"Not really. I've been to a lot of museums with my parents, but…" Now it was Amy's turn to trail off. This was the first museum she'd visited without them. It used to be one of their favourite weekend activities. Sometimes, they even went during the week just to beat the crowds at special exhibits. She remembered being small enough to fit on her dad's shoulders, small enough that her mother could lose her in a crowd. Once they took too long discussing a painting and Amy wandered off, and she wound up in a conversation with some students researching an essay on the museum's design. It was fun, talking with big kids who had big vocabularies. They warned her about some of the more gruesome pieces – the mortification of saints, the sacking of cities. They had a big map and they pointed out the galleries she shouldn't enter. They were nice. But even so, she had never seen her dad so angry as when he strode up to their little bench in the centre of the gallery and marched her away. Not because she'd disobeyed, he said later, but because it would break his heart if she wandered too far off and something happened to her. And now, that very thing had happened.
"Hey." Javier had removed the goggles. "Let me show you something."
He took her wrist and ushered her through the crowd of blankly staring humans to an empty square of space marked out by stickers. His hands tightened on her shoulders as he stood her inside the square. Standing behind her, he dropped the goggles over her face and carefully fixed them in place.
"Stay there and close your eyes. Don't look until I tell you. OK?"
"OK."
"OK. On three. One… two… three!"
Amy opened her eyes–
–and watched a shimmering salmon fly straight through her. 1986 pooled around her: ice chips, dead fish, and brawny men in orange coveralls. One aimed a fish at another who clutched butcher paper at the ready. He yelled an order and made to throw the fish. Amy ducked immediately. Tourists laughed. She heard Javier's laughter to her right, and unhooked the goggles. Her mouth opened to tell him off for embarrassing her, when he asked:
"Do you think Junior would like it, here? I was thinking we could take him tomorrow. Do something normal. The three of us. I mean, assuming you get the answers you need today. I don't take my kids to a lot of museums, but this one has vN-safe layers, and–"
He stopped abruptly when she rushed him.
It wasn't a hug – hugs ended quickly, even long ones, but this one persisted and changed into something else entirely. Javier reached up and stroked her hair. Not a single smooth motion, like petting a cat, but like he couldn't quite discern the make-up of the strands and needed his fingers to truly understand them. It felt wonderful – better than being tickled, better than the sun. She held him tighter and heard him swallow hard. Her body no longer felt so big and awkward. It was just the perfect size for this moment, just tall enough to catch the sharkskin roughness of his skin and smell the burnt sugar wafting from the creases in his neck.
"I think that's a great idea." Amy pulled away a little. "I think he'd really like it. I know I would."
His eyes searched her face. "It's nice to see you smile again. It looks so real."
Amy rolled her eyes. "I was really smiling before, when I saw you in that stupid outfit the museum gave you."
"That wasn't smiling, that was laughing at me. That doesn't count."
"That doesn't count? How can it not count? My mouth was doing the exact same thing–"
"Oh no, it wasn't. I know all the moves your mouth can make – well, most of them – and this was definitely–"
"Sorry I'm late."
They glanced up. Above them, a whining botfly zipped through the air. It hove into view. A light blinked.
"There you are," it said in a tiny voice. "I've been so distracted by your iterations, Javier."
Javier's grip on her waist loosened as Amy twisted to face the machine. She grabbed the botfly out of the air and clutched its humming body in her fist. "Who are you?"
"Dan Sarton, PhD."
Amy re-examined the drone with new interest. She had heard about organic people migrating to their electronics. It happened a lot in stories, the way there used to be stories about toys coming to life if a human loved them enough. (Then that very thing started happening, and those stories went away.)
"Do you enjoy being a botfly?" she asked, striving for something polite to say.
"I might, if I were one," the botfly said. "I'm a man, not a migrant. I've thought about migrating, but I'm very attached to my body. My penis in particular. I'm lucky enough to put it to regular use."
Amy let the machine go. "That's… nice."
"Yeah, good for you, pal," Javier said. "Rory said you could help us. Can you?"