She would have to make an appearance, however. She expected it of herself. Patricia had always resisted playing the reclusive genius and avoiding contact with others. Resisting was not the same as denial of the urge's existence; she did want to stay away, to go to her quarters and work. The thought of dancing under the eternal tubelight (the dance was being held in the open) and making small talk—essentially, of going on the social roster, if only for a few hours—frightened her. She wasn't sure she could maintain her temper, the balance that kept her from dissolving into tears of rage and frustration.

She descended the stairs and left the barracks, hands in pockets, forcing her chin higher as she approached the milling crowd.

Two soldiers, two biologists and two engineers had built their own synthesizer and electric guitars out of discarded electronics. The story had been circulating for some weeks that the band was tolerable—perhaps even good. This was their first time in front of an audience, and they seemed coolly professional as they tuned and adjusted the amplifiers.

Loudspeakers of a peculiar design had been cadged by archaeologists working in Alexandria and offered up for the dance as a kind of goodwill sacrifice, an atonement for their fussy protectiveness. The speakers had been set up at corners of the rectangular dance area, an unused acre reserved for future buildings. No wires went to the speakers; the music was broadcast to them on a special frequency through a low-power transmitter. The sound coming out of them was somewhat metallic, but they were serviceable. Heineman inspected one casually and said, "I'm not sure what this is. It isn't a loudspeaker."

"It's working, isn't it?" Carrolson said, sticking close to her intended dance partner.

Heineman agreed that it was producing sound from the beamed signal, but went no further than that. The question was never satisfactorily settled.

Beneath the steady tubelight, security team members took turns dancing with the scientists and technicians. The Soviet group stood together to one side, playing wallflowers. Hua Ling, Wu, Chang and Farley joined in energetically, though they had already been informed of the shutdown.

The band switched to older acid rock for a few selections, but that didn't suit the mood and they reluctantly returned to more modern music.

Patricia danced once with Lanier, one of the Japanese waltzes that had become popular in the last few years. At the conclusion, as they held hands at arm's length and bobbed around one another, Lanier nodded mysteriously and smiled at Patricia. She felt a flush work up her neck to her face. At the dance's conclusion, he held her close and said, "Not your fault, Patricia. You've done great. A real team member."

They separated and Patricia retreated to the sidelines, confused, her sensation of nullity broken. Had she really expected or wanted approval from Lanier? Apparently; his words pleased her.