The micro-engine was the foundation, although without the old programming key it would be harder to align it to Sofia’s specifications. That was why they needed the schematics. With that information, Araceli would be able to override Sofia’s old programming. Sofia had explained what she wanted, and had collected all the necessary equipment, because a robot could not reprogram itself. They were designed that way.

“This is easier than I expected,” Araceli said.

“It’s because you’re the best.” Sofia’s voice sounded tinny and far away. She wasn’t whole. Not without that micro-engine.

Araceli laughed. “I’m just working off your designs. If you don’t mind waiting, I think I’ll be able to hook this into the computer and clear out some of the music programming. I mean, the new micro-engine should take care of it, but just to be on the safe side.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Sofia remembered when she was brand-new, sitting in the laboratory waiting to be programmed. It had been like this, that curious calmness, that sense of expectation. She didn’t know what she would become.

The best version of myself, she thought, watching Araceli work. The work lamp illuminated the pores and lines in Araceli’s skin, and Sofia was momentarily fascinated by them, by her humanity. Those lines and pores meant Araceli had freedom when Sofia did not.

Except, no—that was no longer the case.

Araceli stood up and carried the micro-engine over to the computer. Sofia followed, although her steps shook, and moving made her vaguely dizzy. She steadied herself against the wall, aware that she was leaking hydraulic fluid down the front of her chest. That bothered her more than her nakedness. Funny.

“Do you want a chair?” Araceli glanced at her, then set the micro-engine down and pulled one out from beside the computer. “Here. Sit. I’m worried about your bleeding.”

Sofia sank into the chair and said, “It’s not blood.”

Araceli didn’t answer, only turned back to the computer. She linked the micro-engine into the mainframe and sat down at the keyboard and began to type. The micro-engine sat there, unmoving. The rotary display whirred through the list of programs that Araceli was going through and deleting. The display was too far away for Sofia to see which ones exactly. But she trusted Araceli.

Sofia stuck her finger into the hydraulic fluid and lifted it up to the light. It was thick purplish black, like motor oil. She’d never seen it before. None of her patrons had ever cut deep enough. They were, after all, warned not to, because seeing a woman bleed black instead of red ruined the effect.

When she still had her core engine, thinking on those things would make her angry. Or sad, sometimes. But right now they didn’t make her think of anything. They were simply a fragment of the past. They didn’t matter anymore.

Araceli hit one last keystroke and leaned back in her chair. “There. Got it.” She turned and grinned at Sofia. “You ready to reinstall?”

Sofia nodded.

Araceli lifted the micro-engine off the table and held it to her chest, waiting. Sofia stumbled back over to the work counter and stretched out on her back. She blinked up at the lights. Everything was fogged and hazy.

Araceli nestled the micro-engine inside Sofia’s open chest cavity. With each reconnection Sofia’s thoughts sharpened and clarified until they were sharper and clearer than she could ever remember.

Araceli murmured, “One mo—”

Everything cut out.

Sofia floated in the darkness, a disembodied consciousness. She was nothing but memories: The lights in the laboratory where they built her. The first time she saw Hope City glowing through the porthole in the ship that brought her to Antarctica. Dancing up onstage. Memory after memory.

And then Sofia felt a spark in her head, and she remembered she had a body. The overhead lights flared into existence. One by one her programs came online. As soon as she could move, she sat up.

“Lie down,” Araceli said, pressing gently against her shoulder. “You’re still—open.”

Sofia looked down at her gaping chest cavity. “Oh,” she said. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“It matters if you bleed out. Lie down.”

Sofia sighed and lay down. It was the last time she would do as a human said, she decided, as Araceli pressed her sternum back together and closed the split with sealant. The cut had been deep enough that the sealant wouldn’t erase the line completely. She’d have to get new skin brought in or have a scar. She preferred the scar.

“All right, all finished.” Araceli stepped back. Her hands were coated in hydraulic fluid. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing.”

Araceli smiled a little. “Are you ready to test?”

Sofia nodded without hesitation. They had agreed on the test beforehand—“La Entrerriana,” which would only make her tango across the room. But Sofia was confident the procedure had worked. She could feel her freedom inside her like a virus.

Araceli nodded and turned to the record player. Sofia stared at it with a bland implacability. It was not going to hurt her. She knew it.

Araceli switched on the turntable and dropped the needle. The record crackled. The music crept on, slow and twisting like a vine. It was a dangerous song.

Sofia did nothing.

She sat on the work counter, her bare chest covered in hydraulic fluid, and for the first time in her existence she was able to listen to the song without it consuming her. The music was a cord that twisted through the room. It was beautiful, in a human sort of way. The dance was, as well—she could remember it, she could see the steps in her head if she thought about them, but she was not compelled to perform them.

“It worked,” Araceli said breathlessly. “It works. Oh my God—”

“It works,” Sofia whispered. She pulled her blouse back on, not caring that it grew dark with hydraulic fluid. She hopped off the counter and drew Araceli into an embrace. Araceli was warm and living against her. Vulnerable. “Thank you,” she said into the top of Araceli’s hair.

The music played on in the background.

They pulled apart. Araceli was grinning wildly. “I can’t believe we pulled it off.”

“I can.” That empty feeling from before lingered, but now it wasn’t so much an emptiness as a removed weight. It was a lightness. She didn’t need Araceli anymore. She didn’t need any of them. With the right equipment, the right schematics, she could reprogram all the robots in the city herself.

“We’ll need to wait a week or so to make sure the modifications work. You’ll need to avoid Cabrera until then.”

“I will.”

“I should probably run a diagnostic,” Araceli began, but Sofia held up one hand.

“I can do it myself,” she said. “I would—prefer it.”

“Oh, of course.” Araceli smiled again. “I understand.”

Sofia knew she didn’t, not really, but she didn’t begrudge her for trying.

And the music, the music was still playing.

*  *  *  *

Sofia knocked on Marianella’s door—rap, rap, rap over and over in a steady and unwavering pattern. If she’d been human, her knuckles would have bruised and ached. But she wasn’t human.

Four minutes passed, and Marianella answered.

“What is it?” She leaned against the doorframe, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Is something wrong?” The hallway was flooded with that silvery false moonlight, and it washed over Marianella’s skin, turning her into a ghost. Sofia was glad she had bothered to change and wash the hydraulic fluid from her skin; Marianella might have panicked at the sight of it.

“I have something I want to show you,” Sofia said, and she grabbed Marianella by both hands and pulled her out of the room. Marianella sputtered with confusion.

“What’s happening?” she said. “Sofia, has someone come into the park?”

“No, of course not.” Sofia led her to the stairs. “I’m sorry I woke you, but we both know you don’t need sleep.”