“I know. And I guess I understand, but have you ever considered what the game of soccer must be like from the ball’s point of view?”

He didn’t answer.

“Well, I was the ball that day—to you, to the Major, to Eric—and that isn’t a very uplifting feeling. But it’s much more than that, Travis. Much more.”

“What?”

Showing the Major which buttons to push, holding microphones to a seventy-two-year-old man’s lips as he screams in agony. But she merely shook her head. “Maybe after it all dies down, things will return to normal, and we can start building something again.”

Travis stood up quickly and came over to sit next to her. He took her hand. “Nicole, do you still love me?”

“I—” Her head dropped, and she stared at their hands. “I don’t know. I need time to sort this all out in my mind.”

He sighed deeply, then finally nodded. “Okay. I guess I can understand how you feel.” He stood up abruptly. “Well, then, I guess I’d better go.”

The hurt in his voice was obvious, and for a moment she almost relented. Then something inside her stiffened, and she stood up too. Suddenly he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him. His kiss was gentle, longing, imploring. One part of her ached to return it, but she couldn’t.

“Good-bye, Nicole.”

“Good-bye, Travis.”

At the door he abruptly stopped. “Have you considered what leaving the Guardians means for you?”

A thousand questions from friends, loss of one of the bestpaying jobs in the city, giving up this home, which was furnished by the Guardians—her mind flicked quickly over the things she had already considered. “Yes, I think I have.”

“Implantation?”

Nicole faltered, the color draining from her face.

“I didn’t think so,” he said. “But you know that’s true.”

“I—”

“With your uncle dead, you’re not immediate family anymore. The Major won’t make an exception, especially not now.”

Nicole’s mouth was a pale, tight line across the chalky hue of her face. How stupid. That above all should have occurred to her, and it had never crossed her mind.

“Look,” Travis said, moving to her and taking her by the shoulders, “you’ve still got until Monday to think about your decision. That gives you another thirty-six hours. If being in Central Monitoring is what concerns you, just ask for a transfer. You could go in—”

They both spun around at the sound of scratching at the door. “What’s that?” Nicole said. Then, as she opened the door, she cried out in surprise and delight. “Cricket!”

The German shepherd was sitting down, her nose pressed to the screen, her tail beating furiously against the porch.

Nicole threw open the screen and dropped to her knees. “Cricket, where did you come from?” She laughed with delight as the dog tried to lick her face.