"Yeah?"

"This is Minelli. You owe us another apology. The food here is terrible. Why did you have to call the Air Force?"

"I thought they'd know what to do."

"Do they?"

"Apparently."

"They going to shoot us up on a shuttle?"

"I doubt it," Edward said.

"I wish I'd majored in biology or medicine or something. Then I might have some idea what they're planning."

Edward wondered aloud whether they had isolated all of Shoshone, blocking off the highway and the desert around the cinder cone.

"Maybe they've put a fence around California," Minelli suggested. "And maybe that's not enough. All of the West Coast. They're building a wall across the plains, not letting fruits and vegetables through."

The intercom system was wired so they could all talk at once or privately. They could not exclude the watch or the chamber duty officers. Reslaw joined them. "There's only four of us, plus the four investigators—they didn't isolate that clerk, what's her name."

"Esther," Edward said. "Or the kid at the service station."

"That must mean they're holding only those people who might have touched it, or came close enough to breathe microbes in the air."

Morgan joined in. "So what are we going to do?" she asked.

Nobody answered.

"I'll bet my mother is frantic."

None of them had been allowed to make calls out.

"You own the store?" Edward asked. "I've been wanting to thank you ..."

"For letting you call? Really smart of me, wasn't it? My family owns the store, the café, the trailer court, propane distributorship, beer distributorship. It's not going to be easy keeping this quiet. I hope she's okay. God, I hope she hasn't been arrested. She's probably called our lawyer already. I sound just like a spoiled rich kid, don't I? 'Wait'll my mommy hears about this.'" She laughed.

"Well, who else here has connections?" Edward asked.

"We're supposed to be gone for two more weeks," Reslaw said. "None of us is married. Are you . . . Stella?"

"No," she said.

"There it is," Minelli concluded. "You're our only hope, Stella."

"Don't be so glum," the chamber supervisor intruded. He was in his mid-twenties, a first lieutenant.

"Are we being bugged?" Edward asked, angrier than he had any real right to be.

"Of course," the supervisor replied. "I'm listening. Everything's being recorded on audio and video."

"Are you running security checks on us?" Stella asked.

"I'm sure they are."

"Damn," she said. "Count me out, guys. I was a student radical."

Edward cut through his anger and frustration and forced a laugh. "You and me both. Minelli?"

"Radical? Hell, no. First time I voted it was for Hampton."

"Traitor," Reslaw said.

"Speak not ill of the dead," Edward cautioned. "Hell, he was good for science. He boosted the space program."

"And cut the hell out of domestic spending," Morgan added. "Crockerman's no better."

"Maybe we'll meet the President," Minelli said. "Get on TV."

"We're going to be here for the rest of our lives," Reslaw predicted with Vincent Price intonation. Edward couldn't tell whether he was being serious or melodramatic.