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Princess?”
    “Library,” she wheezed.
    “But you can see a view of the library from the screens in your rooms. A robot can fetch whatever you want.”
    “I don’t know . . . what I want . . . need to look around.”
    “But it’s nearly a kilometer away; you are in no condition.” It was surprising how high a pitch his voice reached when he was under strain. This screech was rather undiplomatic in its effect, and Ambassador fought to steady himself.
    This was an extremely anxious moment. The effort involved in the journey was clearly too great for Penelope, given the frail condition of her human body. Ambassador had another concern now—to add to the many involving mechanical accidents, suit failure, and so forth—which was that perhaps her body might wear out in some way. Was it possible for the human heart or brain to stop functioning in times of stress? Doctor would know, but contacting him would alert Lord Scanthax, and while a full report of these events would have to be given in due course, for some reason Ambassador wanted to defer that unpleasant moment, at least until Penelope was safely back in her room. Right now, though, she turned a corner and because the nearest camera was defective, he could not see her progress. The robot was moving well but was still some way from the library.
    “Penelope, can you provide me with an explanation for your actions?”
    “Later . . . hard to talk . . . just now.” She was indeed panting heavily.
    It was a curious feature of the human body that the same organs required to obtain oxygen from the air pumped the exhalations through their vocal cords to produce sound. In a way it was rather elegant, but the disadvantage of the design was evident now. If her voice were synthesized and the synthesizer were on its own circuit, she would be able to converse in steady and regular tones instead of these gasps.
    “Damn!”
    “What’s the matter?”
    “Some spillage.”
    Had she stopped? Her breathing was settling down to a more healthy rhythm.
    “There are rocks here, and the roof doesn’t look too secure.”
    “Please wait, Penelope.” Immediately, her words had summoned up an image of her poor human body broken underneath great stones. It was a terrible image, one of personal failure and also one of reckless waste, after fifteen years of enormous investment. “I have a robot on its way, coming to assist you. It will be there in approximately twelve minutes.”
    “I’m fine. There’s enough of a gap.”
    “Oh please be careful. Don’t tear the suit.”
    Listening intently to the audio feed, Ambassador became even more distressed. Each breath of the human was labored and hard-drawn, now and then accompanied by rustling sounds and grunts. One snag on a sharp rock and her suit would leak heat and oxygen. Given how slow she was moving, it would almost be impossible for her to make it back to the air lock. No matter how often Ambassador glanced at screen four, the robot was not going to be able to reach Penelope in the next few minutes.
    “Go me,” she gasped.
    “But why? Why can’t a robot serve you? We can spare you all this.”
    “I . . . don’t . . . trust . . . you.”
    Ambassador did not respond. Irresponsible and reckless as Penelope’s actions were, it was true that certain data had been encrypted and hidden from the human, as it was deemed likely to lower her morale to zero. Not that she would find the truth in the old library, but her intuition that the stories she had been told from the age of nine were not entirely free from bias was correct. It was a delicate matter, and not even he had access to all the records concerned. Because Lord Scanthax had constructed no other manifestations at the time, his was the only living memory of those early days when the human baby had been discovered. But whatever the validity of her suspicions, Penelope’s current behavior was quite inexcusable.
    “Let us negotiate like civilized beings. Do not risk destroying