“You’re being quiet, is everything alright?” Elian asked when we were back in the air. I bit my lip.

  “I’m fine, just tired. Did you learn everything you wanted?”

  He gave a weak smile.

  “Enough.”

  There was a long pause as I stared out of the window at the raindrops beginning to patter down onto the mag-road in puddles a few metres below.

  “It can’t keep going on like this, can it?”

  My words came out flat.

  “No.” He sighed, “It can’t.”

  “It’s hard to think anything will change.”

  “Ayla…” he said softly, “You joked about this place like it was nothing but this, this is a horrible violation of every human right this Earth has created. I’m not going to let them get away with the things they’ve done to you. To all the Relegates. If the Triumvirate Houses knew exactly how bad it was…”

  “They already do. They just don’t care.”

  I wasn’t about to forget whose face I woke up to when I sedated the warden.

  “I don’t think –”

  “Your mother is the director of that institution, Elian. She knows. And if she does, they all do. They put it all in place, do you really believe they’re clueless?”

  His arms went slack on the wheel.

  “I have to. I have to believe they’d never allow any of this to happen. My parents aren’t the kindest people but they wouldn’t… they’d never…”

  Even as he said it, his voice faded with disbelief.

  I gave his shoulder a squeeze.

  “Enough sad talk. I want to know how many songs we can get through on the radio before we get back.” I dialled up the volume on the control.

  We reached the Estate all too quickly, disembarking in the hoverport, walking through the gardens, the scent of flowers wet with the summer rain filling the air, and stopped at the rose arch.

  “Thanks for bringing me with you,” I told him, “I’m glad we did this. Goodnight.”

  He placed a warm hand on my shoulder, electricity racing through my arm at the contact. I tried not to think about how close he was, how his lips were parted ever so slightly. Tried not to think about why my heart started racing or my breath hitched in that specific moment.

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  “Take care of yourself until I see you again.”

  “Yeah, er, goodnight,” I said dumbly for the second time, focusing on a stray curl flopping onto his forehead. Anything but his actual face.

  He bowed his head and we split directions, me walking all the way to the guest rooms, and him probably to his chambers on the other side of the Estate, as far away as he could be. The only distance he could be where I’d feel safe.

  I closed the door, Ganymede’s face waiting for me as I turned around.

  “Detecting an increase of one degree in body temperature around your cheeks, you are blushing –”

  “No.” I scowled. “I’m not.”

  “Forgive me but I can see that you definitely are.”

  I threw myself onto the bed, welcoming the mattress as gravity pulled me to sink into it.

  “Then your system must be faulty.”

  “It is fully operational.”

  “Check again.”

  The android took a seat in one of the chairs at the table in the corner, the movement stiff, almost deliberately so, as if he was making up for his emotional outburst earlier, trying to reinstate the image of what he thought he should be.

  “Really, the action would be redundant. I don’t know why you are denying the truth.”

  “Because this.” I alternated pointing at myself and the door, representing Elian. “Isn’t happening. It can’t.”

  “May I ask why? I fail to see what obstacle could get in the way of your feelings for one another.”

  I sat up.

  “Feelings? We’ve known each other two days!”

  The android looked down at his feet, then back at me, thinking.

  “Then perhaps I misunderstood,” he said, “Apologies if I’m getting ahead of myself.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair, letting them work through the tangles and drop back down to my sides.

  “I can’t let myself think that way. Elian’s the genetic equivalent of perfection, he was literally created to represent everything that’s good in the world, I mean that’s what Customs are, right? He’s meant to be the best of humanity and I’m… not.”

  Broken, was the word Galton used most often, a mutation that was never meant to survive to birth.

  I panted out the last part, tears pricking my eyes for the first time in years.

  “I’m broken,” I told him, voicing the thought aloud.

  Ganymede stared back, his internal functions trying to process the words, and his programming kicked in as he got up, knelt beside the bed, and took my hand.

  “Broken means not being able to fulfil your purpose,” he said slowly, “I do not believe your purpose is to be perfect, therefore, how can you be broken?”

  “I-I don’t know. But what I do know is that when I look in that mirror, the person I see, she’s not whole, Ganymede. She’s nothing, and a part of me is scared that that’s all I’ll ever be.”

  “Well then, it seems the only thing broken is the perception you have of yourself. Now, why don’t I run a warm bath for you?”

  He stood up towards the bathroom but I grabbed his arm.

  “I hope you’re right,” I said through the tears drying on my cheeks, “But how can I see myself as anything but a mistake when for my whole life that’s all I’ve been taught I am?”

  “Ah,” said the android, “I am rather out of my depth there, but I do know that throughout history there’s always been humans who break away from the things they’ve been taught to believe.” He wiped a tear from my eye. “It’s frequently the model for how ordinary people do extraordinary things. If they can do it, there is surely a way you can too.”

  “Since when did you get good at comforting people?” I rubbed my puffy face. “Listen Ganymede I’d, uh, appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone I told you all this, I don’t want to give people more reasons to think I’m weak.”

  “Of course, Ayla, it is safely stored away deep in my artificial hippocampus, someone would have to go to a great deal of trouble to access it. Come now, let’s get you washed and ready for bed.”