s rooms, herback against the wall, aware that this wasnot something she would have done whenshe was Mech6.0. Spying, sneaking,eavesdropping. Androids were not madeto be curious.

And yet, there she was, standing besidethe doorframe and listening to thehiccupping sounds of a girl crying.

“If we could just talk to your father…show him how much we love eachother…”

“He’ll never agree to it. He doesn’tthink you could keep me safe.”

Dataran released a disgruntled sigh. “Iknow, I know. And I couldn’t stand it ifanything happened to you either. I justneed time… I can get us a ship. It may notbe anything like this, anything like whatyou’re used to, but…”

“That doesn’t matter. I would go—”She sobbed. “—anywhere with you. ButDataran ...”

“But what?”Her crying grew louder. “Do you really

want to live—your whole life—with acyborg?”

Star dared to inch closer, shifting herweight so she could peer through the

crack between the lavish mahoganydoors. These rooms were completed. Theship was almost finished, but for somelast detail work in the front end.

Scheduled departure was in just twodays.

She spotted them standing near Miko’snetscreen desk, and Dataran wasembracing her, one hand cupping the baseof her head as she buried her face into hisshoulder.

Memorizing the pose, Star brought herhand up to the back of her neck and dugher fingertips into her own hair. Tried toimagine what that must be like.

“Miko, please,” Dataran whispered.“Your arms could be made out of

strychnine wood for all I care.”Star adjusted her audio interface so

loud that she could hear the rustle offabric, his breathing, her sniffles.

“All I care about is what’s in here.”He pulled far enough away that he

could slide his hand around and place itover a chrysanthemum painted onto thesilk of her kimono. Right below hercollarbone.

Star followed the movement. Felt herown chest, her own hard plating, with theslightest bit of softness from her layer ofsynthetic skin. But no heartbeat, no pulse.

“You’re perfect, Miko, and beautiful,and I love you. I want to marry you.”

The words, spoken so quietly, were

like a gunshot in Star’s head. She flinchedand stumbled backward, pressing a handover one ear. But it was too late. Thosewords, still smoking, were burned intoher database.

Miko gasped and they pulled apart,spinning toward the door.

Dataran was there in a moment,whipping the doors open, and reliefcrossed over them both when they sawher.

“Oh, stars,” whispered Miko, placingher own artificial hand over her very realbeating heart. “I thought you were myfather.”

Faking apology, Star took a steptoward them and gestured at the lights that

ran around the room, then at the controlpanel on the wall. She raised hereyebrows in a question.

It was a lie. She had checked all theserooms the day before, and she knew therewas a time when she wouldn’t have beencapable of the falsehood, even an impliedone.

“Oh—yes, yes, everything seems to beworking perfectly,” said Dataran,stringing a hand through his hair.

He seemed flustered, while Star feltbroken.

“I should finish packing,” mumbledMiko, sounding no more enthusiastic thanif she were moving into a prison cell, nota lavish yacht. Ducking her head, she

shuffled toward the door. “So many morecases to bring in…”

“Miko, wait.” Dataran grabbed herwrist, then glanced uncertainly at Star.She turned to inspect the electronics’control panel. “I have to try,” hewhispered, lowering his head towardMiko. “I have to at least ask him…"

“He won’t say yes.”“But if he did… if I could convince

him that I would take care of you, that Ilove you… Would you say yes?”

Star absently punched her fingertipsagainst the screen.

“You know that I would,” Mikoresponded, her hushed voice breaking onthe last word. She sniffed and cleared her

throat. “But it doesn’t matter. He won’tsay yes. He won’t let me stay.”

Then her soft footsteps padded outtoward the ship’s exit.

Daring to glance over her shoulder,Star saw that Dataran had pressed hisforehead against the wall, his fingers duginto his hair. With a heavy sigh, hedragged his palms down his face andlooked up at her. She noted darkeningcircles beneath his eyes, and a palenessthat seemed all wrong on him.

“Ochida-shìfu… he’s worried for hersafety…” He said, as if in explanation,then looked away. “And I am too, to behonest. But if she leaves, I might neversee her again. If I just… if I had a ship of

my own, but…” Shaking his head, heturned so that he could lean his backagainst the wall, like he might collapsewithout its support. “I was actually savingup for one. Have been for years. And Ialmost had enough, along with thisantique holograph locket that should havebeen plenty to make up the difference, butI lost it in that stupid oil tank.”

Star pressed a hand against her hip,where the locket sat snugly in her pocket.She’d kept it, waiting, expecting there tobe a perfect moment to give it back tohim, but the time never seemed right. Andin the evenings, when she was alone, shewould open it up and let herself getswallowed up by the stars, and think

about what life would be like when Mikowas gone. There would be so manychances, so many opportunities…

“I’m sorry, Star. I shouldn’t talk aboutmy problems like this. It’s not fair, whenyou can’t tell me about yours.”

He met her gaze again and she pulledher hand away from the pocket, curlingher fingers into a fist. Miko would begone in two days. Only two more days.And then… and then…

Dataran smiled, but it was exhausted,and missing all the warmth that had sooften interrupted the flow of electricity toher limbs. “Do you have any problemsyou wish you could talk about, Star?”

She nodded.

“Maybe you could write them down? Iwould read them, if you wanted me to.”

Dropping her gaze, she shook her head.Out in the common room, the aquariumbubbled and hummed, the sound that wasmeant to be calming now taking up theentire ship and drowning her.

“I understand,” said Dataran. “Iprobably haven’t shown myself to be thebest… listener, since we met. But I dowonder what goes on in that head of yourssometimes. Miko likes you, you know. Ithink… she hasn’t said it, but I think youmight be the only friend she has.”

Star looked away. Clenched her fists.Then, daring to meet his gaze again, shelifted a hand and tapped a finger against

her hollow chest. Dataran was watching,but uncertain. He didn’t understand.

Star took a step toward him and tappedthe same finger against his heart.

He blinked and opened his mouth tospeak, but Star leaned forward and kissedhim before he could. Just a peck, but shetried to put every unspoken word into it.It’s me, it’s been me all along, and I mayhave saved your life, but I would benothing if it wasn’t for you. I would bejust another mech-droid, and I wouldn’tknow what it’s like to love someone somuch I would give up everything forthem.

But when she pulled away, he lookedshocked and horrified and guilty, and she

knew he didn’t understand. She left theroom before Dataran could speak. Hedidn’t call her back, and he didn’t comeafter her.

Star fled from the ship and kept goinguntil she was out of the hangar, out of theshipyard, a single lonely android beneathan enormous morning sky, before shereached into her pocket and wrapped herfingers around the locket and a universethat meant nothing to her without him.

* * *

Unlike the Triton, the launch of the Child

of the Stars was a private affair. Some ofOchida-shìfu’s old coworkers andacquaintances had come out to wish themsafe journeys, along with the shipyardstaff, but that was all. No friends ofMiko’s. Maybe Dataran was right and shedidn’t have any, which made Star wonderif it was because she was rich andsheltered, or shy, or because she wascyborg.

Star couldn’t take her eyes fromDataran, standing sunken-shouldered inthe crowd, his eyes haunting the ship asits engines rumbled and the lifter magnetsbeneath the hangar floor hummed withlife. He was probably hoping to catch aglimpse of Miko through the windows,

although all but the cockpit windowswere so small, it was an impossible hope.Star wondered if they had seen each otherat all since she had stumbled upon themtwo days before. The words she’doverheard still bounced around in Star’shead, and she ached from the memory,almost as much as she ached from thekiss.

She had not seen Dataran since thatmorning. She’d been avoiding him.Unable to stand his sorrow over losingMiko, and whatever kind, sensible thingshe would say to explain why Miko wasthe one he loved, and why Star wouldnever be, even after Miko was gone.

As she stared, the crowd shifted around

Dataran. A figure moved gracefullybetween the bodies.

Star cocked her head and squinted.Staring. Waiting.

Dataran gave a start, then whipped hishead around. His gaze fell on Miko, whowas wearing plain coveralls, and he drewback in surprise. Her smile was shy, butbright, as she pressed up closer to himand whispered. She lifted her hand andsomething small glinted from her palm.Though Star was too far away to see, sheknew it was the locket. Her locket. Hergalaxy.

Dataran shook his head in disbelief andglanced back toward the ship. Then, onthe verge of a smile, he took Miko into his

arms and kissed her.Star pressed her fingertips against her

own lips. Imagining.Her arm weakened and she let it fall to

her lap. It wouldn’t be long now. Shecould feel her body beginning to rebel. Itwas in the pain that was almost constantnow, a stabbing sensation that torethrough her legs even when she was onlysitting. It was in the frequent loss ofcontrol in her twitching limbs. It was inthe blackness that clouded in around hervision, and how she always thought thiswould be the last time, before, after along, agonizing moment, she returned toconsciousness again.

Footsteps thumped in the common room

and paused in the doorway. Star turnedher head away.

“One minute to takeoff,” said Ochida-shìfu. “Do you want to come sit with mein the cockpit?”

She shook her head, and adjusted thesleeve of the silk kimono so that he wassure to see the metal plating of her arms.The synthetic skin had been easy toremove, and though the proof of herandroid insides was disconcerting, thelimb reminded her of the three-fingeredprongs from her Mech6.0 body, and therewas a comforting familiarity in that.

Ochida sighed heavily behind her. “I’mdoing this for you, Miko. It’s better thisway. And he’s just a boy—you’ll get over

this.”When Star didn’t respond, he huffed

and withdrew from the doorway.“Fine. Be angry. Throw your tantrum if

you have to. Just put your skingraft backon before you snag that material.Whatever point you’re trying to make, itisn’t working. The reminder of what youare just further convinces me that I’mmaking the right decision.”

Then he was gone.Star returned her gaze to the window,

the hangar, the crowd. Hundreds of mech-droids lined up against the charging wall.Miko. And Dataran.

Not minutes had gone by before sheheard the magnets engage and felt the ship

rise off the ground. The crowd cheered.Dataran wrapped his arms around Mikoand she was beaming and though Stardidn’t think Miko could see her, she feltalmost like they were looking at eachother in that moment, and that Miko knewprecisely the decision that Star had made.And she, too, knew it was the right one.

Then the thrusters engaged, and the shipwas climbing up out of the hangar, overthe glittering, sprawling city of NewBeijing. And Dataran was gone.

Suddenly weary, Star leaned her headagainst the window. Her audio inputdulled to a faint, distant hum as the Childof the Stars speared through the wisps ofclouds, and the sky turned from bright

blue to blushing pink and pale orange.Her fan was struggling inside her torso,

moving slower and slower…Then, so suddenly she almost missed it,

space opened up before her. Black andexpansive and endless and filled withmore stars than she could ever drink in.More stars than she could ever compute.

It was so much better than a holograph.Her wires quivered as the last dregs of

power sizzled through them. Her fingersjolted and twitched and then lay still.

She was smiling as she imaginedherself as one more star in the sea ofmillions, and her body decided it had hadenough, and she felt the exact momentwhen her power source gave up and the

hum of electricity extinguished.But she was already vast and bright

and endless.