--- Snip ---

When I was five, I woke screaming from a nightmare. I'd been working with the revolutionaries, and we were being chased by splat-drones. Each of my companions, who looked an awful lot like the corn husk dolls I'd played with that afternoon, were blown to bits around me as I watched. Then, with a grinding rumble that I could still feel in my chest even after I woke up, it zoomed at me.

"They don't rumble," Mom said as she stroked my hair.

"What do they sound like?"

She ignored my question. --- Snip ---