It nodded. 'I believe I know,' it said, glancing at the child, sitting in the car and playing with a toy. 'And I understand.'
Feril hesitated, while she looked down at the car–park surface, and then it added, 'I noticed that you no longer limp.'
She laughed gently. 'I had that seen to. Something I should have done years ago.' She shrugged, diffident again. 'One learns.' She put her hand out. It took it.
'It was good to see you again,' it said. 'And thank you.'
Another shrug. 'I owed you.'
'Then it is mutual. If I can ever be of help, to you or yours; do not hesitate to contact me. I mean this.'
'Thanks. Maybe one day.' She looked around the trees and lawns of the half–neglected gardens. The air was cool and sharp and a freshening breeze was blowing, sweeping the mists away from the edge of the cliff and slowly sending them back down into the city and out towards the bay and the sea beyond.
Feril shook her hand and then bowed. 'Farewell,' it said.
She gave another small laugh and came forward, rising of the toes of her boots and kissing the android on its cheek. 'You take care,' she said.
It wore an expression of delighted surprise on its face for the time it took for her to get into the car, start it and drive off down the road, one hand waving from a window and the little girl twisting round in her seat and staring back through the rear screen and waving too.
Then it shook itself and — still with a smile on its face — started back to the cable car station, to return to the city, where, as ever, there was work to be done.
© Iain M. Banks, 1994