“Up in the hills you accused me of being the village’s resident psychiatrist,” he went on. “At the risk of supporting that accusation, let me say something. My father used to tell us that love and goodness are interwoven and interdependent. The more goodness a person exhibits in his life, the easier it is to love that person. Selfishness, cruelty, exploitation—any evil act makes it harder and harder to feel love for a person. And you and Travis—” He stopped and then shrugged. “I think your head is still struggling with what your heart has already decided.”

“I know,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Every time I think about him, I can’t blot out the image of him showing the Major the terminal voltage buttons on the computer.”

“Or last week in the stadium?” Eric asked softly.

“Yes, that too.” Her shoulders straightened, as if the saying of it had relieved her of pain.

“I’m sorry. Travis is a good man in many ways.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “So what now?”

He smiled, the slightest touch of teasing in his eyes. “I could always drag you back to the mountains again.”

“Against my will, of course.”

“Of course.” He laughed gently, then instantly sobered. “What about implantation, Nicky? Travis is right—the Major won’t make an exception.”

“I know.”

“Nicole, I—” Then he stopped and his shoulders dropped.

“What?”

He took a breath, hesitated as though ready to speak, then finally shook his head.

“Ask me, Eric,” she said.

“I lost my right to ask you anything.”

“I know. But you earned it back when you brought me my shoes. So ask me.”

His hands came up, as though he was about to take her by the shoulders, then they dropped again. But his eyes were steady and his face determined. “Nicole, come with us. Help us free this people.”

He used almost exactly the same words Clifford Cameron had screamed out as his final answer to the Major, and they hit Nicole hard. When she looked up at him, tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Why did you come back? I don’t want to be part of this. I want to get away and not think about it anymore.”

“Yes,” he said, thinking of the valley and irrigating in the warm summer sunshine. “That does have its attractions.”

Suddenly Nicole walked into the bedroom. When she returned, she held the carved redwood figure of a tortured eagle straining upwards. “Why did you give me this?”

“He sighed. “I carved that because it was me, then. It represented everything I was feeling.”

“And why did you choose to give it to me?”