In her dark sweater and black linen pants, she blended into the dusky darkness among the trees at the perimeter of the parking lot. She watched, nervous but determined, ducking back behind the tree line whenever she heard the crunch of gravel. At last, the footsteps were his, and she watched Eric climb into the rental car and drive away, headlights raking the driveway. Only then did she emerge, shaking out her balled-up trench coat and pulling it across her shoulders.

The reception hall seemed bright after the darkness, and she blinked as she approached the receptionist. The woman seemed surprised to see a visitor, but Vivienne smiled reassuringly. She’d gambled on a staff change in the evening hours, and she’d been right; this woman had never seen her before.

“I’m Mrs. Benisard,” she said. “I came as soon as I could. I mean, I had to find someone to stay with the children . . .”

She hoped the receptionist wouldn’t know that back home, George Benisard was a celebrated bachelor.

“Mrs. Benisard?” the woman repeated with a heavy Spanish accent. “But your husband, he sleeps. Better come back in the morning.”

“Please,” Vivienne begged. “He’s expecting me and he’ll be so disappointed.”

“Tomorrow,” the receptionist said firmly.

“Not tomorrow,” Vivienne said in her most commanding voice. “Mr. Benisard will be very angry with you if you do not permit me to see him now.”

The woman studied her. “I will call a nurse,” she said.

“There is no need to disturb anyone,” Vivienne said quickly. “Just tell me the room number and point me in the right direction.” She smiled reassuringly.

The receptionist seemed uncertain, but she traced down a page in the book which lay open on the desk before her. “Room 103,” she said reluctantly. “Down there.” She gestured behind her, toward the corridor branching out to the right.

“I hope it’s a nice room,” Vivienne gushed. “I want him to have the very best care.”

“Everyone here has the very best care, Mrs. Benisard,” the woman replied stiffly.

“Of course!” enthused Vivienne. “This is a wonderful place. Please excuse me if I sounded . . . well, you know. I’m just so worried about George!”

“I understand,” the woman told her. “But your husband is fine. It really would be better to come back in the morning,”

She’s weakening, thought Vivienne.

“Just a little peek?” she pleaded. “I’ll be very quick and we don’t have to tell anyone. Please?”

The woman looked at Vivienne, flushed with wifely worry, and relented. “All right. But be quick, or I will get in trouble.”

“Thank you so much! I’m so grateful to you!” She reached over and squeezed the woman’s hand conspiratorially.

The woman smiled. “Hurry up!” she told her.

Vivienne went quickly past the desk to where, well behind the receptionist’s desk, the corridor branched left and right. Pausing for just a moment to check her recollection of the tour Talmidge had given her, she turned to the left and disappeared down the hallway.

He couldn’t remember when he’d had such intense sexual pleasure. The visions of Eric, which had come to him so often during Petra’s ministrations he discounted as irrelevant.

Now Talmidge lay on the bed, spent, yet wanting more. Petra was curled at his feet, purring like a cat. How does she do that? he wondered idly.

Then a new thought arose: including Eric in his games. He smiled, imagining Eric’s shock and delight at learning of Talmidge’s secret harem. He might even allow Eric to choose a few women to be cloned for his own use. What fun they could have together.

Exhausted though he was, he found himself growing hard again at the thought. Levering himself up on an elbow, he reached down for Petra, then stopped. The idea of group sex with Rose was so titillating, he decided to explore the thought for a while, letting his excitement build with the images he drew in his mind. But Petra, feeling him shift on the bed, slid upward to tease his member with her tongue. Talmidge groaned with pleasure. He hoped he could make it last.

She’d forgotten about the nurses’ station. She huddled against the wall, just out of sight of the nurse at the desk. The woman was reading a paperback, but Vivienne doubted her concentration was deep enough not to notice someone walking down the corridor. As she waited, uncertain of what her next step should be, Vivienne heard a phone ring nearby. She peeked around the corner in time to see the nurse pick up the instrument and talk. Vivienne quickly retreated to the safety of the corridor and took off her shoes; when she turned back for another look, the nurse was studying papers attached to a clipboard. Similar clipboards hung on pegs behind the desk.

She could see no other way past the nurse; she’d have to run for it when the nurse turned to hang up the clipboard. She waited as the minutes ticked by, and the nurse made notes on the chart. As last, she hung up the phone and turned to the wall of monitors behind her, and Vivienne took off.

The nurses’ station was at a corner of the corridor, and open at two sides. Vivienne had just cleared the first section and was rounding the corner when the nurse looked up, puzzled by the flow of air she suddenly felt. Fortunately, she looked first toward the opening into the first corridor, source of the small eddy of wind caused by Vivienne’s passage. Vivienne nearly flew past the opening into the right-angled corridor and had barely disappeared from view when the nurse turned in her direction, puzzled. She rose as if to investigate, then shrugged her shoulders and settled herself in her chair again. She was back into her book when Vivienne, her heart pounding, reached Talmidge’s office. Cautiously she tried the door; it opened, and she went into the waiting room.

When she’d waited here for Talmidge three days ago, she hadn’t noticed the small metal plate beside the door into the inner office; now she looked for it. The lock light glowed red. She slid her watch strap off that hid the numbers she’d rewritten on her wrist; although she’d memorized them, she wanted no slipups this close to success. Carefully she punched them into the plate. A pause. A click. The red light turned green. She was in!

She closed the heavy oak door softly and blinked in the darkness. Faint moonlight slanting through the curtained windows gave vague outlines to the furniture. Vivienne looked around, waiting for her eyes to accustom themselves to the murk. After several minutes, she could see a little better, but not much. Slowly she advanced into the room, holding her hands in front of her to avoid bumping into things. She remembered the general layout, but the darkness made it hard to judge distances between objects.

She wondered if she could get the computer going. Her expertise was minimal, but she didn’t think it would be too hard to retrieve and print. As she rounded the desk, her eye was caught by a flash of color. She froze, then looked back toward the bookcases. Yes, there it was again, a faint red light, just like the one on the coded entrance plate outside the office door.

She approached it slowly. The room was too dark for her to see it clearly, so she touched it gently, then ran her fingers over the adjacent area. Another code plate! Eric hadn’t mentioned a second plate. Maybe he’d missed it.

She felt around for a door. Nothing. So why the plate? Maybe it’s a secret passage, she thought excitedly. Eric doesn’t know everything!

She punched in the code by feel, counting the keys. Again the pause, the click. And then suddenly a whirring and the faint creaking of well-oiled machinery. Something hit her cheek, and she reached up to find that a section of wall was moving, pushing her out of the way. Quickly she stepped back as a shaft of dim light struck out into the darkness in an ever-widening arc, revealing a narrow stairway.

She hesitated for only a heartbeat, then stepped quickly through the opening and started down the stairs.

Showered and dressed, Talmidge hunkered over the coffee table in front of the sofa on which he sat. His appetite for food had returned, and he ate ravenously, despite the tepidness of the hour-old dinner. Ignored, Petra lay curled in a chair across the room. She didn’t mind his lack of interest in her now. It was what she expected. Soon the men would come to take her back to her cluster, and the other women would ask her what they had done together. They would laugh and compare notes, and eat the good food that would surely be provided after the work she had done tonight. She dozed lightly.

The stairs spiraled steeply downward, and Vivienne took her time. She felt as if she were in a frightening fairy tale, descending an elfin staircase that led . . . where? To an ogre’s castle deep in the earth, perhaps. Or a treasure cave guarded by tigers with eyes as big as saucers. Who, or what, would greet her at the end of her journey? she wondered fearfully. The air on her face felt cold as she descended deeper into the earth, feeling in the dark for each narrow step.

Then a faint glow of light appeared below her, brightening with each turn of the staircase. Slightly dizzy, she rounded the last bend and stepped down onto the concrete floor. In front of her was a steel door set flush with the wall, a code plate next to it.

She hesitated; what waited beyond the door? Fear coursed through her, and she retreated a few steps. Then, gathering her courage, she walked forward again and punched in the code numbers. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the lock plate released with a click. The red light gave way to a green glow.

Slowly the door slid open.

Talmidge looked up, first in puzzlement, then in alarm, at the opening of his private entrance. It couldn’t be the men for Petra; they would come through the double doors at the other end of the living room, and they would buzz for admittance first.

He crossed the room in three huge strides and grabbed at the figure in the murky light. His arm grazed her breast - a woman. Without pause, he jerked her into the room and hurled her from him. She stumbled and fell sharply against the coffee table.

A chilling fear washed over her, blotting out the pain in her side as she realized she’d blundered into Talmidge’s apartment.

She heard the sharp intake of breath as he recognized her. He stepped toward her, and she thought he would hit her, but then a buzzer rang, and he stopped, staring at her. The look in his eyes was terrifying.

The buzzer sounded again, and she could feel him fight to control himself. First he gave the door through which she had come a push, then he went and opened one of a set of double steel doors across the room. Two men in orderlies’ blues entered and went toward a woman Vivienne had not noticed. My God, she thought, it’s Jane Fawcett!

Petra, who had watched the proceedings with disinterested curiosity, now rose and approached the men.

One of them leered. “How’d it go, Petra?”

Petra? thought Vivienne, now realizing that the woman was all but naked.

“You got a new one, huh?” the other man asked Talmidge, gesturing toward Vivienne, still half-lying between the sofa and coffee table.

“Petra, baby, you’re just gonna have to try harder.” The first man laughed coarsely as they escorted her from the room. Petra smiled a distant smile. She knew that they were not permitted to touch her. Men had been killed for trying.

“Was that really Jane Fawcett?” Vivienne heard herself asking. Why did I say that? she wondered. Jane Fawcett is the least of my problems.

“Appearances are misleading,” Talmidge replied evenly. “She came here to pleasure me. I doubt that you could do better,” he added, “but since you have invaded my private quarters, perhaps you would like to try.”

Vivienne shrank back in fear and loathing.

“How did you get down here?” Talmidge suddenly shouted. “Why are you here?”

Vivienne started to get up. “Don’t move!” he roared. “Answer me!”

“I’m here because I love your work . . .”

“Don’t bullshit me!” Talmidge leaned over her menacingly. “I know all about you. Brian Arnold warned me you were coming. You’re trouble, he said. He was right.”

Brian Arnold? How had he known? “All right,” Vivienne said. “It’s true. I was very upset when Charles told me about all this. I wanted to see for myself.”

“Why?”

“I thought if I saw it I would be better able to . . . accept it.” Angela must have told Charles I was coming here, she thought. And Charles told Brian and Brian told Talmidge. Talmidge was on to me from the beginning.

“Get up,” Talmidge told her contemptuously.

Vivienne scrambled up quickly, then looked at Talmidge questioningly. Maybe if she cooperated, she could find a way out.

“Sit there,” he told her, gesturing to the sofa. He watched as she seated herself on the sofa’s edge, then he settled himself into the chair that Petra had recently vacated and studied her in silence.

At last he spoke. “How did you know the code?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “The doors were unlocked.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It’s the truth. See?” And Vivienne pointed to the door Talmidge had swung closed. The door lock had not engaged, and the light glowed green.

Talmidge got up and pushed the door firmly closed. The light turned red. He paced the room, thinking. Of course, the doors had not been unlocked. Yet no one knew the code, not even Eric.

Eric. Don’t let Eric be behind this, he prayed.

Could Eric have discovered the code and told it to her? No, he thought, not possible. He had shown him so much, there was no need for him to break in. And even if Eric had discovered the code, why should he give it to Vivienne when he himself could use it in greater safety?

The code wasn’t the issue now, he decided. It could be instantly changed. The problem was damage containment.

He turned to Vivienne, She looks frightened, he thought. Good.

“So you want to see the clones?” he asked gently.

Vivienne noted the change of tone. He believes me, she thought. “Yes,” she replied weakly. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And after you’ve learned the truth, you’ll go home?”

Vivienne nodded.

“And you won’t talk about what you’ve seen?”

“No, no! I promise!”

Fat chance, Talmidge thought. But a plan was beginning to form in his mind, and it would be easier if she thought he trusted her.

“OK,” he said. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.”

Vivienne let out a long shuddering breath. Thank God, she thought. I’m safe.

“Let me tell you some things, Vivienne,” he said. “Would you like a drink? Yes? Scotch all right?” He prepared the drinks and handed one to her as he searched for the right words.

“First of all, there was no need for you to sneak in like this.”

“I tried it the other way, but you showed me those organs and things and said that was everything.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Talmidge told her. “But you have to understand that most people don’t really want to know what we do here. People want to use their organs, but they’d like to believe we don’t remove them from living people. An organ in a jar is much easier to deal with. So we shield them from the truth.

“Look at yourself, Vivienne. Be honest. You were horrified when you realized what we were doing. Isn’t it more comfortable to believe the lie?”

“Yes,” Vivienne said slowly. “But now I know the truth.”

Talmidge nodded. “Yes,” he said, “but can you face the truth?”

“I have to.”

“Then come.” And Talmidge stood.

“Where are we going?” Vivienne asked, fearful again.

“Where you thought you were going when you broke in here,” he said. “To the clone clusters.”

He disappeared into the bedroom for a moment and returned with two white medical coats. He held one out to her.

“Put this on,” he told her. “No, go in there. There’s a bathroom too, if you need one.”

Vivienne smiled gratefully. Fright had filled her bladder.

As soon as she was out of the room, Talmidge shrugged into his medical coat, then went to the phone and dialed. “Bascado,” he said softly, “tell Vincente to take Eric out for a drink, somewhere away from the hotel. Tell him not to take no for an answer. Then you search the rooms, his and the girl’s. Hurry.” And I hope you don’t find anything, he thought fervently.

He was replacing the receiver when Vivienne reentered the room. “Just making sure they’re ready for us,” he said lightly. “You look very professional in that.”

She followed him through the double doors and into a corridor; beyond was a double set of steel-mesh security gates.

“I’ll have to make up something for the staff and the clones, to explain why you’re here,” he told her, taking her arm gently. “So just go along with whatever I say. Oh, and try not to talk too much. We limit the clones’ vocabulary, and new words unsettle them.”

“I understand,” said Vivienne.

“Good.”

They approached the first of the security gates. Talmidge pushed it open and gestured for her to precede him. “Here we go,” he said.

“I don’t feel like a night out!” Eric had protested. But Vincente had insisted. He’d had a severe romantic disappointment, he’d explained, and needed a sympathetic drinking companion.

Now Eric hung on grimly as Vincente threw the heavy motorcycle around the hairpin turns with reckless abandon.

“You will like this place!” Vincente’s voice swept past Eric’s ear as they hurtled through the night. “Lots of . . . how you say? . . . local color. Except you are with me, they would not welcome you. It will be a rare experience for you, yes?”

Sure, Eric thought. Almost as rare an experience as the trip back down the mountain with Vincente drunk as a skunk. I wonder if I can drive this thing.

Bascado prided himself on being thorough. Methodically he went through each room, from ceiling tiles to floorboards. Aside from the notebook he took from under Eric’s shirts, Bascado found nothing suspicious. The notebook too might be innocent, but Talmidge would decide that.

The girl’s room was more interesting. Bascado enjoyed the feel of her underwear, so silky and delicate. He spent much time fondling her bras and panties. Talmidge must suspect her of something, he thought. Perhaps if she displeases him badly enough, he will give her to me. Then I could make her put on the underwear and . . .

A sudden noise made him jump. Could she be returning? He froze and waited, but no one came. How long had he been playing with the underwear? Hurriedly he stuffed it back in the dresser drawer and moved on to the closet. The few clothes that hung there were easily searched. On the shelf above was a suitcase, which he pulled down. Heavy. Must have more clothes in it.

He carried it to the bed and unzipped it. So many clothes this woman has, he thought as he sifted through the sweaters, trousers, T-shirts, and scarves. Then something made a crinkly noise. He went through the clothes more carefully and felt something wrapped in one of the scarves. He pulled it out, and holding the scarf by a loose end, let the package inside drop onto the bed,

A letter. He held it up and studied it. It had a stamp, as though someone meant to mail it. He looked at the address. USA. The girl was sending a letter home. Probably not important, but again, Talmidge would decide.

He put it in his jacket pocket next to the notebook he’d taken from the other room; time to go.

At the door he hesitated, then returned to the underwear drawer. He decided against a bra; there were only two, and she would surely miss it. But there were many panties, six or seven at least.

He shoved the lacy brief down inside his shirt, enjoying the feel of it against his skin. A minute later he had faded into the darkness of the night.

“This is . . . Vivienne.”

Vivienne smiled tentatively at the people in their pastel uniforms. Her mind was spinning. So these were the clones. They seemed like, well, real people. But of course, they were.

“She’s come to be with us for a while,” Talmidge continued. “I’m sure you will want to welcome her and show her around.”

This is wonderful, Vivienne thought. He’s actually going to let me talk to them. The clones were smiling at her, and she found herself grinning back. Then she remembered where she was and who they were, and her smile died.

Talmidge took her arm and guided her past the group of clones and out into the corridor.

“Let me show you some of the facilities,” he said proudly. “This is the gym.”

Vivienne looked through the glass door. There were some eight or nine people working out; several of them looked familiar.

“Not quite what you expected, is it?” Talmidge asked her.

“It’s worse,” Vivienne said. “I mean, it’s bright and clean and well-equipped, and yet the . . . people seem so unaware of their . . . fate. It’s horrible.”

“But their fate, as you call it, is not as horrible for them as it would be for you,” he told her. “I have made them unique. I have made them ‘Givers.’ They do not dread the operating theater. For them, it is their greatest glory.”

Vivienne shifted uneasily. She was feeling more and more uncomfortable down here, and wondered how, having somehow convinced Talmidge to show her the clones, she could gracefully cut the tour short. But he was on the move again, guiding her along the corridor toward a sound of music.

He flung open the door to a large high-ceilinged room, and the music billowed out at them.

“Our music room,” Talmidge told her. “Actually, they also paint in here. Please. Go in.”

Tentatively Vivienne stepped into the room. Around the walls, several people were painting on large canvases. Some of the work was quite beautiful. In the center, three young men were producing glorious sounds that touched her soul in a way no music had before.

Drawn by the music, she began to approach the group, then stopped. One of them looked familiar . . .

Eyes wide, she turned suddenly to Talmidge for confirmation. His eyes gleamed as he smiled mirthlessly.

“Would you like to meet him?” he asked. Ignoring her violent shake of the head, he took hold of her arm. “Gentlemen!” he called. “Please come here and meet a new . . . friend.”

“No!” Vivienne instinctively drew back.

The music staggered to a stop, and the three musicians approached. Vivienne stared at the cellist, a tall blond, good-looking young man. One side of his mouth had a slight upward tilt.

Talmidge thrust her forward. “This is Vivienne,” said Talmidge. “Vivienne, say hello to Jim and Larry . . . oh, and Charles, of course. The others call him Chuck, but I always think of him as Charles.”

“I can’t!”

“Of course you can! She’s a little shy,” he explained. “Charles, why don’t you and Vivienne have a nice chat? I have something I must do.”

“You’re not leaving?” said Vivienne in sudden panic.

“Only for a few minutes,” he reassured her. “Meanwhile, you can find out what these people are like.”

“Don’t make me stay here!” she implored him, grabbing at his arm.

“But it’s what you wanted,” he said calmly. “Besides, there are plenty of staff people. They’ll take good care of you.”

She stood, shocked into immobility as Talmidge disengaged her hand from his arm, then quickly turned and left, swinging the door shut behind him.

Gently Charles took the hand Talmidge had discarded, and led her into the room.