His eyes hurt. Daed put his arm around his shoulder and helped him to walk. It was like he’d been ill: everything was a little bit unreal, a little bit painful. He didn’t want to think about the cell, and the chair, and the stuff on his skin that paralysed him; but that was OK, because he couldn’t think straight anyway. Daed said, ‘Come on, then. Walk, that’s right. Good boy.’ Rick opened his mouth and said, I’m not a kid. He said, Thank you, you rescued me, I couldn’t bear it. He said, Wait, but they said, the Security guys, they said it was you, your orders . . . But none of it came out. Just his breath, smelling foul. The corridors went on for so long he started to be afraid that it was just another part of his punishment; or that it was a nightmare, and he hadn’t woken up. He looked at the doors as they went past and thought: If every room has someone in it . . . Daed said, ‘OK, nearly there.’ There was a thick metal gate, a comms panel that took longer than normal to read Daed’s hand, and then they were through.
