Anderson asked, "Women don't like you, do they, Nick?"
Almost inaudibly, Paresi said, "Better cut it out, skipper."
Anderson said, "Closest thing to being a mother—is that it?"
Paresi went white.
The Captain closed his eyes, frowned, and at last said, "Or maybe you just want to play God."
"I'm going to make it tough for you," said Paresi between his teeth. "There are several ways you can break, just as there are several ways to break a log—explode it, crush it, saw it, burn it.... One of the ways is to fight me until you win. Me, because there's no one else left to fight you. So—I won't fight with you. And you're too rational to attack me unless I do. That is the thing that will make it tough. If you must break, it'll have to be some other way."
"Is that what I'm doing?" the Captain asked with sudden mildness. "I didn't know that. I thought I was trying to get your own case history out of you, that's all. What are you staring at?"
"Nothing."
There was nothing. Where there had been forward viewports, there was nothing. Where there had been controls, the communication station, the forward acceleration panels and storage lockers; the charts and computers and radar gear—there was nothing. Blackness; featureless, silent, impenetrable. They sat on one couch by one wall, to which was fixed one table. Around them was empty floor and a blackness. The chess-player faced into it, and perhaps he was partly within it; it was difficult to see.
The Captain and the medical officer stared at one another. There seemed to be nothing to say.