“No—don’t go,” he cried. “Can’t you pity me? You’ve been there yourself.”
I took a faltering step. Then I remembered how I had cried out to him, how I had begged him not to spurn me. I remembered my own miserable loneliness.
I took another step away from him.
“Coward!” he shrieked after me. “Talk to me! I dare you! Talk to me, coward!”
It was too much. I was touched. Sudden tears stung my eyes, and I turned to him, stretched out a hand to his. I caught his thin wrist. The contact seemed to electrify him. A moment later, I held him in my arms, trying to draw some of the misery from his frame to mine.
The security robots closed in, surrounding us. He was hurled to one side, I was taken into custody. They will try me again—not for the crime of coldness, this time, but for a crime of warmth. Perhaps they will find extenuating circumstances and release me; perhaps not.
I do not care. If they condemn me, this time I will wear my invisibility like a shield of glory.