SKAGRA ADJUSTED THE collar of the shirt he had taken from the dead human. ‘My appearance?’
‘It is perfectly correct in every detail, my lord,’ the voice assured him. ‘I have cross-referenced your new vestments with local video signals. You will be able to pass for an ordinary human with no difficulty.’
Skagra nodded. ‘Excellent.’
‘And may I say, my lord,’ added the voice, ‘your magnificence is barely dimmed by such dowdy garb.’
Skagra found this flattery unnecessary and rather irksome. He had programmed his Ship to obey his orders unquestioningly. He had refined its personality matrix to worship and honour him, as this was obviously the most efficient relationship for getting things done in life. Unfortunately the Ship sometimes went too far, making irrelevant observations – how amazing you are, my lord or only you could be so wonderful, my lord. These observations were true enough, of course, but they were not strictly necessary. They were so obvious they were not worth vocalising.
‘I am going to retrieve the book,’ he said, picking up the carpet bag containing the sphere and turning to go. ‘I shall return immediately.’
‘Of course you will, my lord,’ said the Ship.
Skagra left the Ship and slipped into the stolen ground-transporter.
He turned the keys in the ignition and the car roared off back into Cambridge.