…The ship reinserted itself into normal space.
“It’s okay, Herb,” called Robert. “It’s okay.” He was looking at him with genuine concern.
“I’m okay,” Herb mumbled. “I just banged my knee.”
Robert nodded. “I’ve taken us into the space between the stars again. We need to give the ship time to repair itself.”
Herb was light-headed from the pain. He was finding it difficult to concentrate.
“I hope so. They’ll never find us here, surely?”
Robert offered Herb a little pink tablet. The way he was moving seemed odd; Herb seemed to be befuddled.
“Swallow this,” Robert murmured. “It’s an MTPH variant. It will help you to separate the pain into different parts, make it easier to deal with.”
Herb took the pill and swallowed it. “Couldn’t I just have a painkiller?” he asked.
“You’d learn nothing that way, Herb. Pain and adversity help us to grow.” He grinned a little. “Well, they help humans grow, anyway. Look, Herb, the ship has lost a lot of mass, so when repairs are complete, the hull is going to be stretched very thin. The Enemy ships will be jumping incrementally out from our last position in a shell formation, scanning as they go. They’ll reach this point in about four minutes, I’d guess. We have to be gone from here by then.”
The pill hit Herb’s stomach and the pain seemed to recede: it was still there, but it was as if another person was experiencing it.
“Whoa,” he said, “that’s pretty good stuff. Hey, why don’t we just jump back inside the ring of spaceships?”
“We will if we have to, but I’d rather not. We’ve got to keep heading toward the center of the Enemy Domain. The Enemy will eventually figure that’s what we’re doing, and then it will direct its search ships to better effect. This battle is still just getting up to speed.”
“Getting up to speed. Right.”
Herb looked around the inside of the ship. The kitchen cupboards had burst open; pots and pans spilled across the floor, washing across a tide of broken glass and crockery. A white vase lay smashed on the blond wood. There was a rip in one of the white sofas. Robert himself looked odd.
The viewing fields imposed a sense of order on the shambles of the room, their regular shapes showing stars shining against a dark background. Red indicator bars showed they were still picking up speed. How fast did they have to get?
Robert looked the worse for wear: his suit was disheveled, his shirt had come untucked, his tie was twisted so that the knot was lost under his starched collar. His jacket was badly ripped near the shoulder. That’s when Herb finally noticed what was odd about Robert.
“What happened to your arm?” he asked. “Where’s it gone?”
Robert’s right arm lay on the white sofa he had been occupying earlier. He sat down next to it and picked it up with his left hand. Herb caught a flash of silver at the severed end as Robert turned it to push it into his shoulder joint. He twisted it a couple of times.
“The repair mechanisms won’t engage,” he said softly. “I had to deplete myself of nanotechs and send them to aid in the repair of this ship. They’re building up numbers again, ready to effect the repair within me, but resources are low. Other priorities are currently higher, and what use are arms when fighting this type of war? Better that my brain remains intact.”
He smiled gently at Herb. He was no longer the personality who had spent the past few days constantly goading Herb: now he seemed like an amiable old man, a wise father figure. The rules of their relationship were changing.
“How are you, Herb?” he asked.
Herb sat carefully on the sofa opposite. He felt a lot better now. His mind was sharper. The pain was still there, but he could put it in perspective, look at it in a wider context. A lot of things seemed clearer under the influence of the pink pill. Herb considered his actions over the past few days, then over the past few years. He suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed. He had thought himself so clever, so special. He had been a fool.
Robert was gazing at him from the seat opposite, his expression one of quiet observation. He knows what I’m thinking. He knows that I’ve seen the truth. And he wants me to know. He’s a robot. He chooses the expression he wants to wear.
“You’re…you know what I’m thinking, don’t you?”
“To a degree,” said Robert.
“You led me to this point, didn’t you? This is not just about the Enemy Domain; it’s about me, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“That sounded really arrogant of me, but it’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“But why me? What makes me so special?”
“Nothing. The EA cares for all, Herb. It’s in its very bones, you might say.”
Robert paused for a moment, thinking. At least, he paused to give that impression. Then he continued, “Besides, I’m more closely connected with your family than you might imagine, Herb. I have been practically since the beginning.”
Herb said nothing. He wondered what Robert meant. He knew that Robert would explain if he wanted him to know.
Robert sighed deeply. “You know, Herb, you’ve lived a lonely life. That was your choice. The EA would have done a lot better for you if only you had let it.”
Herb said nothing. Now even his embarrassment was dissolving: he felt strangely liberated. It was the drug. It was helping him to stand apart from himself, not just from the pain, but from the person he had allowed himself to become.
“I don’t know what to say,” said Herb.
“There’s nothing to say.” Robert picked up his right arm and twisted it round so he could see the watch. “One minute before the Enemy ships arrive, I guess. We’ll jump in a moment. Stay ahead of them, keep them guessing.”
He gazed at Herb with a sympathetic expression. “We’re getting there, Herb. We’re over halfway.”
“Good.”
“I won’t lie, though. The next bit will be the hardest part. Are you ready for this?”
Herb licked his lips. Much to his surprise, he was.
“I am,” he said.
“We could still jump out of the Enemy Domain, back to Earth. I’d have to start the attack again with someone else, but I could do it.”
Herb shook his head. It was tempting, very tempting. If Robert had asked him an hour ago, he would have jumped at the chance. As it was, he again shook his head.
“No, I want to go on.”
Robert smiled at him.
“Okay. Here we go…”
Again, they reinserted themselves into normal space. Herb was bracing himself on the sofa, leaning forward slightly, his eyes tightly closed against the expected glare of atomic attack. Nothing happened. Slowly he straightened up and looked around. Nothing.
Robert’s face was one of intense concentration as he gazed up at the ceiling. He reached awkwardly across his body, groping in his right-hand pocket for something, then thought better of it, bringing the hand out empty. He drummed his fingers on the white leather of the sofa.
“Something’s up,” he said. “It could be a trick, I suppose.”
A drift of pans and kitchen utensils slipped into a new equilibrium with a metallic clatter. Herb jumped at the noise, then relaxed as he realized it was nothing to worry about. His heart was beating so fast. A little voice inside him told him to calm down, to relax a little. It seemed good advice.
“Got it,” said Robert. “I’ll put it on the roof screen.”
It looked like a golf ball blown up to planet size. Light and dark stains seemed to wander over the otherwise nearly uniformly colored surface of the planet. The effect reminded Herb of an ancient carpet his father had preserved in a room in one of his houses. The colors of its weave had faded over the centuries, leaving nothing more than a faint impression of variation in an overall field of pale blue.
“What is it?”
“It’s a nasty piece of work. It’s stripped this system of everything. Even its defenses.”