As she turned the wheel and started the bus again, Stephanie pointed to a long, brick building that occupied the entire west side of the quadrant. “Did she say what that building was?” Though nearly three stories high at the front, it butted up against a low pine-covered ridge. Only a front entrance interrupted the entire expanse of brick. It had the appearance of a brooding fortress with no eyes and one gaping mouth.

“No, ask her.”

“Judy?”

The bus stopped, and their guide turned around. “Yes?”

“What is that building?”

Again, for a fraction of a second, Madeline saw the guide’s smile falter, then snap back into place. “That is where you are going to have lunch in about ten minutes.”

“What is it?”

“That is Central Control, headquarters for the Guardians.”

“The who?”

“The Guardians.” She started the bus, lurching it forward. “Now around the next corner we have the University of Shalev. It is—”

“Judy,” Madeline said clearly, “are the Guardians the men in the orange and blue uniforms?”

She paused. “Yes.”

A sudden chill swept the bus like a blast in a winter storm, and sensing it, Judy fell silent.

Madeline brooded for several moments, lost in the bitterness of memory. Suddenly she noticed four boys waiting at the intersection for the bus to pass, staring up at her and smiling. Then she realized they weren’t smiling at her, but at Stephanie. She turned around in time to see Stephanie smile shyly back at them, which brought a quick wave from the nearest boy.

Once again Madeline felt a wrenching leap in her heart. Stephanie was strikingly beautiful, having inherited her father’s dark hair and her real mother’s finely cut features and slimness of body. And yet in the village there were only three eligible young men.

Maybe Shalev would change all that. The hope swelled inside her, and she would have given it full sway if it weren’t for an ominous sense of foreboding that gnawed at her. War eliminated? No more crimes? Then why are six bodies buried under the pines down near the river? And why are we in Shalev, imprisoned like sheep in a pen?

“Oh, Mother, “ Stephanie cried, “look at their clothes!”

They were passing a group of girls, apparently just leaving school. The women on the bus stared at the soft fabrics, the vibrant colors, the stylish cut, the variety of skirts, blouses, dresses, and pants. And nylons! Madeline almost cried aloud. After eighteen years of homespun and buckskin, hand-knit stockings and woolen sweaters, here were nylons and high heels, sandals, tennis shoes, purses that were more than thick leather pouches, necklaces, earrings, lipstick. How long it had been! How long had she forced her mind to forget there had once been such things? She turned away quickly and blinked back tears when she saw Stephanie’s fingers touching her own rough, homespun blouse.