A small amount of relief filtered through him as his answer was approved. Pilot's eyes never gave it away. The cold, hard stare at the ceiling tiles continued without wavering. He'd done this for four years; he'd had plenty of time to learn the ropes. Goode seemed fond of playing these games with him, the dangerous games. The ones that, if lost, would get him punished. 

A new question was asked. 

"I do not know," Pilot said, voice as empty and cold as ever. This was the answer he'd used before, and it seemed to be the right one. He didn't know because he remembered nothing of his time before here. He didn't know how many years he'd been alive, and he didn't care.