Page 36 of The Delivery

Luca is available tomorrow at 6 pm Pacific Standard Time.

Mark types: Earlier.

We are sorry. That is the first available time slot.

He clicks to accept, slams the laptop lid down, bangs a fist on the desk.

The titanium card pops up, flips over, lands on its back: YOU’RE IN CHARGE.

They stare at the words.

“Not so much,” Rebecca says.

“Okay, okay,” Mark says, trying to reset. “Let’s not overreact.”

“A robot-man butchered Maddy’s pet on my counter and might’ve broken Jackson’s neck.”

“We’ve been over this, Beccs. We don’t know that he did anything to Jackson—”

“No? He went over there to borrow a cup of sugar?”

“We don’t know he went over there.”

“There was a footprint. His footprint.”

“Maybe his. And now it’s gone.”

“No. Don’t do that. Do not do that. I saw it, Mark. Don’t you gaslight me.”

“I’m not gaslighting you. I’m just saying, you are—we are— understandably in an anxiety spin cycle. We’d do well to slow down, take a breath.”

“Tell it to Bao-Bao.”

“I get it,” he says. “And it’s awful. Completely awful. He doesn’t understand things, like when he didn’t get that the cheese wasn’t rotten.”

“This isn’t cheese, Mark!”

“I agree that he—it—this—is dangerous. I’m just saying it’s a mix-up, not necessarily malicious. AI gets screwy sometimes, hallucinates responses. It’s an interface problem. I deal with them at work all the time.”

“Is our paralyzed neighbor an ‘interface problem’?” She throws air quotes.

“Beccs, if there was a footprint—”

“There was a footprint.”

“—he could’ve gone over there for a bunch of reasons. Why would he want to hurt Jackson?”

She doesn’t want to say it out loud. Saying the words makes it more real. She musters her courage. “I said I wished I could sue him into the ground.”

“Oh, come on, Beccs. That was a joke. It doesn’t mean you wanted Mr. Man to—to take some vigilante action.”

“He doesn’t understand things,” Rebecca says bitingly. “Like the cheese.”

Mark draws in a deep breath. He rubs his face. When he lowers his hands, he looks pale, diminished.

“We don’t even know where he is,” Rebecca says.

“At least he’s not here. I don’t want that thing in the house.”