Over breakfast he had told her about his triumph with the crisis engine. She had not really understood the scale of the achievement, but that was understandable. She had realized that he was excited as almost never before, and had done her best to enthuse sufficiently. For Isaac’s part, it had made the difference he had suspected it would, simply communicating the bare bones of the project in the most unscientific way. He felt more grounded, less as if he were living some preposterous dream. He had learnt of potential problems during his explanation, and had come away eager to rectify them.

Isaac and Lin had parted with deep affection, and with a mutual promise not to let so long go by without each other again.

And now Isaac could not get into his workshop.

“Lub! David! What the arse you up to?” he yelled, and shoved at the door again.

As he pushed, the door opened a tiny way and he could see a sliver of the sunlit interior. He could see the edge of whatever was blocking the door.

It was a hand.

Isaac’s heart skittered.

“Oh Jabber!” he heard himself shout as he leant with all his weight on the door. It opened before his mass.

Lublamai was sprawled prone across the doorway. As Isaac knelt by his friend’s head, he heard Sincerity sniffling some way away, between the treads of the construct. She was cowed.

Isaac turned Lublamai over and let out a juddering sigh of relief when he felt that his friend was warm, heard him breathing.

“Wake up, Lub!” he yelled.

Lublamai’s eyes were already open. Isaac started back from that impassive gaze.

“Lub . . . ?” he whispered.

Drool had collected below Lublamai’s face, had blazed trails across his dusty skin. He lay completely limp, utterly motionless. Isaac felt his friend’s neck. The pulse was quite steady. Lublamai was taking in deep breaths, pausing a moment, then releasing. He sounded as if he were sleeping.

But Isaac flinched in horror before that imbecilic vacant glare. He waved his hand before Lublamai’s eyes, eliciting no response. Isaac slapped Lublamai’s face, softly, then hard twice. Isaac realized that he was shouting Lublamai’s name.

Lublamai’s head rocked back and forth like a sack full of stones.

Isaac closed his hand and felt something clammy. Lublamai’s hand was thinly coated in a clear, sticky liquid. He sniffed his hand and recoiled from the faint scent of lemons and rot. It made him feel momentarily light-headed.

Isaac fingered Lublamai’s face and saw that the skin around his mouth and nose was slippery and tacky with the slop, that what he had thought Lublamai’s saliva was mostly that thin slime.

No yells, no slaps, no pleas would make Lublamai wake.