No!

Dom thought it again. He could sense the tank man's panic. Dom started to think questions. Darkness fell swiftly, and was replaced by the green light and no desire to ask questions at all. A new voice said:

Think coherently. You must breathe. We have some more building to do. Think of something, say it in your mind, now.

Unbidden, the Green Paternoster floated up through Dom's consciousness, the last words he would say before climbing into his cot as a child, after ending the night prayer with 'God bless the household robots.'

He galloped through it. It was senseless gibberish now, the centuries had twisted the words, but it still had power.

'Green Paternoster, Sadhim was my foster, he saved me under the poisoned tree, He was made of flesh and blood to send me my right food, mine right food and air, too ...'

Good.

'... that I might be a FOE, and stop at two, To read in that sweet book which the great gods shoop...'

Good.

Dom plunged on recklessly, tasting the words: '... open, open, save me, Dead, Dead Chel Sea, Halve the population roster and say the Green prayer PATER NOSTER !'

In the silence the tank man said: 'Dom, you now have vocal chords. You are breathing. You have built yourself a mouth. There is something you must want to do.'

Dom screamed.

He examined himself in the full-length mirror. Everything was there, and in full working order. The tank, working from his body memory, had duplicated nails, teeth, DNA patterns and even healed the scar on his chest. Dom rubbed the place bitterly, remembering the flight in the marsh.