“My principal,” Catlin had reminded the man with some firmness, “ isAriane Emory.”

One could watch the thoughts pass through the Supervisor’s eyes–a born‑man considering his career options, perhaps. He hadn’t been more cheerful after that, but he’d been polite. And he’d let her insert the tapes she’d brought, giving her access to a whole row of lab beds, clearing two other doubtlessly deserving azi who’d been scheduled for the afternoon.

“This is sera’s business,” Catlin had remarked further, as severely as possible, “and intimately pertains to her household. She will appreciate discretion. Your name is John Elway. Mine is Catlin AC‑7892. I will report.”

Reading born‑men was possible, when they were strongly conflicted. The man just nodded, and likely had notmade a phone call to higher levels, even yet.

Twitch of BR‑283’s head. Catlin looked critically at that subject, and let it pass. Possibly he’d just met a small alteration in his program. The dose had been heavy. BR‑283 probably could have taken the tape without the drug…but he was deep enough that a twitch was unusual.

Twitch became a tic. Jerk of the hands. “Let the tape run,” sera had told her. “Let it complete.”

The subject sat bolt upright, eyes staring, then vaulted off the couch, right into the wall–a wall that assuredly was not there in BR‑283’s vision. He rebounded against the couch, fighting for balance.

He was dangerous in this state, dangerous to himself. He hit another wall, hard. His forehead was bleeding.

There was a red button that could call help. Catlin opted not to use it. By the clock, she was due to call base. She touched the com button on her shoulder and said, “Catlin here. There’s been a reaction.”

The micro receiver in her right ear said, in sera’s voice, “ I’m coming.”

The other subjects were getting to the end of their tape sessions withouthurling themselves off their couches. There was onesubject huddled on the floor in a fetal tuck in the corner, one subject in the throes of a psychotic episode from the deeptape he’d been given–and that individual happened to be the officer Hicks had put in charge of the unit. Rafael BR‑283.

That said something. And John Elway had not come to assess the progress of the session. In a little bit more, John Elway would have visitors to the section, visitors who would not be prevented. She watched the other azi, walked to the one‑way glass and looked at BR‑283, who had gotten into a corner the camera didn’t completely reach. He was bleeding down his face, shaking and rocking. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.

It was 1601h, by her watch, when someone came down the hall outside. She drew her sidearm–one never assumed the other side wasn’t prepared to shoot–and faced the opaque door.

It opened, and it was sera, with Florian, a very welcome sight, with Wes for reinforcement. John Elway had come in among them, looking upset, and two of his staff attended, just ahead of Wes, but sera didn’t seem worried in the least about them, only about the business at hand.

Catlin said, holstering her sidearm, “A reaction, sera, in the unit senior.”

“Well,” was all sera said, and sera went to the monitors, on which three azi were quiet, likely asleep; and then went to the window of the first room, assessing the situation. Sera punched that button for communication and said, softly, “Rafael. Rafael.”

The subject convulsed, and knotted himself tighter into the corner.

“This is Ariane Emory, your Contract and your Supervisor. I’ve come to help you. Can you get up?”

Nothing, for a moment. Then a slight response, a leg straightened out of the tuck, folded, knee against the floor.

“This is your Supervisor. Get up, Rafael.”

He moved, unfolded his arms, laid hands on the wall, got a knee under him, and tried to get up.

“Are you all right, Rafael?”

“I can’t see.”

“Yes, you can,” sera said, and Rafael turned his head and stared around him.

“Is that better, Rafael?”

A slight nod.

“I’m your Supervisor,” sera said, in that calm, calm voice she could use–the tone that made Catlin’s own nerves twitch, and brought a silence and quiet from all of the azi present. “I’m your Contract. It’s all right. I have a resolution for you. Are you ready to hear it?”

A nod. “Yes.”

“What you believed true, was true before this. Now something else is true, and I tell you it’s all right. Do you believe me? Do you accept it?”

“I can’t,” Rafael said.

Whatever someone had laid into him, it was a hard block.

Sera said, slightly more sternly: “Rafael.”

“Sera?”

“When I tell you something, it’s true. It will always be true. Do you need to see your Contract, to know that?”

“I want to see it,” Rafael said.

Very high beta, strong‑willed, not easily overcome. Catlin felt it in her own nerves. This azi was Enemy, and resisting, hard.

Sera said, quietly, “Catlin, unlock the door.”

“Sera, show him through the window.”

“Unlock the door, Catlin. It’s all right.”

She was alpha, and her resistance was harder to overcome than any beta ever devised. But she had to, if sera insisted. Florian and Wes were right with sera while she moved back to the console to open the door. If the Enemy went berserk, they’d hit him with all they had. But–

“He’s security, sera.”

“Do it,” sera said.

Sera’s orders, in that tone, were sera’s orders, off her own deep sets, and Catlin moved and did it, watching the subject the while, her heart ticking up another notch as Florian and Wes moved in, right with sera.

“These are your allies,” sera said calmly. “And this is your Contract.” She took a small reader from her coat pocket, and walked toward the subject, whose leaning against the wall could propel him off it in half a heartbeat, and sera was small and fragile in that reckoning, the subject a head taller, bloody‑faced, drenched in sweat, and, at the moment, between loyalties.

Sera calmly held the reader out to him, and he stood away from the wall, took it, and looked at it. Looked for a long time.

It was something, to see one’s real Contract, and read the name on it, for the first time. It was identity, and right, and duty, all those things wrapped up in one. It had to have an effect. Just thinking about it had an effect on every azi in the room, and Catlin moved close to the door, tense as drawn wire, ready to defend herContract if Rafael made a sudden move.

“Do you believe,” sera asked Rafael quietly, “that I’m your Supervisor?”

Nod. Second nod. The eyes flickered. Rafael was processing things. Hard. He shook badly as he gave the reader back. It could go any direction from here. Anydirection.

“It’s all right,” sera said. “You’re one of us. You’re safe. You’re where you belong.”

He felt for the wall behind him. Leaned against it.

“It’s all right. Come here. Come.”

He got his balance. Sera stood there holding out open arms, and that great tall azi came close and let her take his hands. “It’s all right,” sera said. “You only report to me, now and forever. All other claims on you are completely gone. Erased. You don’t have to do the other thing, do you?”

“No,” Rafael said. A huge sigh came out of him, and he said shakily: “I won’t.” Deep breath. “I don’t have to.”

Not a lie, Catlin thought. That had been a Conflict. Bad one. Something in that tape had reached out and presented this azi an irresolvable contradiction, thrown him into a box to which only an appropriate Supervisor had the key.

And sera had come and rescued him, that simply.

Catlin found her leg twitching. She was that wired up. But Rafael was Sera’s now. Safe. She saw the same subtle shift in Florian’s stance, and Wes’s. Three of them might not have been quick enough, strong enough, to take the man out fast enough, as close as sera had pushed it: they had to talk with her about that. But done was done. It was all right. The other three, down the row, they were sera’s, too, peacefully, with no reactions.