"What we've tried to do with this," Claire Albermayer said as she led Althea through the lab complex, "is break the question how healthy is he into a few billion smaller questions." The bioengineer halted them before an oval object that stood beside a large workbench and a bank of chromatographs and mass spectrometers. It was about the length and width of a large coffin and about three times as deep as it was wide. Albermayer flipped back the lid of the thing and gestured at its inner surface. "Look closely and tell me what you see."

"May I touch it?" Althea said.

The bioengineer shook her head vigorously. "Never touch one unless you intend to purchase it-and this one isn't for sale."

Althea dropped to her knees alongside the medipod and peered as closely as she could at the inner surface of the thing, where a human body would repose when under its care. She saw only a smooth, seemingly pliable white surface, such as might have been formed from a soft plastic under heat.

-You have more than one way to see, Althea.

(humor) I know, Grandpere. One sense at a time. Bear with me.

She closed her eyes, detached her viewpoint, and drove it into the white material. It immediately decomposed into uncounted numbers of smaller devices. She commanded her viewpoint to pursue them at their own scale, and immediately they swelled in her mental vision.

Some of the little machines bore obvious functions such as massage or infusion. Others appeared to be sensors of some sort, though Althea's knowledge of medicine was too basic to deduce the specifics. They interlinked horizontally and in delicately staggered layers that implied a complex overarching design, one far too intricate for her to grasp.

"It's-"

-Careful, dear. I don't think you want Hallanson-Albermayer Corporation to know about that, at least not just yet.

Oops. You're right, Grandpere. Thanks.

-De rien, ma cherie.

"-completely smooth. I don't see any components at all." She rose from her crouch and turned to face Claire Albermayer, who wore a look of satisfaction that fell just short of infuriatingly smug.

"I'm not surprised you couldn't pick out the details," the bioengineer said. "They're nanoscale. Sensors, osmotic infusors and extractors, heating and cooling elements, transverse actuators, and chained normal-vector components for deep therapies." She gestured to Althea to follow her. The two departed the lab and returned to Albermayer's office.

When they had seated themselves, Althea said "I knew you'd made big progress on the rejuv techniques, but I didn't hear the least hint about this other thing. Are they related?"

Albermayer nodded. "Quite closely. Our earliest work in rejuvenation was focused on the skin. In the usual case, a person in his fifties or sixties is fairly healthy, but would prefer the elasticity and sheen of skin he had in his twenties. That gave rise to the development of the actuator nanites. After that, we turned to the detection and correction of radical build-up in cell fluids, then to electrochemical and neurodynamic analysis, metabolic balance, and all the rest."

The bioengineer steepled her hands before her and leaned forward. "The problem we faced at that point was the uniqueness of every human body. It turns out that 'health' means something different to each of us. There are no stock solutions. With the possible exception of identical twins, the specific collection of therapies required to attain, maintain, or regain a condition of optimal health is something no one can share with anyone else.

"That's why I forbade you to touch the pod, Althea. Among its sensors are a subset that samples and analyzes your DNA, such that the pod's software would be able to attune itself to your specific needs. An uninitialized one would be permanently yours forever afterward. That particular one is attuned to me."

"So, then," Althea said, "if someone other than you were to lie down in it by mistake, what would happen to him?"

Albermayer shuddered. "Nothing good. He'd be rendered unconscious, slowly dissolved into his constituents, and stored in the pod's resource base, to be used on the true owner as necessary. That's best guess, of course."

"Hm? You're not sure?"

The bioengineer stared at Althea in shock. "You don't think we're about to test that hypothesis, do you?"

"Uh, no. So what won't it cope with?"

"Excuse me?"

"What bodily ailments are beyond its powers to fix, Claire?"

"Oh." Albermayer produced an infuriatingly superior smile. "At present we only know of one such."

"And that is?"

"Death."

Grandpere...

-I know, dear. But- Make sure it's reliable first. I know, I know.

-(humor) Don't forget to ask about the price.

Excuse me? Do I strike you as having suddenly gone brain-dead, Grandpere?

-Not at all dear. Just a bit excited.

(humor) Okay.

Althea shook her head. "Your little toy would seem to kill the market for your longevity series."

Albermayer nodded. "For anyone who owns one, it would be all he'll need to stay youthfully vigorous and attractive in perpetuity."

"Assuming it keeps working, of course."

"Of course. But our nanotech is quite reliable. And service would always be available from us for any unforeseen developments. For a price, of course."

"Of course. How much?"

"Excuse me?"

"What's the price, Claire? I want one. No, make that two. And as soon as possible, at that. Assuming it's passed all your durability and reliability protocols, of course."

"Two?"

"Yes, if it's ready to leave your labs. Is it?"

"Yes, it is. But you're the first person to ask to purchase one. Two. Let me think a moment."

Claire Albermayer blinked once. She looked off into space, eyes unfocused. Althea waited as patiently as she could.

Presently the bioengineer said "You're quite certain you want two?"

Althea nodded. "Plus whatever assistance we'll need in initializing and provisioning them."

"In that case," Albermayer said, "I think I can hold the price down to sixteen."

Althea grinned widely. "Well, all right! Sixteen thousand dekas for two magic health pods, coming right up."

As she crouched to retrieve her purse, Albermayer held up a hand. "No, Althea."

"Hm?"

"Not sixteen thousand. Sixteen million."

"Oh." She opened her purse. "Will you take a check?"

"Well, considering that it's from you personally rather than your clan..."

"Don't go there, Claire." Nettled by the bioengineer's condescension, Althea's pride in her own intellect and achievements rose to shine from her face. "I believe you mentioned that you knew my grandfather Armand. Quite a serious fellow, wasn't he?"

Albermayer's brow furrowed. "Yes, he was."

"I'm just as serious. It would be wise of you to treat me that way." Althea drew her checkbook from her purse and wrote a draft for the full amount. "I want a printout with the dimensions, specifications, power consumption idle and in operation, requirements for provisioning, maintenance schedule, and anything else relevant to the use, care, and feeding of this dingus, as soon as possible. Err on the side of inclusion. If you're unsure it's relevant, put it in the printout. Time to delivery?"

The bioengineer looked off again. "I think I can have the first one ready for you by the end of Octember or the beginning of November. The second one would follow about three months afterward." She frowned. "Did you really just write a check for sixteen million dekas?"

"Indeed I did. To your clan." Althea tore the check from the book and passed it across the desk between them. "Have someone take it to Jacksonville Surety immediately after I leave. I guarantee that they'll honor it without batting an eyelash." Althea rose and smiled frostily. "I'll be waiting for my merchandise."

"This is quite unexpected," Alexander Dunbarton said. He waved Charisse into a guest chair and seated himself at his desk. "Why didn't you radio?"

Charisse shrugged. "Some subjects shouldn't be blatted out over a frequency anyone might accidentally tune into."

The Dunbarton patriarch frowned. "Which of us is in trouble, Charisse? Because I have no idea what you're hinting at."

"Not trouble, Alex." Charisse smiled wanly. "Boredom, nothing more. You're aware that two years ago I resigned as head of Clan Morelon?"

Dunbarton nodded. "No one expected it. The shock waves traveled quite a distance. They're still reverberating in some households."

"Now why would my decision to retire to a life of private contemplation have shaken so many other clans?" Charisse's smile became impish. "I wouldn't have thought anyone but my kin would even have taken notice."

Dunbarton snorted. "If I were to retire, not even my kinsmen would notice. Your tenure as head of Clan Morelon was quite another matter. If anyone in Jacksonville remembers a time before you, he must be a Morelon." He leaned toward her. "But you must tell me, Charisse: did you jump, or were you pushed?"

A chill went through Charisse Morelon. She said as steadily as she could manage, "What makes that question rise to your lips?"

Dunbarton's lips twitched. "You do. I've known dozens of clan heads. Not one of them has ever approached the degree of influence you wielded, or came near to your assertiveness in using it. I could never have imagined that you'd give up your position short of death...until you actually did so."

He knows me too well.

"I have to admit," she said slowly, "that I was encouraged to relinquish the post. All the same, it was a difficult decision to make. But it's behind me." She looked directly into Dunbarton's eyes. "How would you summarize the state of things in Jacksonville environs since then, Alex?"

He snorted. "Do you really need to ask? Unsatisfactory. Too disorderly to allow any of us to concentrate."

Charisse nodded and waited.

"Are you suggesting that some shortcoming in your successor is the reason, Charisse?"

"Why Alex," she said wonderingly, "how on Hope could I bring myself to say such a derogatory thing about..." She groped through her memory for Althea's words. "...the familiar, worthy, and eminently deserving person of Barton Kramnik Morelon?"

He said nothing, eyes intent upon her.

"Bart has turned Clan Morelon's attention entirely inward. He minds Morelon affairs exclusively. It seems to be the limit of his ambitions...or perhaps of his competence. I rather doubt he could name the heads of the nearest six clans without having to look them up. Other than Clan Kramnik's, of course. I have a great deal of trouble suppressing my disdain for a clan head so introverted as to allow things to deteriorate as they have."

"Barton wasn't your choice as scion?" Dunbarton said.

Charisse shook her head. "The elders' council imposed him on me. But that's not the only fallout from the transfer of power." She scowled. "I find that my days are far too long. I don't miss the details of clan administration, but I do miss the sense of involvement, the need to drive myself forward, to work closely with you and others for the betterment of our community." She smiled as winningly as she could, and watched Alexander Dunbarton's mouth curve in response. "Can you think of a way Jacksonville might make use of my abilities once more, Alex? Now that I'm no longer a clan head?"

There was a long moment of silence.

"Does your husband know about this development in your inclinations?" Dunbarton said at last.

Charisse shook her head again. "I'm afraid Etienne has turned inward quite as completely as Barton. This will be my gift to Jacksonville. Mine alone."

Dunbarton's eyes crinkled at the edges. "Not quite alone, Charisse."

He reached a hand across the desk. Charisse took it.

Chapter 22: November 2, 1313 A.H.

"Althea?"

"Hm?" Althea looked up from her computer at the sound of Barton's voice. He wore an expression of bafflement. "Something up, Bart?"

"There's a delivery for you. A big one. At the front door."

Well, all right! She rose, circled her desk, sprinted past her clan head and down the stairs to the front entrance, and halted in momentary confusion.

The doors had been propped open. Claire Albermayer stood on the front stoop. Behind her were eight burly workmen toting two medipods. A large flatbed hovertruck bearing the Hallanson-Albermayer emblem sat on the south knoll, its ground-effect skirt hanging limply. Behind it were strewn the remains of two very stout packing crates.

"May we come in, Althea?" The bioengineer wore her habitual self-satisfied smile. Althea waved her inside. The workmen followed her, grunting faintly beneath their twin burdens.

"Are you delivering both pods today?" Althea said.

Albermayer nodded. "I managed to get them fabricated in tandem. We had enough nanites to do both, so why not? Especially since you'd already paid for the whole order." She cast a glance behind her at the workmen. "Where should we set them up?"

"Uh..." Althea waved up the broad staircase to the bedroom level. "One goes upstairs. The other should go to Grenier Air."

Albermayer's eyebrows rose as the workmen grumbled. "I thought they were both for you."