“I haven’t decided.”

“But you are.”

“I’ve killed and skinned a thousand animals. More. Do you think the deaths of these mice will bother me?”

“Yes,” said Father.

“Well, you’re right. And I’m taking them. If I die, they die. If I live, they’ll share my fate.”

“They’re not saying anything about your magnanimous decision,” said Father.

“They weren’t sent on this mission because they were the chattiest of mice,” said Noxon. “And I don’t imagine they’re rejoicing that I’m not going to have you kill them here, but instead I’m going to take them to die with me in oblivion between stars and between millennia.”

“Or they weren’t expecting to die even if you decided not to take them. You forget how much of my programming they understand.”

“Now there’s something it’s easy to forget, since none of us learned anything about your programming,” said Noxon.

“The Odinfolders know a lot,” said Father. “But the mice know more.”

“Do the mice know everything?”

“They know everything that can be known by mice,” said Father.

“What does that mean?”

“That it’s good to keep them guessing.”

“I think I’m going to go now,” said Noxon. “It was good to see you again.”

“Every time you see any of the expendables, you see me,” said Father. “I have all their memories. They have all of mine.”

“But I know that you’re the one who raised me from a pup.”

“You think you know that,” said Father. “How do you know we don’t swap wallfolds every now and then? How do you know it was the same version of me that came back from every trip?”

“That’s right. Shatter my confidence just before I’m really going to need it.”

“It’s my job,” said Father. “Keep him guessing. Never let him feel too smart.”

“You really are good at that part of your job. So I know this will mean nothing to you. And if it does mean something, you won’t tell me anyway. But here it is. I forgive you for lying to me constantly as I was growing up. I thank you for teaching me all the things you taught me, and helping me learn to think the way I think.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“One more thing,” said Noxon.

“Don’t say it,” said Father.

“Why not?”

“Because you know that if I answer, it will be a lie.”

“I don’t care whether it is or not,” said Noxon. “I love you.”

Father sighed. Part of his programming. “I love you too,” he said.

Noxon attached to the earliest possible moment on Ram Odin’s path, and then jumped just a hair, just a titch, just the ­tiniest bit beyond it.