—Earlier—
The ship hovered, invisible, over what had once been Hatanpää City Hospital, in what had once been Tampere, in what had once been Finland.
The ship hovered, anguished, knowing that it could not help—
Or rather, knowing that there were ways it could help, but that Tobias did not want them, would not accept them, was opposed to them for reasons it did not fully comprehend.
It made no sense. He was clearly in pain, standing there, staring at the holographic recreation of the smoking wreckage below. Was clearly suffering, as a result of that pain.
And yet, he would not allow the ship to take the pain away. Would not even allow the ship to ease it—even just a little.
And so the chemical reservoirs lay untapped, and the muscles in Tobias's face continued to hold themselves in shapes that meant fear and worry and sadness and desperation, and both of them were unhappy together.
It could be different, the ship thought.
Not in words. It was better with words than it had been, after all its recent practice, but it still treated them like puppets—something to don temporarily, something to communicate through.
It was more of a raw awareness, an immediate perception of the difference between what-was and what-could-be. Like two near-identical images, superimposed—the ship could see the better world—could not stop itself from seeing it—was acutely and painfully aware of how close it was, how readily achievable. The possibility filled the ship's experience, consumed its spare attention, fueling an endless, futile loop.
We could—
No.
What if we—
No.
Perhaps—
No.
What about—
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
Tobias did not want any of it.
The ship knew this, but it did not understand. It was just a brute fact, taken on faith. An arbitrary degree, inconsistent with everything else it knew, in conflict with every sane and sensible policy.
And so, while the ship was able to hold itself back from action, it was not able to shake itself loose of the need to act.
How about—
"Enough," Tobias whispered, and immediately the ship began analyzing the utterance, weighing the likelihood that it had been meant as a command—
"Ship," Tobias continued, in a different tone. A louder tone, a familiar tone, one which the ship was sure meant—
"Give me the globe."
The ship complied, happy to be useful for something, unpleasantly aware that its happiness was not complete.
"Here," Tobias said, stretching out a finger. "Take us up, out of the atmosphere, then back down, to here. As fast as you can without breaking cloak."
"No problem!" the ship replied, and for a brief moment it felt a flicker of something like hope—
But Tobias's face did not shift. He simply turned back to the projection of the burnt and smoking ruin below, staring at the spot where the hospital had been—continuing to stare as the ship rose and the scale shifted, as the details blurred together until the entire city was scarcely more than a smudge in the darkness.
Why don't we just—