"Something hurting, Sarah?" Professor Isabella asks. "Your period?"

She laughs at my confused expression.

"I forgot, that's a thing of the past. You all get implants now. I remember that when I left the Home they decided I was too old to waste one on. So, let me change my question. Is your stomach hurting?"

I am tempted to nod, but instead I try and explain. "I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, with va.s.sals and serfs at my side."

"That sounds like a nice dream," Professor Isabella says. "Why are you so troubled? Want to go back?"

A sudden shaking seizes me, so violent that I spill my juice on the floor. Abalone leaps up but instead of wiping up the juice, she flings her arms around me.

"It's okay, Sarah. It was just a dream."

I hug her back, wishing I could explain the fear I suddenly felt. Terror of returning to the Inst.i.tute, where surely I had seen Dylan. Fear of learning what I may.

My smile is crooked. "To sleep: perchance to dream; ay there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come?"

I pause and Abalone finishes the lines.

"When we have shuffled off this mortal coil/Must give us pause; there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life," she recites.

"You know Hamlet Hamlet very well," Professor Isabella says conversationally, with a sidelong glance to where I am trying to gather my composure. very well," Professor Isabella says conversationally, with a sidelong glance to where I am trying to gather my composure.

I feel Abalone tense, but she picks up a napkin and begins to mop the floor. Perhaps sensing that I am still shaken, she decides to answer the implied question.

"Yeah, I did it in high school. I was the youngest member of the cast. Did lots of little stand-in roles so I was onstage a lot. Heard the play over and over and knew it better than the leads, I think."

In the pause that follows, I hold my breath, knowing with certainty what Professor Isabella will say, dreading Abalone's response.

"That's quite an achievement-Hamlet at fourteen. Your parents must have been very impressed." at fourteen. Your parents must have been very impressed."

"Twelve," Abalone bursts out. "I was just twelve. If they were pleased, they were sure funny how they showed it. They wanted me to get Ophelia, y'see, and never quite let me forget that a grown-up got it."

"Grown-up?" Professor Isabella lifts an eyebrow. "This was an adult's production? I thought it was your school's."

"School's?" Abalone laughs bitterly. "I never had a school-not for long anyhow. I started doing commercials before I was out of diapers. Except for a year when I was seven, I was never in school more than a semester. The other kids hated me for getting what they figured were vacations.

"Hah! That's how I got good with this." She taps her computer. "I did all of my cla.s.ses on it."

"So your parents kept you educated," Professor Isabella asks carefully, peering over her coffee cup's rim.

Abalone stands up, ignoring that the napkin in her hand is dripping orange juice down her pant leg. For a moment, I think she is not going to answer.

"Educated?"

Again that bitter, barking laugh.

"Oh, I got educated. Mom and Dad read tapes to me when I wasn't even born yet-'prenatal' tutoring, y'see. It got more intense when I was around to work with. They had me talking eight months early, walking six months early, and reading when I was three. The theater and film stuff was just a sideline to pay the rent."

She finally notices the juice and stops to stare at her soaked pant leg.

"So?" Professor Isabella probes.

"So? I did it all. I was going to be the girl genius, darling of the media. Brilliant, talented, and lovely. Funny thing happened, though."

She stops and the look that crosses her face is so ugly that I must force myself not to look away.

"There was this big shot, the type who makes or breaks dreams like my folks had for me. One day I was told that I had an interview with him. Just me. No Mom. No Dad. They dolled me up, took me to this golden gla.s.s tower, escorted me to the right floor, and left me on my own. I wasn't all that scared. When you're-young-one big shot is pretty much the same as the others. Parents are what really matters.

"I walked into that office and a slim, baby-faced man ushered me right into the Presence. I went in, took the chair I was offered, and parroted the proper responses to familiar questions. Mr. Big seemed kind, if sorta gross: fat and over-dressed.

"At one point, he asked me to stand up and read a script for him. I did and while I was, he got up and walked around me. I was used to being looked at, but something about the way he did it, staring and circling closer and closer, gave me the creeps. Then he came up behind me, slid his arms around me, and grabbed my b.r.e.a.s.t.s-what I had. I flipped out, dropped the script and everything. I think I made some excuse about needing the bathroom, because Mr. Big pointed to a door.

"I got through there and sure enough, there was a fancy little bathroom. My Mom was there, too, and I was so scared that I didn't even wonder how she got in there. I started to blab everything to her, but she hushed me and said, 'I know you were startled, but he's a very important man. I want you to think about that.'"

Abalone's eyes have grown very wide, but not one tear mars their brightness.

"I thought. Then I went back in there and let that b.a.s.t.a.r.d f.u.c.k me, knowing Mom was hearing every bit-h.e.l.l, she might have been filming it for all I know. When I left there, Mom and Dad took me to a fancy restaurant, showing me the contract that Mr. Big had signed.

"That night, I left. All I took was the computer and I started stealing right off, replaced my old board and..."

She shrugs.

I reach out and squeeze her. "One fire burns out another's burning; one pain is lessen'd by another's anguish."

"Your dream stop bugging you?" Her smile is almost genuine. "That's good. Anyhow, I'd kinda wanted you to know all that, but it's not easy to talk about and I really don't want anyone else to know. I think if my folks find me, they still have legal right to me."

"Your secret is safe with me, Abalone," Professor Isabella promises, her face drawn and tight.

I hug Abalone again. "The rest is silence."

She hugs me back. "I trust you, Prof, and Sarah, you'd be impossible to get anything from, even if you would tell. I'm safe with you. Now we have to make you safe from them."

Twelve.

A WEEK GOES BY BEFORE THE OWL BEGINS TO COMMUNICATE WEEK GOES BY BEFORE THE OWL BEGINS TO COMMUNICATE with me. At first, all there is are sighs and vague feelings, similar to those I had gotten from the apartment house. Within two weeks, it was calling to me in little chirps and hoots. with me. At first, all there is are sighs and vague feelings, similar to those I had gotten from the apartment house. Within two weeks, it was calling to me in little chirps and hoots.

Professor Isabella had been reading to me about saw-whet owls, so I knew what to expect. Betwixt and Between rea.s.sure me that words will come in time.

"We didn't talk People at first," Betwixt confides when Between is napping. "At least I don't think so."

He pauses as if puzzled. "I don't know what we were talking; all I know is that Dylan started understanding us better and we did him."

This raises something I have been wondering about, but I must search for words and even when I find some I know they are not quite what I want.

"Speech is civilization itself," I say. "The word, even the most contradictory word, preserves contact-it is silence which isolates."

Hearing me, Between wakes up, catching only the tail end of my borrowings.

"Wha' she say?" He yawns.

"I was telling her not to worry too much about the owl talking and telling her about Dylan and us. Then she asked something about speech."

"What did you say?" Between asks.

I repeat myself.

"Are you worrying about the owl still?"

I shake my head. "Am I my brother's keeper?"

"Oh, you want to know if Dylan could talk," Betwixt says. "Yes, he could, maybe had to think over things, but he spoke. So did Eleanora, I think, but I don't remember her too well."

"Me, either," adds Between, "and how about lunch?"

We are finishing our lunch-a night meal for we have returned to the time schedule set by the Law-when Abalone comes bounding up, her tappety-tap bouncing on one hip. She slides to a seat on the floor beside us.

"News," she says, "big time. Where's Professor Isabella? I'd rather go through this just once."

I shrug, but Chocolate, who has just come in, says, "She's up by the stove-reading cla.s.s!"

He grabs a notebook from under his pallet and pelts toward a small circle cl.u.s.tered around one of the camp stoves.

"I guess we'll tell her later. Up for a walk?"

I nod, scooping up Betwixt and Between and placing Athena, as Abalone has named my owl, on my shoulder. Abalone leads us to a gra.s.s island with a small grove of trees nestled within one of the loops of the highway's cloverleaf. At this hour, traffic is minimal and we dart across the dark pavement easily.

We seat ourselves where we are least visible from the road and Abalone pulls a couple of beers from a cooler cached beneath a rock. After sipping for a moment in silence, she puts the bottle down and wraps her arms around her knees.

"I think that the Inst.i.tute is relocating, Sarah."

I sit up from where I have been lounging on the gra.s.s, surprised to find that I feel both dismayed and relieved. My hands flutter as I seek words to express my emotion; Abalone misinterprets my gesture as curiosity.

"How'd I find out? I'd been tracking what commercial traffic went in and out, thinking we might get in that way with the least fuss. Started noticing that there were a fair number of midsize moving vans, nothing flashy or likely to catch the eye of the neighbors-if they were looking-but enough to cue me."

In the flash of a pa.s.sing headlight, I see her blue lips twist almost cruelly. She sips a bit more from her beer and goes on.

"The vans weren't marked, but I checked license and registration and traced them to a moving rental company. The Inst.i.tute may not link out, but this jobber did and I was able to hack in and learn that the big move is scheduled for two nights from this one."

Although fear has set my heart to pounding so that I can barely speak, I manage some familiar lines. "If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly."

"Yes." Abalone leaps to her feet. "That's why I want to talk with Professor Isabella; we'll need to move tomorrow night. We may even be too late already if the people went out in the early vans. I'm hoping not, but if this is a dead end, we'll track them down all over again."

We take our time walking back, stopping to bring some beer to a couple of late-working Tail Wolves. When we get back, it is nearly dawn and Professor Isabella is drowsing over a book. She wakes quickly, though, when Abalone tells her the news.

"Are we ready?" she asks. "Maybe we should let them go, then find where they've gone and go in when we're better prepared."

"There's no time like the present," Abalone urges. "Their security must be lower to allow for the traffic. We've got to jump while we can."

Professor Isabella sighs, but nods agreement. "I presume you can get transportation for us? Or am I silly to even ask?"

"Transport and driver," Abalone promises, "and a bit of extra muscle. Midline is coming along. Won't hear 'no.'"

"Then don't tell him," Professor Isabella smiles. "He's talented and knows what we're up against; I'll feel better for having him."

"I'll have Peep and the vehicle ready at dusk tomorrow."

Even with the soothing hum of the highway overhead, I have trouble falling asleep. There's just too much to worry about. The owl chortles disapprovingly at my diurnal restlessness and Betwixt and Between sing lullabies in duet.

Near midmorning, Abalone hands me a beer. I suspect that she must have put something into it, because the last thing I remember after setting the bottle down is Betwixt and Between harmonizing on nearly infinite verses of "Rock-a-Bye-Baby."

Abalone wakes me just before dusk, giving me only enough time to wash and dress. She hands me a black pullover and slacks. I notice that she is wearing something similar, a scarf tied over her bright hair; her lips are still painted blue.

By the time I have dressed, Peep has driven a blue panel van into a cul-de-sac near the Cold Lairs. Abalone takes the seat next to him. Midline stretches out to sleep between the seats and almost before we are on the road, he is snoring softly.

"I envy him," Professor Isabella says, tugging at a pullover which rides up until she tucks it into her waistband. "I'm too old for this."

"You can stay with Peep," Abalone calls back. "He'll be waiting with the van and I'm going to signal him when we're ready to leave. Apparently, most of the jamming stuff has been moved out."

"No," Professor Isabella replies. "You may need me."

Abalone periodically drills Peep on some contingency plan, but otherwise we talk little for the rest of the ride. Some hours into full darkness, Abalone directs Peep to pull the van into a field and shut off the power.

When we open the back hatch and step into the dark, I am amazed at the velvety fullness of the darkness. Here there is no ambient glow from buildings and vehicles, only the half-moon and fainter stars give any light.

My owl seems to approve, but I am still intimidated. My only comfort is that Peep and Midline appear to share my discomfort. Professor Isabella is studying the sky with apparent pleasure and Abalone sees nothing but her computer screen.

"You can't see the Inst.i.tute's buildings from here," she says, "because there is a ten-foot-high stone wall around the compound. Most of the wall is impossible to cross-topped with electric wire. I found a place where a fallen tree grows near the wall on the outside. None of the branches cross-their grounds keepers were careful-but there is a tree of about the same height on the other side. I figured we could anchor a line, like in the Jungle, and get over that way."

"If the pictures you showed me are any good, I can set our line," Midline says. "Even found a pulley Professor Isabella can slide with since she don't climb like we do."

Professor Isabella bobs a self-mocking curtsy. "Midline, can the rope be removed? What if the Inst.i.tute patrols see it?"

"Peep'll reel it back from higher up-there's some chance of it brushing the line, but it shouldn't alert them. There must be a margin for natural things like leaves or birds." Midline shrugs. "An' I'll pull out my arrow. The rest is up to chance and who knows what."

"Once we're over the wall," Abalone says, sketching a small map on her screen, "we should be able to see a cl.u.s.ter of buildings across a park from us. We want to make for the small, low one to the right. From what little I've got, it's used for residences. We stand to find Dylan and Eleanora there."

I look at the detailed map, fighting disorientation as severe as if I was looking at print. Uneasily, I look away and my stomach calms. As I regain my composure, Midline leads the way toward a darker shape that must be the tree. I follow, realizing that I have missed the rest of Abalone's instructions. I don't get a chance to ask, because Abalone asks me to send Athena up and make sure that the way is clear.

The wall crossing goes without a hitch and I drop lightly to the ground at the base of a gnarled oak. Shutting out the others, I study the illuminated cl.u.s.ter of buildings across the manicured park. Memory strikes me solidly and I know that I have been here before.

As planned, Abalone starts toward the small cottage. I hustle forward and stop her, grabbing her arm. When she turns to face me, the moon reveals her perplexed expression.