Docchi ignored the weapon. "What was the cause, a high velocity meteor strike?"
The pilot grunted. "I'd have heard if it was."
"And you didn't hear a thing?"
"Nothing." The pilot peered intently at Docchi, a barely visible silhouette. "Well, I see you're getting smart these days. You should do it all the time. Wear your arms. You look better that way even if you can't use them. You look hundred per cent better, almost...." His voice faded.
"Almost human?" asked Docchi kindly. "Nothing like, say a pair of legs and a very good if slightly used spinal column with a lightning bug face stuck on top? You didn't have this in mind?"
"I didn't say it. I'm used to you. I can't help it if you're overly sensitive. I don't suppose it's your fault." His voice got higher. "Anyway I told you to get going. You don't belong in here."
"But I don't want to go," said Docchi. "I'm not afraid of the dark. Are you? I'm looking for some corner to brighten. Can I let a little light in your life?"
"I'm supposed to report psycho talk, Docchi, and damned if I won't. Personally I always suspected you. Get out of here before I take your fake hand and drag you out."
"Now you've hurt my feelings," said Docchi reproachfully, stepping nimbly away.
"Don't say you didn't try to make me mad," growled the pilot, lunging after him. What he took hold of wasn't an imitation hand, delicately molded and colored to duplicate skin. The hand he touched was real and the muscles in it were more than a match for his own. It was surprise, at first, that caused him to scream.