In the workroom, the man had not been idle. The disassembled pieces of the physical unit lay on the workbench, the man wearing the apron, a shielded spanner in one gloved hand.

He glanced to the data-box, where the whole of his actions were recorded, and at the images of the gifted danger, then directly at him.

"For your service to my ship, I thank you," he said. "What is your name?"

He paused, counting, mindful of the child's counsel. "I remember that I had a name," he said carefully. "I no longer recall what it was."

Golden brows lifted. "Age or error?"

"Design. I was decommissioned. It is my belief that I was to be destroyed. Erased."

"You are sentient." It was not a question, but he answered as if it were.

"Yes."

The man sighed and closed his eyes. "The child," he said, "is uncanny." His eyes opened. "Well.

"There will be tests, and conversations. Analysis. If it transpires that you are, after all a threat to Val Con's life, or to this ship, or any other, I will do as you asked me, and see you destroyed—cleanly and quickly."

That was just, though he still did not wish to die.

"And if I am found to be no danger to you or those who fall under your protection?" he asked.

The man smiled.

"Why, then, we shall see.”

* * *

Thus it transpired that fiction assisted him, after all. For, after he had spoken at length with Er Thom yos'Galan, and with Scout Commander Ivdra sen'Lora, the first to ascertain the temper of his soul; the second to gain a certification of sentience, he agreed to hire himself as the butler at Trealla Fantrol, the house of yos'Galan on the planet Liad.

He studied—manuals, the records of one Ban Del pak'Ora, lists of alliances—and the works of a long-ago Terran.

In time, he signed a contract, and was presented, amidst much merriment to the mother of Val Con and Shan, the lifemate of Er Thom, who firstly, as Master Val Con had predicted, asked him his name.