Crystal raised an eyebrow. “You were exploring the streets of Chinatown and randomly wandered into an open garage door?”
A million to one?
“Well, maybe notrandomly,” I said.
Hiromi burst out laughing. “A little light stalking?”
“You made me curious about robotics.”
She took my hand. “I’m flattered.”
Hiromi led mearound the tables. The parts were muddled—big with small, electronic with mechanical, bright consumer plastic with industrial metal.
“How do you find anything?”
“By function.” She pointed at piles. “Sensors, controllers, effectors. Eyes, brains, and hands.”
I picked up a stray piece, a tiny headlight. “And this?”
“If it affects the world outside the robot, it’s an effector.”
I dropped the light in its proper pile. “Robots seem literal-minded.”
“Speaking of which,” she said, “this is Jonathan.”
A boy sat at the table, fiddling with an assemblage of gears and wires. He was twelve at most, with delicate hands and a childlike focus on his work—like Gertie when she drew.
“Looks like you’re making a motor,” I said.
He didn’t look up. “Actuator.”
“You must use the magic words,” Hiromi whispered, “or the golem is just mud.”
As we continued among the tables, sifting the scrap, I noted that grease lined Hiromi’s fingernails, the folds of her knuckles. Her overalls were flecked with paint. I’d only seen her dressed up, glossy and stylish. She looked looser, happier in her element of castoff parts and grime.
She was choosing pieces with sleek lines, black plastic sensors, saws, and spikes—the makings of a robot slaughterhouse.
“This looks dangerous,” I said, feeling the sharp metal edge of an effector.
“I’ve decided to make warriors next. Are you pleased, knife-thrower?”
“Flattered.” I tried to imagine the pieces fitting together. “Where does all this stuff come from?”
“Toys, bikes, watches. Plumbing, elevators, phones. Cannibalism of the machines.” Hiromi fished a heavy spring from a pile. “When you make robots, you take apart the rest of your life. Did you bring candy?”
“I didn’t know for sure you’d be here.”
“I broughtyoucandy,” she said. “Does this mean I like you better than you like me?”
“Possibly.”
“Flirting,” Jonathan said, two tables over.
Across the room, Crystal glanced up, noting how close we stood to each other.
Hiromi saw, but didn’t care.
“Lucky for you,” she said, “the best candy shop in the city isn’t far.”
