Tansy circled the Factor, inspecting it closely. The replica's owner, a young woman with tumbling blonde hair, was likely having tea or taking a bath or whatever one did mid-afternoon when one did not work for one's livelihood, and would engage with her Factor's surroundings when it suited her. Until then, her replica acted autonomously, recording its interactions.

"The new model?" Tansy asked. "XT?"

"That is correct," it answered in a woman's voice.

"Nice. I haven't actually seen one yet. Are you connected?"

"Not at the moment."

"May I?" she asked, holding out a hand. The Factor nodded.

"Titanium carapace," Tansy said, tapping lightly on its clavicle.

"Yes."

"Can I see your hands?"

The Factor held out two hands, palms up. Tansy tentatively touched the hybrid, lab-grown skin. "Unreal," she said. "Can you feel this?"

"I can."

"It's uncanny. Right down the perfectly manicured nails." She turned the hands over in her own and shook her head. "It's warm. And I can see blood vessels. Wow."

"My skin contains no actual human blood."

"Oh, I know. It just looks so real. And it goes to your elbows?"

"Yes."

Tansy looked at the Factor's face again. Most of the replica's body looked like a sleeker version of the metal kits Tansy used as a child to practice AI coding. But the XT model used the same Amnion human bioskin surgeons had been using for decades. On this standard XT model, bioskin covered its hands, forearms, and the head down to the shoulders. As a result, the expressions and facial features were much more realistic, and the owner's sensory experience was nearly lifelike.

Tansy stroked the Factor's arm. "So soft."

"Um, excuse me? Can I help you?"

"Hmm? Oh!" Tansy pulled her hand away, realizing the owner had connected. "My apologies. I got consent."

"If you would kindly stop now."

"Yes, of course. I didn't mean to alarm you. I haven't seen the XT in person yet, so I was just curious. I actually work for Anthropic Robotics."

The Factor looked Tansy up and down, and she instantly wished she hadn't let that slip. Tansy followed the Factor's eyes to her dusty feet, shoved into badly scuffed and stained leather sandals. Her cotton skirt, creatively patched in far too many places to be fashionable, frayed at the hem and was plastered with dried tomato pulp from an earlier, impromptu snacking session. She was glad she had at least taken the time to put on a clean blouse and run a comb through her hair. "Um, I'm not on the clock right now."

"Right. Okay," the Factor said, "goodbye then."

It turned and headed toward a car, and Tansy saw the new leg design in action. Unlike the older models, which roughly mimicked the design of human limbs, the new leg hinged forward at the knee, and had a more stable foot design with built-in, nested caterpillar treads for traction and speed on smooth surfaces. She shook her head again. How this tech could exist, and how anyone could nonchalantly afford it—let alone justify the expense when most folks had no coin for basic necessities—was beyond her.

Tansy left the wagon on the landing and opened the co-op door. The space was alive with vibrant colors and scents of ripe produce and fresh-cut flowers. A large bookshelf held cookbooks, binders full of seed envelopes, and handwritten recipe cards. An alcove in the front window displayed locally handcrafted goods for trade or sale. On a side wall, a community board held lists of items wanted, wildlife sightings, work opportunities, services offered, and the occasional class on things like composting or spinning. People milled about, waiting to turn in their donations and tally their credits. It was busy, even for a trade day, and Tansy noted several unfamiliar faces.

She made her way through the crowd to a long table filled with seasonal fruits, vegetables, chicken and duck eggs, and precious honey from Scarborough's several apiaries. As she took her place in line, she scanned the rest of the tables. Her gaze settled on a small table tucked away in a corner, and she saw something there that made her heart skip.

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And once she had seen them, they called out to her.

"Eek!" she responded. "Come to Mama, my precious little darlings!" She ducked out of the line and held her breath, certain someone would get to them ahead of her. Tansy moved across the aisle, her eyes on the corner table.

A few feet from the table, a neighbor stepped into the aisle directly in front of her. He blocked her path, bobbing his head in expectation of a conversation she had no intention of having.

"Hey there, Tansy! How’s the—"

"Hi, Shane! Sorry, I…" Tansy sidestepped around him as he clumsily shifted his weight. "I hope you’re well. I just, I just need to—"

Tansy rushed to the table and grabbed one small, perfect, silver-lidded, antique amber jar after another. Once they were all nestled safely in the crook of her arm, she cooed at them adoringly.

"Just look at you! Oh, aren’t you just the prettiest?"

She picked up a jar and checked the label—filled nearly to the brim with golden lanolin! It was almost too good to be true, like discovering buried treasure! Tansy cradled the amber glass like a dragon hoarding gold and made her way back to the line.

As she waited for her turn, she started planning. The lanolin was a perfect skin moisturizer and barrier for her hands when she worked in her garden. The first successful salve Tansy had ever made was a healing balm of beeswax and lanolin infused with her home-grown calendula, lavender, yarrow, and homemade essential oils. That single batch of aromatic salve had gotten her through three years of gardening and dry Pennsylvania winters, but it was long gone and she hadn’t made a good substitute since.

When it was finally Tansy's turn at the counter, she could barely contain her excitement. She proudly presented the seven jars and smiled brightly.

"Hey Carmen! I’m here to check in my produce and tally up my credits," she said, setting the jars on the counter.

Carmen and her husband, Jeremy, had been running the co-op since before Tansy was born. They stood side-by-side behind the counter, their enthusiasm undiminished by the passing years. The Smiths maintained not just the co-op, but the most beautiful garden Tansy had ever seen. When she had asked Carmen her secret to growing so abundantly under a woodland canopy, Carmen had said only a single word: fairies.

"Good to see you Tansy! What have you got today?" Carmen asked as she noted down Tansy's produce on a tablet.

"I have 22 pounds of tomatoes, 14 pounds of squash, corn, herbs. Here's my list and my weights." She handed the list to Jeremy. "I left the wagon out front, but you're welcome to double check everything."

"No need, no need. We know you," he said with a wink.

"I only came for honey and eggs, but that was before I knew about these." She gestured toward the jars. "What gives? Any more in the back?"

Carmen laughed as she tallied up Tansy's total in credits. "You know there's no back."

"A girl can dream."

"Should have gotten here a little earlier. Lydia snatched up a good dozen of them. Got them from one of this group," she said, pointing her chin toward the strangers. "A robot, actually. One of those you work with. I explained they couldn't exchange if they didn't belong to the co-op, but they said they would just go ahead and donate."

"Huh. Odd."

"Yeah, makes no sense to me. But then, they don't exactly look like they need our co-op, either. So who knows?"

"Mystery goods, huh? Well, if Lydia and I drop dead, you'll know what to tell the SDOs."

"Mmm hmm. Looks like you have 62 credits total. That's 24 on top of your balance. Any oils for me today?"

"Working on some. But no, not yet. How much for these?"

"How about 14?" Carmen said, patting the counter, where a stranger placed a handwoven shawl, one of the few items outsiders could buy.

"That's all?"

Carmen shrugged. "They were free."

"Alright, let me get these, plus six hen's eggs and a full quart of the clover honey."

"Done, sweetie. Jeremy, dear," she said, "would you?"

"Sure thing," Jeremy said. "You give me two minutes, Miss Tansy. I'll get these wrapped up for you. Take the wagon on around back to Sam."

"Will do. Thanks. See you in a few days."

She left the produce with their son and walked the wagon home, stopping to pick from the overabundance of wild herbs and blackberries that grew alongside Matilda Creek. By the time she pulled up in front of her cottage, the low sun cast a rosy glow over the rolling hills, where a chorus of crickets played their mating calls.

She climbed into bed, soft solar lighting illuminating the room. Tansy took out her notebook and began jotting down ideas for her new batch of salve. As she wrote, her mind wandered to the strangers at the co-op, and she regretted not thinking to ask why they were there. She was lost in thought when she heard laughter and music through the opened window.

"Jack's party," she said aloud, forgetting she had already dismissed Ma's LegaC.

Jack's party, she thought, where people are talking to actual humans and not alone at home, fail-chatting with their dead mothers.

She tossed the notebook on the floor and flopped back onto her pillow, listening. She couldn't make out conversations, of course, but it didn't matter; it was never really about the words. Tansy imagined the easy camaraderie, the shared moments taking place across the way. She imagined Jack, too, and her resolve wavered. She mulled over the idea of venturing out into the night, letting her guard down just for a little while. She visualized sitting across a fire from Jack. Maybe she would say something clever. He would smile. She would smile back. He would give her that look, the look that said, come.

Then she rolled over and closed her eyes, expecting she would wake to the same old thing, the same old day as every other day.