"Get that plane back before dawn," ordered Yuan, "then go to ground for a few weeks."

The Sime pilot answered, "We've got our instructions, Sosectu." And the Gen copilot added a grin of adoration to the Sime's nageric respect for Yuan.

Yuan waved them along. "On with it, then!" Beyond the massive door, Laneff found clean, white-tiled corridors leading in several directions from a wide foyer. Fresh, machine-scrubbed air, brilliant selyn-powered lighting, computerized offices, and a staff of crisp, alert young Simes and Gens behaving as if they worked for one of the far-flung House of Keon corporations confirmed Laneff’s expectations.

Everywhere they passed, Yuan was hailed as Sosectu, deferred to, consulted, and respected, just as if he were Sectuib of this secret Householding. Rior had coined the word, Sosectu, to mean a Gen Head of Householding, and here it had become a reality once again, the past brought alive.

Laneff was given an ID tag keyed so she wouldn't set off alarms wherever she walked, a passkey chip to her new lab, sleeping quarters, and other low-security areas, just as if she were employed by any big research corporation. Then Yuan guided her through a maze of corridors into a sleek new section. At the very end of the newest hallway, only half lined with white ceramic tile and mosaic patterns, they came to a door painted with the lighthouse symbol of Rior. Yuan commanded, "Use your key." She slid the disk into its slot, and the door purred open. Instantly, a

Gen's nager blushed the ambient rose-pink. "You said this was an empty lab!"

He smiled. "Your assistant, Jarmi ambrov Rior!"

The Gen woman bent over a packing case in the midst of the empty floor straightened and turned, her nager flooded with guilelessness. But Laneff went cold inside. Now she knew how Yuan meant to keep tabs on her work and make sure she didn't sneak her results out to Mairis. A spy.

"Jarmi, this is Laneff Farris ambrov Sat'htine. I'm hoping you two will hit it off. She has the draw speed to match you and the renSime capacity you've been hoping for."

Laneff turned her back on the Gen, confronting Yuan. "I don't want an assistant. I work alone."

Yuan circled Laneff. "Jarmi volunteered to help you set this place up." He gestured to the bare tile floor littered with debris from construction. Plumbing lines and power cables plumed up out of the tiles. Along the walls, modern vent chambers with manufacturers' labels still stuck to the glass windows gaped darkly at them. "She's the closest to a neurochemist I have here. This was to be her lab."

"Sosectu," complained Jarmi, "I'd much rather see this lab and budget going on Laneff’s project than on the microwave patterns on the skin of mice and rats!"

Yuan's movement brought Laneff to face Jarmi again. The Gen woman was not much taller than Laneff, but plump as only a Gen could be. She had a fringe of dark hair, and a short nose that supported black wire glasses frames.

"You mean," asked Laneff, "you 're developing that new diagnostic microwave detector? The one that was abandoned by Paidridge Labs?"

"Of course," replied Jarmi. "Our House is mostly Gen. We have Gen healers. Channels shouldn't have to be overtrained just so we can use them as diagnosticians! That's no way to treat a vulnerable minority like channels."

Laneff had never before heard channels referred to as a vulnerable minority. To most people, they were powerful authority figures. Bemused, she said, "It sounds like a worthwhile project. Sat'htine was toying with the idea of funding it last year."

"But your project is so much more worthwhile!" Jarmi was looking up at Laneff, squatting next to the packing box, her pale-green lab coat spread on the dirty floor around her. Her nager, nearly blanked out by Yuan's, held a wistful enchantment laced with sparks of excitement. But then it dimmed, and with sadness she added, "But if you don't want help ..."

Laneff felt the objections caught in the back of Yuan's throat, nearly choking him. But he kept silent as Jarmi finished repacking the instrument and closed the box. "There, now my things are out of your way. You can start requisitioning." She rose. "I'll send someone for that."

"Wait!" called Laneff, stopping her halfway to the door. "You know, it won't be long until you can have this lab back. I probably won't survive the year." She kept talking over the Gens' combined objections. "If my work is ever to be completed, somebody has to work with me who can carry on after I die. Yuan says you're the best he's got; why should I pick anybody else?" A thousand years from now, would it matter if the Neo-Distect or the Tecton had the first method of distinguishing Sime from Gen before birth?

Jarmi smiled tentatively. "I'll do my best. . . ."

And she did, exceeding all Laneff’s expectations because Jarmi really wanted to work on this project. Within three days, they had the bare lab furnished with wet benches, cabinetry, standard glassware, reagents, and computer terminals. Work crews labored around the clock until every drain, power outlet, fan, and water tap worked perfectly.

On the fourth morning, when Laneff came back from breakfast, she found Jarmi had set up two partitioned office areas. One was surrounded by light-orange fabric-covered partitions, not quite the Sat'htine hue. The other partitions were the sickly green color Jarmi seemed to prefer.

"This will be your desk," said Jarmi in greeting. "I bribed a friend of mine to give up his new terminal so you can have it. We're short this month, with all this expanding."

"I wish I knew where you get the money for all this!"

"Legally," assured Jarmi. "But by the time you're cleared to learn all the details, you won't have time. See," she proffered a stack of shiny magazines, "your first mail."

"But—" She'd never gotten a subscription started in under two months.

"You have to know who to ask," explained Jarmi brightly.

The Gen's happiness was too soothing to Laneff’s nerves for her to want to tarnish it with suspicious questions. She sat down at the desk; the chair wasn't new and creaked in a friendly way. "May I clip these magazines for file?"

"Certainly. They're yours."

And Laneff dug in, catching up on all she'd missed since Digen had died. Specifically, she searched for articles on his death. The autopsy results would surely be published, and so would her treatment notes, and those of Shanlun and Digen's other physicians.

Around noon, Jarmi came back with two Simes pushing a wheeled platform stacked with electrical equipment. While they unloaded, Jarmi came to the office. "Here! Top-priority requisition forms for the NMR machine and the big mass spectrometer!" She thumbed the stack onto the desk. "Key to the balance room." The chip went on top of the stack. "We're set. Now, what do I do next?"

Laneff had found the articles she wanted, but only part of the information was there. "Have you read any of my papers?"

"Sure, not that I understand much of it. It seems to me it's a long, long way from identifying receptor sites on nerve sheaths to distinguishing Sime from Gen in utero!"

"Well, I haven't been able to publish my synthesis because nobody else has ever been able to duplicate it. Without that, there's no hope of making this commercial!"

Laneff took a sheet of paper and began to lecture. "I call this compound K/A because it's the eleventh compound I tried when looking for a reaction distinctly different between Sime and Gen placental material. Now, please never forget that this has not been field-tested. My evidence is entirely statistical. I tested five hundred specimens taken from Sime women with Sime husbands—and I assumed that two thirds of those placentas had to be from Sime children, while about one third would be from Gen children."

"Reasonable enough."