Eric pushed back the thin white curtains; the morning matched his mood perfectly: dull gray.

As he shaved and breakfasted, he kept glancing out into the courtyard for a glimpse of Vivienne as she drove away. But no taxi appeared. Well, it was still early, he thought. She’s probably asleep. His tousled bed was evidence of his own restlessness. He missed Vivienne already.

As he drove to the Institute, he found himself jumpy and distracted. For the first time, neither the danger nor the scientific adventure was enough. He felt tired, strung-out.

I’ve had it, he thought. I want out.

Impulsively, he pulled off the road onto the narrow dirt shoulder. He could turn back right now, pack his suitcase, and head for home. He’d wake Vivienne, offer to drive her to Barcelona Airport, and when they got there, he’d tell her . . . What could he tell her? he wondered. He knew his feelings for her ran deep, and that she, too, cared. Yet they had had so little time together, really. Could he tell her he wanted to go back to the States with her, to marry her? Wouldn’t she feel pressured? Presumed upon? Coming on too strong could ruin everything.

Then he mentally shook himself. How could he even think about giving up now, when he was so close? And for such a stupid reason: love.

No, he decided, not just love. Vivienne was the fresh air of reality blowing through Talmidge’s sick, enclosed world. He wanted to breathe that air again. He wanted to go home.

One more week, he vowed. Then I’ll take whatever I’ve got and go.

He put the car into gear and moved out onto the road.

Talmidge was waiting for him in the staff lounge. “We’ll start downstairs this morning,” he told Eric.

“Someone come in last night?” Eric asked. “The OR wasn’t scheduled when I left.”

“No surgery today,” Talmidge agreed. “But I’d like you to take a look at Cluster Six. There’s a new one we should check on.”

Talmidge led him down the corridor, talking over his shoulder. “She’s a little damaged, I’m afraid. Might have to replace her. Have to keep her sedated. Like you to have a look.”

“Sure,” said Eric. “Anything you say.” Perhaps it was one of the clones he’d seen growing in the giant mechanical wombs Talmidge had shown him. He knew he should be interested in seeing a clone fresh from the “garden,” but he couldn’t seem to find the energy to get excited about it. One more week, he told himself firmly.

They descended the narrow spiral stairs that had become so familiar, and he followed Talmidge through the now-empty meeting room and out into the corridor. They stopped outside the music room.

“After you,” said Talmidge, stepping aside.

Eric pushed through the doors, scanning the people. Anna was back at work, her scars livid, her paintings more violent. The cluster’s three favorite musicians were playing their strange, haunting music. Others sat and listened, sketched at the easels around the wall, or spoke softly together.

He moved through the room, smiling and nodding as the clones greeted him. As he approached the musicians, he noticed a female figure slouched in a chair. She was turned away from him, but he saw that her hair was the same color as Vivienne’s, only much shorter. He smiled ruefully; he had Vivienne on the brain.

As he got close, he realized there was something wrong with her posture; she seemed propped up.

A nurse materialized at his elbow. “This is the new one,” she said. She carried a hypodermic and a vial on a tray.

“Nurse!” Talmidge’s voice echoed across the room, and the woman turned. “I need you here a moment, please. Eric, just give her the shot, will you?”

The nurse handed Eric the tray with an apologetic smile, and he took it around to the front of the figure.

“Hello there,” he said, and the world spun away from him and he felt sick. No wonder he had seen no taxi. How had she gotten here? When? Why?

He looked frantically toward Talmidge, who smiled encouragingly at him from across the room, “Go on,” he said. “Give her the shot, Doctor.”

Eric looked down at the drugged figure, her head lolling onto one shoulder. He set the tray on a nearby table and slowly filled the hypodermic.

“Surprised?” Talmidge had moved closer and was studying his reaction; he looked very pleased with himself.

“Why did you bring her here?” Eric demanded weakly,

Talmidge permitted himself a small laugh. “I’m surprised at you,” he said softly, “After all these weeks we’ve been together, I thought we trusted each other.” He gestured at the figure in the chair. “Don’t you know a clone when you see one?”

A clone? Vivienne’s clone? Eric leaned closer, studying her. The short hair made her look surprisingly different, and the face itself was puffier.

At last he turned back to Talmidge with a self-deprecating smile. “Of course,” he said. “How stupid of me.” He raised the hypodermic and squirted it upward to clear it of air. Then he wiped her arm with an alcohol swab and dropped the swab back onto the tray.

He glanced up; Talmidge was close but not that close. With one hand, he steadied her arm against the chair back, shielding the injection site from Talmidge’s view. Then he carefully pushed the needle tip through the fake leather and injected the drug into the upholstery.

When he’d replaced the instruments on the tray and looked around, Talmidge was halfway across the room again, heading toward the door into the corridor.

“Come on, Eric!” he called testily.

Eric discovered he’d been holding his breath; now he let it out in a long soft whoosh. When you wake up, he prayed, please, Vivienne, be careful.

Although there was little to do, Talmidge kept Eric with him all day. They even lunched together with the staff, something Talmidge rarely did. Not once did they go back to the clusters. By late afternoon, Eric wanted to scream. Surely she’s lucid by now, he thought. How will she react when she realizes where she is? Will they sedate her again this evening? How will I get her out of there?

At last Talmidge rose from his desk where he’d been briefing Eric on several upcoming operations - a first, Eric reflected.

“You’ve been with me for, well, not a long time really, but long enough for me to feel like you belong here,” Talmidge told him. “So I have a little celebration planned this evening.”

Shit, Eric thought.

“Just the two of us,” Talmidge continued. “And I guarantee it’ll take your mind off the lovely Vivienne. Now that she’s gone back home, I mean.”

“Uh, could I have a rain check?” Eric began. “I’m, er, kinda tired . . .”

“Nonsense,” Talmidge insisted. “It’s all prepared. Now, why don’t you run down to the clusters and see how, uh, Vivienne Mark Two is getting along? I think she’s due for another injection.”

Eric’s face lit up, but he kept his voice slow and quiet. “Whatever you say,” he told Talmidge, trying to sound bored. “Shall I go now?”

“Right now,” Talmidge agreed, grimly noting Eric’s subdued but obvious enthusiasm. “Be back here in half an hour.”

“Half an hour,” Eric repeated, heading for the door. Talmidge looked after him bitterly.

Eric took the steep stairs two at a time, arriving at the music room breathless and anxious. From the doorway as he entered he could see her huddled in her chair, an angry Anna bending over her.

He crossed the room in a few strides, grabbing Anna by her shoulder and pulling her back. Both women looked at him, surprised.

“Don’t touch her!” he told Anna fiercely, shuddering at the scars which he himself had created. But Anna stared up at him dumbly.

“You thought I would hurt her?” she asked slowly. “But she is my friend, my new friend. She tells me so many things. The men” - here she gestured disdainfully toward Charles and Jim, who were speaking together some way off - “they say it is wrong what she says. But I believe it.” She put her arm around Vivienne’s shoulders protectively. “The ‘little drink’ makes us not think. When I stopped drinking it, I had many questions. Now I have answers. They are strange answers. Hard to understand. But I think they are true.”

“Anna,” Vivienne spoke very softly. “You are not to tell staff people, remember?” She smiled up at Eric. “You were here before? I thought I saw you, but I couldn’t be sure. I was . . . drugged, I think.”

“Yes. But I faked the last shot,” Eric told her. He looked up to see a nurse approaching with a tray. “I have to do it again now. Be quiet.” He took the tray from the nurse and waved her away, then turned again to Vivienne. “Don’t worry,” he told her as he swabbed her arm. “I inject it into the back of the chair. I just have to make it look good.” He began to fuss with the needle and vial. “Talk softly. Tell me how you got here.”

“I sneaked in,” she said. “I used the lock-plate code in the letter to get into Talmidge’s office. I wanted proof to take home with me. Please don’t be angry, it’s too late for that! Anyway, I found a secret door in the bookcase. I thought it led to the clones, but I ended up in his apartment. He had a woman there, nearly naked. A famous actress. Only she wasn’t. Then some men came to take her away, and he brought me here . . .”

“Lean your head on your shoulder,” Eric hissed suddenly as the nurse approached. “You can go,” he told her as he handed her the tray, “I’ll stick around a while.”

The nurse shook her head. “Dr. Talmidge says I must stay in the room with her,” she said, jerking her chin toward Vivienne. She disappeared into the examining room with the tray but soon came out again and seated herself on a chair against the wall.

“The nurse is watching us,” Eric warned her. “I can’t stay long.”

“Can you forgive me? I lied to you, yes, but I truly believed . . . still believe . . . we’re not ready for this kind of knowledge. Look around you, Eric. Look at Talmidge. Are you really sure there won’t be more Talmidges, once the techniques are known?”

“Why didn’t you tell me how strongly you felt?”

“I tried to, at the picnic.”

“But you gave in, at least I thought you did. Why didn’t you argue with me, fight harder?”

“You were so in love with the idea of helping people. How could I convince you the world wouldn’t let it end there?” She smiled at him sadly. “You think everybody’s like you.”

“I don’t know who’s right, Viv, you or me,” he told her tiredly. “But I forgive you.”

She sagged in relief, then touched her hair tentatively. “They cut my hair, didn’t they?’

“It’ll grow back.”

“Yes.”

Suspicious, the nurse half-rose from her chair. “I have to go,” he said. “Be careful. I’ll find a way to get you out.” Jesus, how?

Vivienne looked at him hopefully.

“I love you,” he told her.

“I know,” she said. “I love you too. It’s all happened so fast.”

“Is there a problem, Doctor?” The nurse appeared at his side.

“Yes,” Eric told her. “Her breathing is too slow. Halve the dosage.” He gave Vivienne’s arm a squeeze and walked swiftly from the room.

For a moment, all was quiet. Then the phone rang in the small examining room. The nurse spoke briefly, then replaced the receiver and began preparing the tray, wondering idly how two doctors could have such different ideas about treatment. Not five minutes ago, she reflected, Dr. Rose had injected the girl and halved the dosage. Yet, here was Dr. T. ordering her to administer a second injection, full strength, immediately.

 

Charles sat in the first-class lounge, fuming. He’d spent a lonely night at the Westbury, utterly miserable about the breakup with Angela and deeply worried after his conversation with Ben Talmidge. Something about that phone call had bothered him enough to book the first flight out in the morning. And now here he was, grounded, thanks to mechanical problems. Damn!

He looked around at the other passengers, sipping drinks, reading, telephoning, resigned to the wait. There were few non-stops to Barcelona on Saturday, and this was the only one until evening.

Charles felt jumpy and anxious. If Talmidge had told him that Vivienne had already been there and had since left, he would have found it perfectly believable. But to say that Vivienne hadn’t arrived at all was. . . odd. According to Angela, Vivienne had been very definite about her plans and her timing. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he’d become that Talmidge had been lying.

“May I have your attention, please!” A uniformed airline official was standing by the check-in desk, microphone in hand. “We apologize to our Barcelona-bound passengers for the delay in the departure of Flight 43. We’re happy to announce that new equipment is currently en route from Washington, D.C., and should arrive here within the hour. Servicing of the aircraft will be conducted as expeditiously as possible, and we hope to get you on your way in approximately one hour and forty-five minutes.”

Halfhearted applause greeted his statement. Everyone was getting logy from the recirculating air and free drinks.

Charles did some quick calculations and sighed in frustration. Even assuming the plane from Washington got them off the ground by two this afternoon, he’d never reach the Institute tonight. With the time difference, they’d arrive in Barcelona in the middle of the night. He’d stay at a hotel, he decided, and drive up first thing in the morning.

He sipped his cold coffee disconsolately. Tomorrow was soon enough to make a fool of himself, he thought, beginning to regret his hasty decision. After all, Talmidge had assured him Vivienne wasn’t there. She was probably on her way home right now. Maybe she too had had mechanical problems. And he’d look like an idiot, flying halfway around the world to find his fiancée had already left for home.

And yet, it just didn’t fit.

Was Angela right? Was Vivienne really in trouble? He still wasn’t convinced, but one thing Angela had made him see. He’d gotten Vivienne into this thing, and he had a responsibility to get her out of it.

* * *

“More wine?” Talmidge filled Eric’s glass, then his own.

“No . . . really, I’m fine,” Eric protested.

“More pheasant, then?”

“Thank you, no.”

“They shoot it locally.”

“So you told me. Delicious. Really.” Eric looked with distaste at the small balls of shot lying along the rim of his plate. He’d nearly broken a tooth on the first one, much to Talmidge’s amusement.

The marble slab of desk had been cleared off for the occasion and laid with a soft white cloth; real silver and crystal gleamed and sparkled. The old boy does himself very well, Eric thought.

Talmidge had led him down to his private apartment through the secret bookcase door Vivienne had discovered to her sorrow. At first he’d feared a trick, but Talmidge seemed determined to celebrate, eating and drinking with abandon. Eric, though he had little appetite, had forced himself to be convivial, and somehow they’d gotten through the meal and now sat, replete, trying to think of things to talk about.

“Some dessert, perhaps? Oranges? I know how fond you are of oranges!” Talmidge chuckled.

How can I get her out of there? Eric thought desperately. “No, no oranges, thanks. Actually, it’s getting late, at least for me,” he said. “I, uh, really appreciate this dinner; it was just great!” He smiled a big boyish smile. “But I think I’ll head home now.” I can sneak back afterward, he thought. I’ve got the code, and the staff know me . . .

“The night is young!” protested Talmidge. “And I have a surprise for you. Women!” Eric looked surprised. “Ah, you didn’t know about my women.”

“Your women?”

“They always say yes. And do you know why?”

“They’re clones.”

Talmidge looked surprised. “Very good,” he said. “I didn’t think your mind worked that way. Yes, they’re my very own clones.”

He rose unsteadily; he’d had most of the three bottles of wine. “I can create any woman who’s ever sent a sample to the Institute. Sometimes I even take my own samples,” he said confidentially. “Wanna see?”

“Er . . .”

“Come on! You can choose whichever one you want. Even Petra. You’ll like Petra.”

“OK,” Eric agreed. “Only let’s have another drink first.”

“Thought you didn’t like to drink,” said Talmidge, frowning at Eric’s half-filled wineglass.

“Let’s have a brandy,” said Eric. “You have any brandy?”

“Brandy you shall have.”

“You’ll have some too.”

“I hate brandy.”

Uh-oh.

“But for you, my friend, I will drink brandy,” Talmidge told him, selecting a bottle from the interior of a cabinet.

It shouldn’t take much, Eric calculated as Talmidge poured the brandy into snifters with a shaking hand, then carried the bottle and glasses to the low sofa table.

“After the brandy, women!” Talmidge saluted him and downed his drink, then seated himself heavily. “Go on, boy!” he urged. Swallowing hard, Eric followed suit, then held his glass out for more.

Talmidge looked surprised, but refilled it. “Yours too,” said Eric. “It’s bad luck to drink brandy alone.”

“Bad luck? Then I will drink with you again!” Again Talmidge downed his drink, then rose with difficulty and stood weaving. “Now, the women!” He took a step toward the set of double doors, then stopped. “But first, Eric, my friend,” he said. “I must tell you a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Yes. Come here.”

Eric walked a few steps to where Talmidge was swaying like a tree in a strong breeze, Talmidge put an arm around his shoulder, pulling Eric’s face against his own.

“Shhh!” he cautioned loudly. Then he looked thoughtful. “What was I saying?”

“You were telling me a secret,” Eric reminded him hopefully.

“Yes, a secret!” Talmidge explained. “The secret is, I’m drunk!”

“Drunk.”

“Yes. Can’t seem to stand up. Think I’ll lie down.”

Slowly, like a tree falling to the ax, Talmidge began to crumple. Within seconds, he was sprawled full-length on the floor.

Eric was elated. He had the code, and Talmidge was out of the way. Now he’d get Vivienne and . . . He headed for the door.

“Don’t leave me!” Talmidge was levering himself up from the floor.

“I have to go,” said Eric. “It’s almost morning.”

“You have to go,” Talmidge repeated, struggling to his feet. Again he put an arm around Eric, leaning heavily against him. “You have to work tomorrow. So devoted. So trustworthy. You don’t want any women?”

“No. No women.”

“No women. So sad. All right, we’ll go.”

“We?”

“Yes. I will take you home.”

“I have my car outside. I’ll be fine.”

“Then I will walk you to your car. You are drunk, you cannot walk so well. Also . . .” - Talmidge regarded him with a glazed yet gimlet eye - “you do not know the combination to unlock the door.”

“Uh, that’s right.”

“Right. Close your eyes! No, never mind. Tonight, when you leave, I will change all the codes. So you can look if you want to.” Still holding on to him, Talmidge staggered over to the door and punched in the code Eric knew so well. Together they stumbled up the stairs, into the office, along the corridor, and out into the reception area.

“My friend Eric Rose is very drunk,” Talmidge informed the startled night receptionist. “Very drunk. So we do not let him come back tonight, even if he wants to. He might decide to operate on someone and kill them!” Talmidge threw back his head and laughed heartily, slapping Eric on the back, hard. “If he tries, you call Bascado right away,” he told the dazed receptionist. “Now he will go home and sleep.”

He pulled Eric along to the front double doors and pushed him outside with some force; one of the doors caught Eric across the shoulder as it banged back. “Good night, Eric Rose,” he called after him. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

His howl of laughter echoed across the pitch-black parking lot.