"Thank you, I'd appreciate it," the polite reply— almost demure. Even Motoko can see when social backpedaling was in order, even if she was only engaging in it out of perverse desire to see Sheeana squirm.

Following the woman across the burning sand she eased her step, moving more surely at software and experience adapted her step to remove the awkwardness that had been wrought. Motoko cursed her lack of external memory, but kept her expression serene. What a strange place.