Human Sister

stares at the scenescreen. I think you should talk with him.”
    My throat knotted.
    “Is there something wrong, honey? Is it something about Elio?”
    I shook my head, forced down a few bites of food, kissed her goodnight, and then, to straighten myself out, took a cold shower. Within a few seconds, the water shocked me into clearer-headedness, and an idea came to me as to how I might test the accuracy of First Brother’s message.
    I hurried out of the shower and went to the garage to find the tracking device Elio and I always took on our kayaking trips and an old watch I’d discarded years before. I found both and snuck the parts required for my plan into Michael’s rooms by hiding them from Gatekeeper in my mouth. Michael was still sitting where I’d left him, his hands covering his face.
    “I wish Michael were here,” I said as I walked to our study table. “We could make a tracking device to see where Grandpa goes in his tiltrotor.”
    The slits between Michael’s fingers widened. “You think First Brother might be wrong?”
    “I hope so.”
    With the help of our macrofabricator, we used the GPS, timer, and battery chips to make a new chip, which we packaged in a mold that looked like a quarter. Once hidden aboard the tiltrotor, the counterfeit quarter would record its position vs. time.
    Our work was slowed by our having to continually make it inconspicuous if Grandpa came to see us when he returned home. But Grandpa evidently returned after our bedtime, for he didn’t come in to say goodnight. Michael, who was unable to reconcile himself to the anger in First Brother’s letter, said he was frightened and asked if he could sleep with me that night, since Elio wasn’t there.
    Neither of us could fall asleep, so we began discussing the letter. We weren’t at all surprised to hear that another attack against the androids was planned. Ever since the first attack had failed to destroy all of the androids on Mars, the media had been full of support for another attack to finish the job. But could Grandpa be involved in such a thing? His son and daughter-in-law had given their lives to save the androids. And Grandpa loved Michael.
    Magnasea did a lot of government business, so Grandpa’s visiting government facilities was to be expected. But assuming First Brother was correct about the amount of time Grandpa spent at Livermore, surely he wasn’t simply making an executive visit to a customer; he most likely would be involved in research, though what research could that possibly be? Except for intelligent systems, in what was Grandpa competent enough to contribute to the level of scientific and technical work conducted at the Livermore Research Center?
    Our wake-up alarm rang, startling us not from sleep but from our thoughts. When I got to the breakfast table, Grandma was talking with Grandpa about how beautiful the vineyards were that morning, how still and soft the air. She loved November best: the month of mellow, contented calm that follows the fever of growth and harvest and fairs.
    While we ate, I thought that a few years earlier Grandpa’s eagle eyes would have spotted my bloodshot eyes and sleepless face a room away, that he would have known exactly what was troubling me, and that before breakfast was finished, he would have made everything better. On this morning, however, he barely glanced at me. He ate rapidly as Grandma spoke—now she was talking about our third crop of raspberries for the year—then excused himself to finish getting ready for work.
    I hurried to board the tiltrotor ahead of Grandpa so that I could find a place to conceal the tracking device. On the way to Palo Alto, I asked him what he had planned for the day.
    “I’ll be in Berkeley. I’ll pick you up at 1745, as usual.”
    “Grandma’s worried that you’re working too hard.”
    He chuckled. “She needn’t worry. Much of my day is spent with old, retired professor buddies. We drink brandy with coffee and ruminate on the sorry state of the world.”
    “She misses you. Maybe you should bring her flowers once in a while. It would show you’re thinking about her.”
    “What? Like the flowers Elio brings you? That boy has yet to figure out that the gardenerbots toss enough flowers onto our compost heap to stock a nursery.”
    “Well, I miss you, too. I wish you’d spend more time on our tutorials.”
    There was a pause before he spoke, now in a more serious tone. “Your education has largely passed me by. We