“You don’t deserve to die like this,” Wilson said. “As an afterthought. As a brain in a box. As less than fully yourself.”

You said yourself this box is an impressive piece of technology. It looks like whoever did this took some effort to make sure it couldn’t be taken. I don’t want to insult you, but given that you’ve had only a very little amount of time with this box, do you really think you’re going to find some way to outwit it and save me?

“I’m good at what I do,” Wilson said.

If you were that good, you wouldn’t be here. No offense.

“I’d like to try,” Wilson said.

I would like you to try, if it didn’t mean you possibly dying. One of us dying seems inevitable at this point. Both of us dying seems avoidable.

“You asked us to help you,” Wilson reminded Rayth Ablant.

You did. You tried. And even right now, if you wanted to keep trying, it’s clear I couldn’t stop you. But when I asked you to help, you helped. Now I am asking you to stop.

“All right,” Wilson said, after a moment.

Thank you.

“What else can I do for you?” Wilson asked. “Do you have friends or family that you want us to contact? Do you have messages for anyone I can send for you?”

I have no real family. Most of my friends were on the Urse Damay. Most of the people I know are already gone. I have no friends left.

“That’s not entirely true,” Wilson said.

Are you volunteering yourself?

“I’d be happy if you considered me your friend,” Wilson said.

I did try to kill you.

“That was before you knew me,” Wilson repeated. “And now that you do, you’ve made it clear you won’t let me die if you can help it. I think that makes up for your earlier indiscretions.”

If you are my friend, then I have a request.

“Name it,” Wilson said.

You are a soldier. You’ve killed before.

“It’s not a point of pride,” Wilson said. “But yes.”

I’m going to die because people who don’t care about me have used me and then thrown me away. I’d prefer to leave on my own terms.

“You want me to help you,” Wilson said.

If you can. I’m not asking you to do it yourself. If this box is as sensitive as you say it is, if I die, the bomb could go off. I don’t want you anywhere near when it does. But I think you could find another way.

“I imagine I could,” Wilson said. “Or at the very least I could try.”

For your trouble, let me offer you this.

There was a data ping on Wilson’s BrainPal: an encrypted file, in a format he wasn’t familiar with.