“But you're not after tumors,” said Charlie Tate. The young man sounded like he was talking to himself.

“No,” agreed Kate. “But I've used the same cloning and retrovirus injection technique to isolate the regulatory genes which code for antigenspecific cellular and humoral responses. “

“SCID,” Ken Mauberly said very softly. “The whole range of congenital immunodeficiency diseases.”

“Yes'“ said Kate, irritated that her voice threatened to betray her by showing emotion. She cleared her throat. “Using the DNXstyle genetically engineered human hemoglobin as a carrier template . . . taken from pigs, remember, not human beings . . I have been successful in cloning and attaching normal ADA genes to deal with the adenosine deaminase deficiency, as well as the necessary human DNA to deal with the other three types of Severe Combined Deficiency. The DNX blood substitute is an excellent carrier. As well as providing clean, welloxygenated blood which does not have to be matched for the subject, the virally introduced DNA should cure all SCID symptoms.”

There was a long moment of almost absolute silence.

Finally, Bob Underhill said, “Kate, that would allow the Jvirus to continue rebuilding the child's immune system . . . without ever needing actual human blood again. Question . . . where did you get the DNA to clone for the ADA, Blymphocyte, and other immunoreconstructive genes?”

She blinked. “My own blood,” she said, her throat closing on her. She doused the projector lamp and took a minute to recover her composure before turning the lights back on. Some people in the room were rubbing their eyes as if the light hurt.

“Ken,” Kate said, her voice steady again, “when can we begin human trials on Joshua?”

Mauberly tapped his pen. “We can begin applying to the FDA for permission almost immediately, Kate. But because of the DNX patent and the complicated nature of the process; my guess would be at least a year . . . perhaps longer. “

Kate nodded and sat down. She would not tell them that the evening before, in the most flagrant violation of professional ethics she had ever imagined, she had injected her adopted son with the modified DNX hemoglobin. Joshua had slept well and been healthy and happy in the morning.

Mauberly took the floor. “We're all excited by these developments,” he said. “I'll notify CDC Atlanta immediately, and we'll begin to discuss possible involvement by the World Health Organization and other agencies.”

Kate could imagine the scramble of researchers through Romania and Eastern Europe, hunting for other Jvirus individuals.

“Doctor Chandra,” said Mauberly, “would you like to brief us at this time on the results of the Jvirus research on our hunt for an HIV cure?”

“No,” said Chandra.

Mauberly nodded and cleared his throat. “All right,” he said, “but soon, perhaps?”

“Soon,” agreed Chandra.

Ken Mauberly tucked his pen back in his shirt pocket and clapped his hands together. “Well, all right then. I imagine everyone wants to get back to work. I only want to say“

The room emptied of researchers before he could finish.

Tom came into her office at about six P.m. For a second Kate could not believe it was Tomhe never had come up to her CDC officeand then her heart began to pound wildly. “Joshua?” she said. “What's wrong?”

Her exhusband raised an eyebrow. “Nothing's wrong. Relax. I just came from there . . . Josh and Julie are playing in the mud near the patio. They're both fine.”

Kate exited the program she had been working on. “Then what?”

“I thought it was a good night to take you to dinner,” he said.

Kate took her reading glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “Thanks, Tom. I really appreciate the offer. But I've got another couple of hours of work to do before“

“I have reservations at Sebanton's,” he said softly, still holding the door open.

Kate turned the computer off, hung her white coat on the rack near the door, and pulled on the blazer she had worn for the presentation that morning. “I'll have to go home,” she said. “Wash up. Feed Joshua.”

“Joshua's been fed. Julie loves the idea of putting the kiddo to bed tonight. Leave your Cherokee in the parking lot, I'll give you a ride to work in the morning. Now, use your executive lav,” he said. “Reservations are for six-thirty.”

Boulder, Colorado, was a town with too many restaurants, most of them indifferent, a few very good, and one or two excellent. Sebanton's was none of the above because it was not in Boulder. The French restaurant was on the main street of Longmont, an unassuming cow town twelve miles down the Diagonal Highway. Even finding the little restaurant was a chore since it was tucked away between ugly storefronts that had once been a small town's drugstore or department store or hardware store, and were now flea markets and taxidermy shops. But Sebanton's, while hard to find and not aesthetically pleasing from the outside, was simply the finest French restaurant in Colorado . . . possibly in the Rocky Mountain region. Kate did not consider herself a gourmet, but she had never turned down an invitation to Sebanton's.

Two hours later the view out the restaurant window was softened by darkness, and the small interior was illuminated only by candlelight. Kate returned to the table and smiled at the coffee and cheesecake that had materialized while she was on the phone.

“Julie and Josh OK?” asked Tom.

“Both fine,” said Kate. “She put Josh down about eight. She says he had a great day creeping around the patio and that he seems to feel fine.” She leaned forward and said, “All right, Tommy. What's the occasion?”

He sat back and lifted his coffee cup with both hands. “Does there have to be an occasion?”

“No,” said Kate, “but I can tell that there is. Your face always gets a little extra red when you're building up to something. Tonight you could guide Santa's sleigh.”

Tom set his coffee down, coughed, folded his hands, unfolded them, and leaned back to cross his arms. “Well, there is something. I mean . . . I've been thinking about you up there on the hill by yourself . . . nobody but Julie around, and she'll be leaving in December.”

Kate softly bit her lip. “It's all right, Tom. I'll find someone. Besides, things are going to slow down in the lab so I'll have more time to spend with“

Tom shook his head and leaned closer. “No, I don't mean that, Kat. Bad start.. What I mean is . . . how would you feel about me moving back in for a while? Not permanently, but just for a few weeks or months. Just to see if it feels right . . . .” He stopped. His face was redder than the Victorian wallpaper in the restaurant.

Kate took a deep breath. She knew that she and Tom were not destined for a new beginning. She loved him . . . she had always loved him in one way or another . . . but she was also certain that their marriage had been wrong, out of synch, a union that had done little except mess up a wonderful friendship. She was certain of that.

Or am I? thought Kate. He's changed. He's different around Joshua. Hell, I've changed. She looked down at her coffee, watching the cream in it swirl and feeling a similar swirl of emotions.

“Hey,” said Tom, “you don't have to answer now. It's, probably a dumb idea. I wasn't talking about reconciliation, just about . . .” He faltered.

Kate put her hand on his, noticing how small and white hers seemed next to his tanned and massive paw. “Tom,” she said, “I don't think it's a good idea . . . but I'm not sure anymore. I'm just not sure.”

He grinned at herthat boyish, unselfconscious grin that had made her dizzy the first time they, met. “Look, Kat,” he said, “let's just table it for a while. Or better yet, let's talk about it over a drink. Do you still have that brandy that the Harrisons sent from England last Christmas?”

She nodded. “But it's a workday tomorrow . . .”