"Medicalbot," she says, holding it out. "Battlefield monitoring." She touches a sensor on its back and its carapace opens, showing circuitry and tiny vials of chemicals, ready to be mixed and dispensed.

"Needs more syntheroin," she says, and holds it out to Howard with a lopsided smile that looks even worse these days. She'd been in trouble before, for suggesting that people going into battle should be allowed to bring a suicide dose with them.