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because quite apart from the fact that heating energy had to be kept to a minimum, she had such low levels of fat that her body was permanently struggling with the cold.
    “Whoever is watching, won’t you turn the heating up a bit?”
    Exactly. This was another reason why unscheduled exercising was a most unlikely reason for her to want to return to her human body at this time; had it been a planned return, the temperature would have been raised a little for her.
    “No one there? We’ll see.”
    What was she doing? The angle on the main screen wasn’t too helpful, but screen three made the purpose of her actions clear. With a sense of dismay, Ambassador took a seat and bent forward to the microphone.
    “Penelope, why are you putting on your survival suit?”
    “Is that you, Ambassador? Didn’t you say you were going to check the old recordings for me?” There was a hint of a laugh in her voice, a scornful ring of victory.
    “I did, and perhaps I still will, once you have satisfied me as to your actions.”
    “I’m just going for a stroll. Don’t mind me.”
    But he did mind. Very much.
    “You understand that there are many dangers outside the air lock? We cannot protect you there.”
    She did not respond, but resolutely zipped up the inner jacket.
    “Oh, do be careful, Penelope. A mistake out there will kill you.”
    Her decision to leave her chambers was probably further evidence that her rational functions were deteriorating. There was nothing for her outside of her living quarters, just an abandoned city that no longer had the atmosphere to support human life.
    It was extravagant and probably wasteful, but Ambassador took the precaution of activating one of the robots near Penelope’s apartments. Her boots were on. Now the helmet. Lastly, her thin fingers were encased in gloves that slotted home with a twist into the arms of the suit. Had she done everything correctly?
    “Penelope, if you must open the air lock, do please run a systems check first. It has been a long time since you used the suit.”
    “It’s all green.” Her voice was labored; she was breathing heavily just from the effort of moving with the extra weight of the suit.
    “And have you sufficient oxygen for your purpose?”
    “A little over . . . four hours.” She stepped over the lip of the air lock. “Freedom!” Her attempt at jauntiness did nothing to reassure Ambassador. What would it mean if she were to die now? Only Lord Scanthax would understand the full implications of such a loss, but Ambassador knew enough to worry for them all. Without Penelope’s ability to script, the armies of Saga, with their high-technology weapons, could counterattack and perhaps even bring to ruination all that Lord Scanthax had achieved, as well as eliminate him and all his manifestations. Even if such a scenario did not come about, on a personal level the death of the human might well mean the end of his own individuality. Ambassador’s only function in recent years had been to act as intermediary with Penelope, and with her gone it was quite likely he would be downgraded to a diplomatic unit of zero autonomy at the next redistribution ceremony.
    Such gloomy speculation filled Ambassador’s thoughts as he watched Penelope step into the air lock and seal it behind her. He could no longer see her, but was attentive to the sound of her ragged breathing. His gaze strayed to screen four and the image of a stretch of corridor, seen from the camera in the robot’s eye. It was moving as rapidly as it could in the direction of the air lock but had to cease rolling from time to time in order to shift recent debris from its path, rocks that had spilled from cracks in the wall made by the planet’s occasional shudders.
    Penelope was out and moving, albeit with frequent rests, during which she leaned one arm against a corridor wall. Ambassador watched from a camera some distance away as she walked eastward.
    “Where are you going,