"Nobody's giving up on you," Arthur said with surprising vehemence. "If your damned doctors can't . . . we'll find other doctors. I need you"

"I feel like a real shit, letting you down," Harry said.

"You know that's a—"

"I mean it. I am very sick now. I don't feel it yet, but in a week or two they'll start other treatments, and I'll be a wreck. I won't be able to think straight. So let me tell you now. We have to start fighting back."

"Fighting the Furnace, the Rock?"

"They've got us confused. They've accomplished that much . . . whoever they are. Blowing up their emissaries. Jesus! What a masterstroke. Giving us two stories, then making both seem like lies. And we've been a real good audience. It's time to do what we can."

"What is that?"

"You haven't been thinking about it?"

"All right," Arthur admitted. "I have."

"You have to reestablish your channels of communication with the President. Encourage McClennan and Rotterjack to stay on. If that's out of the question—"

"Too late now."

"—Then talk to Schwartz. He knows damn well what the public reaction is going to be. Americans won't accept this easily."

"I'd hate to see the polls as to how many people believe anything is happening."

"Leadership," Harry said, his voice husky. "He has to assert his leadership. And we have to fight back."

Arthur nodded abstractedly.

"Killing Cook. Remember?"

Arthur shook his head. "Only if they're not omnipotent."

"If they are, why would they try to confuse us?" Harry asked, his face darkening. He gripped Arthur's hand more tightly. There was a time when Harry's grip could have ground knuckles. Now it was a steady, insistent pressure; no more. "They have to believe we can hurt them somehow."

Arthur nodded. Another conclusion had occurred to him, however, and it frightened him. He could hardly put it into words, and he certainly would not reveal it to Harry now. Poke a stick in the ants' nest, he thought. Watch them scurry around. Learn about them. Then stomp the nest.

"Have you thought about what will happen to me if you don't pull through?" Arthur asked.

"You'll invite Ithaca up to Oregon, get her settled up there. Introduce her to friends. Find somebody promising who needs a good woman. Marry her off."

"Christ," Arthur said, crying now.

"See," Harry said, tears running down his own cheeks. "You really care."

"You bastard."

Harry rolled his head aside and pulled up a pillow cover to wipe his eyes. "I've never been jealous of you. I could go for years without seeing you, because I knew you'd be there. But Ithaca. He'd better be a damned good fellow, the one you introduce her to. If anybody's going to lie between her thighs but me, I’d better like him a hell of a lot."

"Stop this."