Will she be saved? he asked the humming expectancy in his head. She reached out to touch the spiders, and he was about to stop her, warn her, when he realized it didn't matter. If they had wanted her to be "possessed," the new spider—wherever it came from—would have already taken her. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch one. It did not react. She stroked the chromium body thoughtfully. The spiders moved their legs in unison, and she withdrew her hand hastily. The motion stopped.

"It's like they're alive," she said.

"I think they're just very complicated machines."

"They take samples, store information . . . and they ..." She swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around herself. She began to shiver, her teeth clacking. "Ooo-o-h, Ar-rthur ..."

He reached out to hug her tightly, laying his cheek on the top of her head, nuzzling her.

"I'm still here," he said.

"Everything is so unreal."

"I know."

"What . . . what do we do now?"

"We wait," he said. "I do what I must do."

Her expression as she craned her head back to face him was a mix of fascination and repulsion. "I don't even know that you are who you say you are."

He nodded. "I can't prove that."

"Yes, you can," she said. "Please, maybe you can. Maybe I know already." She folded herself more compactly into his arms and hid her face against his chest. "I don't want to think . . . I've lost you already. Oh, God." She pulled away again, mouth open. "Don't tell Marty. You haven't told Marty?"

"No."

"He couldn't take it. He has nightmares already about fire and earthquakes."

"I won't tell him."

"Not until later," she said firmly. "When we know for sure. What's going to happen, I mean."

"All right."

Then it was time to dress and pick up Marty from the school. They drove together through the drizzle.

That evening, after Marty had gone to bed and while they sat together on the couch in the living room reading, legs entangled, the phone rang. Arthur answered.

"I have a call for Arthur Gordon from President Crockerman."

Arthur recognized the voice. It was Nancy Congdon, the White House secretary.

"Speaking."

"Hold on, please."

A few seconds later, Crockerman came on the line. "Arthur, I need to speak with you or Feinman, or with Senator Gilmonn ... I assume you're in touch with him, or with the Puzzle Palace?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. President ... I haven't spoken with the senator or the NSA. Harry Feinman is very ill now. He's dying."

"That's what I was told." The President said nothing for a long moment. "I'm under siege here, Arthur. They still can't get a vote through in the House, but they're maybe two votes down . . . I'm not sure I know everybody who's laying siege, but I thought you might be able to speak to them. You don't need to admit complicity . . . or whatever you would call it."

"I may not be the right man, Mr. President," Arthur said.