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Suddenly she had an idea, she could hook the purse straps. She started pulling off her sweater and silky undershirt. She needed her bra. The hooks on the back should work. The fear of Martin returning to find her and what the squid had in store with the next prompt combined to generate a new level of frantic. Her heart was pounding. She bent one of her bra strap hooks, wincing at the pain in her fingers, then snagged the purse strap on her second try. She laid her sweater, shirt and bra across her lap in front and set the purse on top while she braced against the neck: success. The remote said, ‘Press 1 to confirm seated riding position. Once confirmed, you must remain seated for entire program.’ It must be that the sensors in the squid detected her unusual position, but what did it have in store now? She selected ‘1’ in fear that it might try to force her to stand up or even punish her otherwise. The display changed to ‘Fox Hunt.’ The door behind her opened with a clunk. She jumped. And it was clear, especially from the shared impressions my mind had gleaned from him, that our talk had taken a lot out of him.For my part I had a lot to think about. Part of me was already questioning the wisdom of what I'd suggested to him, and was clamoring for me to break my just-given vow and turn him in. But I shoved that part quickly under the rug, and mentally stomped on it a couple of times for good measure. In the first place I'd given him my word; in the second I kind of shared his species' view of the "warlike" nature of ours, and couldn't imagine anything even approximating a reasonable reception that he'd receive if I did report him.I had Scarpia's example before me if I was in any doubt. He questions Cavaradossi, the tenor, briefly about information that he, Scarpia, wants, and when Cavaradossi won't answer immediately puts him to horrific torture. Sure, that was just grand opera, but it was verismo opera—meant to parallel the truth—and the scenario was pretty readily.
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