Thompson set down the coffee cup he'd just picked up, an unpleasant thought forming. "I . . . don't know about that," he said slowly. "I may have a nasty mind, but I can't forget that our gracious hostess used to be a field agent."

"And field agents don't exactly have the same standards as the rest of the Imperial services." King hesitated. "Cap, you don't think she'd--"

"That's exactly what I do think." The Count couldn't force him, no, but a field agent would feel perfectly justified in tricking him, if the stakes were high enough. "I'm not sure whether it was her primary plan or a backup, but thinking back, she could very well have laced that beer with virus. With you not susceptible and the rest of her guests being Kins already, I'm the only one it would have any effect on."

King chuckled. "That makes sense, Cap--but if so, it backfired on her.

According to the tapes, the ones who get the hungries may become high-cla.s.s Donors when they're weakened for the Change, but they don't become Kins."

"Oh, yeah?" Thompson grinned in relief. "I can handle that easily enough, especially since it means the team doesn't have to break up. I think I'll ask to see her as soon as we finish eating."

The Count sent word that she'd see him as soon as her morning formal audience was over, so Thompson was waiting in her working office when she came in just before noon. He rose and, since he was in civilian clothes this time, bowed slightly. "Good morning, my Lady."

"Good morning, Captain. You look pleased with yourself." The Count motioned him back to his seat, while she leaned against her desk.

"What is it?"

Thompson outlined what he and King had discussed, feeling more relaxed in her presence than he'd have thought possible the previous night.

"So if what Sergeant King read is accurate," he finished, "I can let one of you feed, enjoy it, and still stay with my team."

"It is accurate enough," the Count said, her expression unreadable to anyone without a field agent's training. "Perhaps a tenth of those who are susceptible do not Change into Kins. They do become the best Donors available, though no Kin will risk feeding even from them more than once per tenday." She sighed. "I cannot share your relief, Captain, though I can understand it. I am fully aware of the way most people out-system will react to us, and being from out-system yourself, you would have gotten a far more sympathetic reaction than a Narvonese-born Kin. Your being a Donor will help, even so. Do you have any preference as to the Kin?"

"One of the really hungry ones," Thompson said. "Otherwise, not particularly."

"Very well. You seemed quite taken with Chief Kaufman yesterday; she is Night Duty Officer now, so she is sleeping, but will be in her office about twenty-two-thirty tonight. Shall I leave word that you are coming?"

"I felt sorry for her, was all," Thompson said. "The poor kid--Yes, please let her know."

"All you felt consciously, perhaps," the Count said drily. "I read it as potentially far more--but that no longer matters. I will rescind my request for your indefinite a.s.signment here."

"Thank you, my Lady." Thompson rose, and this time his bow was everything her rank ent.i.tled her to.

Thompson entered the System Security office complex and approached the desk sergeant, ready to introduce himself, but she stood. "Captain Thompson?"

"Yes."

"Chief Kaufman is waiting for you, sir. To your right, third door on the left." She smiled. "You made a good choice, Captain. She's the best I've ever Donated to."

"How did you know I chose her, rather than the other way around?"

"It's always the Donor's choice, sir. The Kin can ask someone, or pa.s.s on a volunteer, but one will never feed on an unwilling Donor." The desk sergeant grinned. "Besides, her Ladyship said you had."

Thompson chuckled. "Thanks, Sergeant. Third on my left, you said."

He went to the door she'd described, still amused. Now that the danger of becoming one himself was past, he discovered he was beginning to like these blood-drinkers, and to hope the Count would find a good, sympathetic Liaison Officer.

He didn't have to knock; the door opened as he neared it, and Kaufman invited him in with a flourish. "Nice to see you again, Captain," she said, smiling--and this time Thompson let himself respond to her hunger and her gleaming fangs. He went into her open arms, leaning his head to one side.

She brushed his throat with her lips, and he felt amus.e.m.e.nt mixed with her hunger. "May I a.s.sume that your Corporal Nkomo won't pull you away from me this time, my dear Captain?" she murmured.

"You may, my dear Chief." Thompson relaxed completely, feeling the a.s.surance she projected. "This may be my only chance, so drink as much as you want."

"As much as I'd take for a Change, yes. You'll go into a deep sleep, and wake up hungry enough to eat a h.e.l.lbeast."

"That's what my socio spec told me." Thompson's earlier desire was back in full force, stronger than ever; he licked his lips, wishing she'd get on with it.

Warmth on his throat, the sensation of hunger, hard sharpness-- He cried out at the sudden intense pleasure of fangs in his throat, his blood filling the Kin's eager mouth, satisfying her driving hunger . . .

He woke with that memory, his hand going to his throat and caressing the wounds there. It was comfortable lying in bed--he knew, somehow, that he was back in the apartment he'd been a.s.signed--and he'd like to stay there, holding on to the memory of Kaufman's feeding, but he was much too hungry. He got up and used the 'fresher, then dressed, intending to go to the dining room.

It wasn't necessary; a covered serving tray sat on the coffee table in his apartment's living room, with a note beside it. He uncovered the tray and began eating, curious about the note but not willing to interrupt until he'd taken the edge off his appet.i.te. Whoever had prepared the tray, he thought gratefully, had a pretty good idea what one of the "near-misses" like himself needed; by the time he emptied it, he was satisfied.

He picked up the note and leaned back, chuckling as he read it.

"Dear Jase,

"By the time you get to this, you'll have eaten and I'll be asleep. I want you to know: you were delicious, and I have never had a better meal. I hope I was able to give you as much pleasure as you gave me, and if you are going to be here long enough, I'd appreciate the opportunity to feed from you again.

"Affectionately, "Enna"

It was odd thinking of himself as a delicious meal, but Thompson found it tickled him; sure, he'd feed her again if he and his team were here long enough. In the meantime, until he got orders, he and his team were on leave, and as he'd told Audra, they might as well take advantage of their stay in a System Palace.

For the rest of the day, they did just that. Their status as the Count's guests let them enjoy the prerogatives only local n.o.bility or above usually got, and they took advantage of it in the ways their various interests dictated. For Thompson, that meant a run through the Count's target range, a hearty lunch, a trip through the planetary zoo--he'd need a week to do justice to the whole thing, but this was a good start--a four-course supper, and an evening at the local cla.s.sics theater to see Last Starfighter for perhaps the twentieth time.

He went to bed feeling comfortably tired, and for several hours slept well, if with increasing unease, but about 0200 he woke and couldn't get back to sleep. His throat itched, and he felt restless, bloated, so irritable he had to get up and move around. For awhile he prowled around his apartment, but that didn't help for long; eventually, he put on a robe and went out.

He prowled the Palace corridors, rubbing the fang marks on his throat from time to time, his unease and restless irritability growing. He didn't like being this way--it was nothing like his usual self--but he couldn't seem to do fight his way out of it.

After what felt like decades, he found himself at the System Security office complex. Something inside him seemed to say "That's it," so he went inside.

The desk sergeant--the same one who had been there the day before--looked at him in surprise. "Is there something I can do for you, Captain?"

"I . . . I don't know." Thompson rubbed at the fang marks, frustrated that it didn't seem to help, then began scratching at them. "Is Chief Kaufman here?"

"No, sir, she's patrolling. You can wait here till she gets back, if you want to. Uh . . . you shouldn't be doing that."

"Doing what?" Thompson snapped.

"Scratching yourself like that. You could . . . well, hurt yourself."

"Dammit, they itch!" The reminder made it worse; Thompson's scratching went deeper, beginning to draw blood. That helped a little, so he dug in more.

"Sir, don't!"