"That depends on which poll you read," said Azevedo.

Laneff hadn't read any papers, and the building had no radio or television. "Yuan, what about Shanlun?"

"The Diet—I believe it was the Diet—hit us just before dawn, when he was about to leave. Everything went up in fire and smoke– one of my Simes killed, and I was too slow to stop one of our newest recruits from shooting him down. I pulled a burning timber off Shanlun, and we dragged each other away from the building. I'm not sure when I got shot. Somewhere, I passed out. When I woke up, I was alone. Some branches had been piled over me, and I was half buried in earth—though I expect my nager was plain enough to zlin. I hurt! All but three of my Simes were dead, and the others burned or suffocated in the basement of the farmhouse we were using. We were out-Territory, you understand; I shouldn't have had Simes there, but we really had no place else to go. Most of my Gens were dead, too. We took a lot of those shendi-fleckin' Diet lorshes with us, but we're effectively dead now. That was all the rest of my leadership! I should have died with them!"

Denial rung in Azevedo's nager, but he said nothing until Yuan looked up at him. "Shanlun wasn't among your dead?"

"Not that I could identify. He's the crazy hero type. He might have gone back into that building. Burned like that, there's no way we could have identified his body. He wasn't even wearing his House-holding jewelry!"

"I don't believe he's dead," said Azevedo thoughtfully.

"We have to face facts," said Laneff, gritting her teeth. "He's probably dead—or, worse, prisoner of the Diet!"

"I didn't think Shanlun would have just left me like that. So when I

couldn't find him, I hiked on down the road, across the border. Found some picnickers and stole the cloak—House of Gabriel, I think. Got to return it . . ." He trailed off into sleep.

One of the Gens took the glass from his hand, and silently they all left the room. "I imagine," said Azevedo out in the hallway, "Shanlun told Yuan how to find us here without realizing how badly Yuan was wounded, and then went on with his mission."

He's in need and wants Shanlun. It's wishful thinking. But everything in her cried out for it to be true. She couldn't bear to lose Shanlun after everything else. Yet another side of her, a self that seemed a stranger, said, It's better this way. Now, when you die, he won't suffer this. And the baby would live on after both of them.

Later, while Jarmi was boiling some noodles in the kitchen of their apartment and Laneff was snapping some raw green beans into the salad, Laneff confessed her split feelings.

"I've felt a little like that myself," replied Jarmi. "Too many shocks in too short a time—and now this. I mean, even Azevedo has lost touch with reality! He thinks Shanlun survived! We've seen how the Diet works."

At Laneff’s stricken expression, Jarmi left off stirring the boiling noodles and came across to lean on the counter beside Laneff. "I know you loved him. I know you felt something for Yuan, too. These things tear a woman apart!"

The Gen, too, had lost dear ones brutally, and her sympathy came from a deep personal knowledge. She'd lost weight, lately, from poor appetite as well as overwork, and maybe silent grieving as well. Laneff had expended selyn recklessly in augmentation that afternoon when Yuan arrived. The shrieking intil was gone, but the need ached to the bone, and she was ready to take Jarmi in transfer right then and there—but the noodles boiled over. The Gen jumped to rescue the pot.

Laneff held her breath, half wishing the Gen would burn herself and send that indescribable thrill through the air to trigger her off into a thoughtless hunting-mode attack. What am I thinking? She forced herself to breathe, to take her fist down from her mouth. "Jarmi, don't be surprised if I just suddenly—"

The Gen turned from the steam as she drained the noodles. "What? I thought you were all right?"

Laneff nodded. "But I was just hoping you'd burn yourself!" Disgusted, Laneff buried her face in her hands.

Jarmi came and pried her fingers loose, her steam-reddened hands soothing Laneff’s tremors away. "It's all right. I understand now. Oh, Laneff, I didn't realize! When those terrorists set you up, that man had been deliberately hurt. No wonder! Of course, now I understand it all, Laneff!"

Laneff noticed a nageric shift in the room. Azevedo and Desha were at the door. Pulling herself together, she went to let them in, and the four of them shared a dinner from across the ocean, completely free of all the pungent herbs and spices favored by the gypsies.

Laneff could barely stay duoconscious long enough to smell the memory-laden fragrances, let alone taste anything. She nibbled a few bits, forcing herself to swallow. If Shan is dead, this baby is all that's left of him. I must eat. She choked down a few more bites and then swallowed her vitamins.

Azevedo likewise was unenthusiastic but doing his best. The two Gens ate ravenously, Jarmi delightfully detailing her sauce recipes for Desha. Afterward, they were cleaning off the table, and the two Gens were in the kitchen washing dishes, when Azevedo leaned over and commented to Laneff, "It's obvious what condition we're in, isn't it?"

She shrugged. "I think it'll pass. It's just intil."

But he zlinned her at intervals for a while, finally saying, "In this channel's opinion, I think you two ought to transfer tonight—before you precipitate it unexpectedly."

"Is that an order?" asked Laneff.

"I don't order that sort of thing. I zlin that you've got yourself set on Jarmi—and that's good. But with intil such as you're displaying, you might go for some other Gen."

"You still think Jarmi's the best choice for me right now?"

"Gen transfer should help stave off disjunction crisis." Then he added, "But if for some personal reason Jarmi is unacceptable to you —I am here, Laneff. Always."

The assurance in his nager helped Laneff relax. The two Gens came to the bar that divided off the kitchenette, and Desha called, "I suspect you're talking about us!"

Azevedo straightened. "Now what else would two Simes in need be talking of?"

Jarmi laughed. "Two overstuffed Gens, of course." But there was strain in the humor all around. Shanlun's absence at this time—when he'd been so sure he'd be back—then Yuan's report—all left a black hole in the nager.

Desha took Azevedo off almost immediately after that, and Jarmi confronted Laneff. "He's right, you know. We ought to do it tonight."

Laneff realized that somewhere in back of her irrational mind she'd treasured the hope that Shanlun would return to give her transfer—as he'd once promised he might, to win her from Yuan. She thrust all that aside and told Jarmi, "Yes. I do want you. You're comfortable—and good for me."

"And I want you. Nobody has ever been like you!"

Jarmi's nager engulfed her, full Gen attention penetrating. It wasn't anything like a trained Donor's attention—but it was Jarmi. It seemed to Laneff that this Gen was the only stable, dependable thing in life. Familiar. Comfortable.

At last she dared to relax, to give in to the lure of sweet Genness. This is the safest way. Azevedo's right, I'm dangerous like this, and Jarmi's my best choice. Besides, tomorrow I'll be able to work for a change!

The sitting room was an alcove off the bedroom, adjacent to the dressing room and shower. It had a huge picture window, facing west —and the blank side of another building. The westering summer sun had turned the overcast to rose and gold, and the light from the window blushed the white-painted wicker furniture to pink. Laneff went to the window, expecting Jarmi to sit on the odd little transfer bench that was upholstered over a wicker frame.