“Four children! Even without the bandages, that would give you away.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Most people here have one, sometimes two. I have six.”

That won her a surprised look, for she looked young. She laughed at Madeline’s expression. “I’m an outsider too. We were part of a small group of about fifty in eastern Oregon. They brought us in four years ago.”

“Against your will?”

“Oh, we came willingly enough, wide-eyed to think we had found civilization. Then we woke up with bandages on our necks. But, of course, it was all for our own good.”

Again Madeline nodded, warming to this woman who understood the bitterness and revulsion. “Which are yours?”

“The two boys there on the merry-go-round. The one in the blue shirt is nine; the one in yellow is eleven. I have two younger girls and two teen-aged boys.”

“What does your husband do?” The instant she asked, Madeline regretted the question.

“He’s an accountant for a chain of clothing stores. How about yours? Have they told him what they’ll have him do yet?”

Madeline bit her lip. “He was killed trying to defend our village.”

The woman touched Madeline’s arm. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’m gradually getting used to the reality of it now.” She looked away quickly. Why do you lie? Tell her you cry yourself to sleep every night, that never in your life, not even the first time you lost your husband, have you ever felt so terribly alone. But when she turned back she said only, “At least Shalev is a pretty place.”

“Yes, and you adjust to—” The woman’s eyes flicked up to the bandage again. “You adjust quickly. Even the children.”

“How quickly?”

The woman looked away. “It was especially hard on my boys. They were never mean or malicious, it was just that they could never pass one another without one poking or shoving at the other. It was terrible for them at first.” Her voice caught, and she had to finish in a whisper. “I used to get so angry with them for it. Now I’d give anything to have those days back again.”

Eric stared at Cliff, his face blank, uncomprehending. “Hypothalamus? Microelectrodes? What are you talking about?”

Suddenly Cliff’s eyes widened. “You mean, you haven’t been implanted?”

“Of course not.” Then Eric shot to his feet. “Wait a minute. I was drugged for several days.” His hands went up to the back of his neck.

“Let me see.” Cliff stood up and probed carefully at the base of Eric’s skull. “No.” He peered more closely. “No,” he repeated in surprise, “you haven’t been.” He stepped back and gave Eric a long, searching look.

Eric returned his gaze as he rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. “So that’s what Mother meant?”