She walked to the low cement wall that separated the lawn from the sand of the playground and watched her two daughters in amusement. They would barely get started up the slide or on the swing when they’d spot a new attraction and off they’d dart, too excited to stay in one place for more than a few seconds.

They had come to the park after her visit to Eric, a visit that had left her greatly relieved and yet full of uneasiness and dismay. Why were they holding her son when everyone else was free? Why were they so adamant about not mentioning implantation?

She shrugged off the questions, still too confused by the events of the past week to sort it all out, and looked at her daughters.

Once again Madeline felt that curious intertwining of poignant longing and overwhelming revulsion. She knew the source of her longing. Shalev was all that they had lost—electric stoves, supermarkets, automatic washers, parks and slippery slides, ice cream sodas, movies, symphony orchestras, a university, clothes with a variety of styles, colors, and materials. Maybe the AFC didn’t have everything, but compared to the village it was a dazzling array of plenty.

Then, as her hand raised slowly to touch the bandage at the back of her neck, she knew with equal clarity the source of the revulsion. Even now, as it welled up in her, she felt a quick clutch of fear. The revulsion always brought anger, and anger brought the pain.

“Watch, Mama! Watch me!” Lori was at the top of the slide.

“I’m watching, honey,” she called, glad for the interruption in her thoughts. Lori squealed happily as she shot downward.

“Very good!” Madeline called. Then slowly she turned and walked over to a bench.

“Mr. Lloyd?”

Mastering the impulse to glance up at the mirror, Eric lay motionless on the cot.

“Mr. Lloyd!”

He noted with satisfaction the edge of exasperation in the cool voice.

“You have a visitor waiting outside.”

In spite of himself, Eric opened his eyes. “Who is it?”

“If you would step to the back of your cell, please.”

For nearly thirty seconds Eric lay there defiantly, irritated by the impersonal voice coming from the speaker, but then his desire to see who his visitor was overpowered his pride, and he swung his legs off the cot and stood up and moved to the far corner. The door opened and a tall figure stepped through. For a long moment Eric stared, completely dumbfounded. Then he exploded with joy. “Cliff!”

“Hello, Eric.” Cliff Cameron stepped forward and clapped his hands on Eric’s shoulders.

“Cliff! But I thought—I saw you—” He stopped, words failing him.

“I know.” His leathery face broke into a wide smile. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Why didn’t Mom tell me? She was here just a little while ago.”