Still, sometimes she wondered how dangerous Diego was. She wondered that now, sitting with him in front of the television. But she didn’t pull away.

On-screen, they had wheeled out the robot. It was an old enough model that Eliana remembered learning about it in a grade-school civics lesson. It looked sort of like a millipede, segmented and million-legged. The dismantling was in a studio, the lights as bright as the sun. They bounced off the robot’s metal shell. It had something like a face, a little black screen like eyes. Eliana focused in on it, expecting to see fear. But there was only a little black screen.

Somehow, that was worse.

“We assure the people of Hope City that this was an isolated incident,” the engineer said. “The rotopedes are an older model, one we’re currently in the process of replacing. The steam power is not as reliable, and so glitches occur. We are working on testing each rotopede in the city to avoid another failure such as what happened on Last Night.”

“You think they’ll actually go through with it?” Diego tapped his cigarette over the ashtray, eyes on the screen.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Eliana looked at him so she wouldn’t have to look at the robot’s empty alien face. “It’s the only way to fix a problem in the dome’s system, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” Diego took a long drag off his cigarette. “Assuming it actually was a problem in the dome’s system.”

“What?” Eliana stared at him. “Are you saying it wasn’t a system failure? That—what? Someone did something?” Anxiety calcified inside her. “Did you have something to do with the blackout? Is that it? You feel guilty, that they’re blaming some poor robot?”

Diego turned to her. His face was as blank as the robot’s. “You think I turned off the goddamn power?”

Eliana didn’t have an answer. He went back to watching the dismantling. She turned away from him, but the only place to look was at the television, where the engineer was hunched over the robot, cracking open its shell like a crab’s. All of its insides glittered. It was almost pretty, but her stomach turned into knots.

“Jesus, that’s what I get for seeing a cop.”

“I’m not a cop,” Eliana said automatically, unable to look away from the dismantling. She felt uneasy. Her skin seemed loose, like it was sliding over her bones.

The engineer stepped aside, and the robot’s face was intact, staring at her.

“Why would I turn off the power, huh?” Diego was still staring at the television, the light washing out his features. “I’d want to be off the continent before I even thought about it. And I sure as fuck wouldn’t do that when you were in the middle of a Last Night parade. Jesus.”

On the television, the engineer announced that the robot was now completely inoperative. Dead, thought Eliana, and then Diego’s words registered with her—when you were in the middle of a Last Night parade.

“Oh,” Eliana said.

“I may be an asshole,” Diego said, “but I don’t want to kill everyone in the city.”

“I didn’t think—”

“Whatever. It’s done.” Diego reached over and turned off the television. The bartender didn’t protest. Diego leaned back on his stool and smoked his cigarette down to the filter and then lit another.

“I’m sorry,” Eliana said. “I really didn’t think that you—that you would do that. I’m just on edge because of something I’m working on.”

Diego sighed. “You better be staying away from Cabrera.”

“I am.” An almost-truth.

“You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ve had a long day too.” Diego drained the last of his drink. “Let’s go back to your place.”

Eliana stared at him. He stared back, then stubbed out his cigarette.

“Or I’ll go home,” he said.

“I’m meeting Maria in an hour.” Eliana looked at her beer and her food. She’d hardly touched it. “We can wait at my place, though, if you want. I just— That thing had a face. Did you see?”

“They all have faces.” Diego slid off his bar stool, grabbed Eliana’s hand, and pulled her over beside him. The dark scent of his cologne washed over her, and when he kissed her, she let him. Easier than asking questions.

*  *  *  *

Maria was late, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Eliana’d gone back to her apartment with Diego and they’d fucked quickly and frantically on her sofa, his breath hot against her neck. She’d left him sleeping there, kissing him on the forehead before she’d left. He’d moaned like he was dreaming.

Julio’s was as empty as before. She ordered another beer and switched on the television while she waited. The news program was over, replaced by a Brazilian variety show dubbed over in mainland Castilian. Eliana watched it and thought about Diego, how darkly he’d stared at the dismantling, how desperately he’d touched her afterward.

“Hey, so sorry we’re late!”

Maria. Eliana turned around on her bar stool, and Maria and Essie came swishing through the maze of tables. Both were still dressed in their office clothes, although Essie was wearing an ugly sealskin coat, one of the many sartorial emblems of Independence.

“Both of you,” Eliana said, sipping at her beer.

“She picked me up.” Maria pointed at Essie, who gave a sheepish little wave.

“Juan gave me a car,” she said.

“He what?” Juan was one of her artist friends. This one was more than a friend, apparently.

“Yeah.” Essie tossed her hair as she slid onto her stool. “It’s not much. Probably twenty years old. He said it was a Last Night gift.”

“A what?”

“It was his first Last Night. He didn’t know gifts aren’t a part of it. His family’s mainland. He moved here ’cause he said the art scene’s better.”

“So is this one a terrorist too?” Maria asked.

Essie glared at her. “Just because someone supports Independence doesn’t mean they’re a terrorist.” She sighed. “Not that I think Juan really gets it. I still like him, though.”

“Of course you do,” Maria said, and Essie made a face at her.

Eliana reached over and turned the sound down on the television. “So,” she said, “you said you got the name—”

“Well, yes.” Maria pulled a small white envelope out of her purse and set it down on the bar. Eliana leaned forward.

“I see you put it in an envelope again.”

“Well,” Maria said, grinning mischievously, “that’s what they always ask me to do down at Correia and Gallego.”

Correia and Gallego was the biggest of the downtown PI firms, and the one that tended to take most of Eliana’s business. Eliana knew Maria was joking, but hearing the name made her cringe anyway, a reminder that she was living on C&G’s leftovers.

“They tell me that’s what you’re supposed to do,” Maria said.

“The only thing you’re supposed to do is not get caught.” Mr. Vasquez had told her that. It was one of the first things he’d told her, in fact, when she’d been just his secretary. Eliana picked the envelope up and ripped it open. The name was written on the back of a telephone message slip. Pablo Sala. Beneath that, a street address. Just what Eliana had asked for.

“Oh, no worries there.” Maria laughed. “I just told Ligia—she’s the head of the steno pool down in Engineering—I told her that I needed a list of anybody who’d ever worked with the new gyro ’bots. For payroll, you know.” She winked. Eliana laughed. “Turns out that guy’s the only one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They haven’t released many yet. About ten or so. They’ve got atomic power, so you have to specialize to work with them. The city will be adding more people during the winter, apparently, and even bringing in some new men from the mainland come spring. You’re lucky.” She nodded.

“Yeah.” Eliana looked down at the name, scrawled out in Maria’s neat, schoolteacher handwriting. “You sure you didn’t make anyone suspicious?”

“Are you kidding? Ligia and I are pals. I never even saw this Mr. Sala.”