“It’s not a palace,” he said as Nicole glanced around, “but I suspect it’s a damn sight better than that prison of yours.”

The room contained a bed, a chair, two shelves full of food, another shelf with electronic book discs, a few clothes hanging in an open closet, basic toiletries, a large drum of water that must have barely fit through the passageway, and a deep, square latrine in the far corner.

“Did you do all this yourself?’ Nicole asked.

“Yep,” Max replied. “At night… during the last several weeks. I didn’t dare ask anybody to help.”

Nicole was touched. “How can I ever thank you?” she said.

“Don’t get caught.” Max grinned. “I don’t want to die any more than you do… Oh, by the way,” he added, handing Nicole an electronic reader into which she could place the book discs, “I hope the reading material is all right. Manuals on raising pigs and chickens are not the same as your father’s novels, but I didn’t want to attract too much attention by going to the bookstore.”

Nicole crossed the room and kissed him on the cheek. “Max,” she said lightly, “you are such a dear friend. I can’t imagine how you—”

“It’s dawn outside now,” Joan of Arc interrupted from Nicole’s pocket. “According to our timeline, we are behind schedule. Mr. Puckett, we must inspect our egress route before you leave us.”

“Shit,” said Max. “Here I go again, taking orders from a robot no longer than a cigarette.” He lifted Joan and Eleanor out of Nicole’s pockets and placed them on the top shelf behind a can of peas. “Do you see that little door?” he said. “There’s a pipe on the other side. It comes out just beyond the pig trough… Why don’t you check it out?”