"Why?" she asked, half-teasing. Once you got the knack of subvocalizing it was quite easy, she decided, as long as something didn't startle you into speaking aloud. "If I get in bad trouble, are you people going to come get me out of it?"

Ramsey's pause was painful. "Sellars has been waiting to talk to you," he said at last. "But don't go off when he's done—I want another word."

The old man's breathy voice was unexpectedly soothing. Whatever else he might be, this Sellars person was clearly no stranger to such unusual situations. "Hello, Ms. Pirofsky," he said. "We're all very glad to hear from you."

"I think you should probably call me Olga. Since I'm sitting here with my pants around my ankles, pretending to go to the bathroom, 'Ms. Pirofsky' seems a bit formal."

She could hear the smile in his voice. "Very well, Olga. It's a pleasure to talk to you again, whatever the circumstances. Did you have any problems with the hiring interview?"

"I don't think so. It all went very smoothly. How did you arrange all that?"

"We'd better save the details. Were you able to get your bag in with you?"

"Yes. I don't have it right this moment, but I can get it again, I'm pretty sure."

"Call me when the shift's over, and when you have it. We'd better not keep you in there too long, so I'll save the rest of what I have to say until then. Oh, except for one very important thing. Can you hold your badge up near the jack on your neck? Just uncover it for a moment—if you think you're being watched, try to make it look like you're cleaning the spot under the bandage. I think I can pick up the encoding that way." When she had done it to his satisfaction, he said, "Good. Thanks. Now Mr. Ramsey wants to talk to you."

A second later Ramsey's voice was in her ear again. "Olga? I just wanted to say, be careful, okay?"

Now she did laugh, but there was real pleasure in it. "All right, sonny. And you dress warmly and eat your vegetables."

"I'm sorry—Olga, what exactly. . . ?" he was saying as she rang off, still grinning.

She was more physically tired than she had been in months when the shift came to an end, staggering after ten hours on her feet. Friday night had crept round to Saturday morning, although only the chronometers on the wall testified to that, sunk as she was in the sunless depths of the building. She could almost sense the massive mountain of plasteel and fibramic above her, separating her from the day's light, as though she were lost in some underground cavern or dungeon.

And the real work begins now, she thought. God, I just want to sleep.

She made weary chitchat with Esther and the others as they put away their cleaning supplies and began the march back to the dock. Then, heart beating fast now, frightened and also full of a weird, unexpected exhilaration, she pulled up short.

"Oh, no!"

Esther turned. There were circles under her eyes, and Olga found herself for the first time wondering what the other woman went home to. A loving family and a kind husband? Or at least something a little better than this numbing labor in Pharaoh's mines? She hoped so. "What is it, sweetie? You look like you see a ghost."

"My backpack! I forgot my backpack!"

Esther shook her head. "I told you you shouldn't have brought it. It's okay—you get it on Monday when we come back."

"I can't. It's got my medicine in it. I have to take my medicine." She took a step backward, putting up her hand to wave the other woman off, praying that fatigue would keep her from volunteering to accompany her back. "I'll go get it. I'll be right back. You go ahead."

"The boat leaves in a few minutes."

"I'll run. If I miss you on the boat, have a good weekend!" Then, feeling surprisingly sincere, she added, "Thanks for all your help!" before she turned and began breasting the tide of gray-clad workers, until Esther and her worried exhortations were out of sight and earshot. Now I have to hope she won't look for me on that crowded boat, or after it docks, at least not very hard. She had planted a seed earlier, saying she would have to be picked up by her daughter still in her work clothes because of a medical appointment. And if Sellars did what he promised with that information off the badge, it will look like I got on the boat and then got off on the far end. Which will give me, what—until Monday evening, if I'm lucky?

Two and a half days to discover the heart of the beast. It seemed so long. It seemed so brief.

The big room with the cubbyholes was empty except for a single male janitor swabbing the floor with a mop and a bucket. She nodded to him and took her backpack, then walked back in the direction of the hovercraft landing, but instead made a turn into one of the stairwells and climbed back down to B Level, which was now comparatively familiar ground. She knew that Sellars and Major Sorensen had arranged some tricks with the security cameras, but she knew they could do nothing if she ran into any flesh and blood company management, so she moved quickly to her planned destination, a utility closet off one of the maintenance corridors. After testing to make sure she could open it again from the inside, she pulled the door shut behind her and slumped on the floor, in the dark. Her heart was beating very fast and she was trembling.

When she had recovered a bit, she spoke the code again and Ramsey's voice was in her ear, reassuringly familiar in the midst of so much that was strange.

"Olga? How are things going?"

"Pretty well, as long as my supervisor doesn't look for me too hard on the boat. But the poor woman looked ready to drop. This is hard work, you know. All my joints are aching, and my hands are cracked—just from one day!"

"I'll give my cleaning lady a much bigger bonus this year, I promise," Ramsey said, but he could not pull off the joking tone very convincingly. So serious, Olga thought, Even if it really is the end of the world, so serious.

"You should have been born a Jew, like me," she said. "You learn how to deal with these things."

The pause was deafening. "I have no idea what you mean, Olga. You have completely stumped me. But I'm glad you're safe. And I'm proud of you. Sellars wants to talk to you."

"Hello, Olga," the old man said. "I echo Mr. Ramsey's sentiments. I may not have much time to talk, so I'm going to give you as much as I can now. Don't write anything down, just in case someone grabs you."

"Don't worry," she said, sitting in the dark, talking silently to people who might as well be on another planet. "I don't have the strength to lift even a pencil right now."

"You'll need at least enough to lift what's in that backpack of yours. Will you get that now?"

"The package?"

"That's right."

She fumbled in the backpack until she found her flashlight, then took out and carefully piled the military rations Ramsey—or really Sorensen, she supposed—had provided, several days worth of food that took up less space than an ordinary box lunch. There was also a bottle of water, which seemed a bit redundant in a building that probably contained a thousand drinking fountains. At the bottom of the pack she found the wrapped box bearing the label of a common thyroid medicine and a note in Olga's own hand that said, "Two after each meal."

"I found it."

"Just open it please. I need to perform a little test."

She unwrapped the box carefully so she could return it to its innocent appearance afterward, and drew out a slim gray rectangle the size of her palm. It was oddly heavy and she viewed it with some distrust. "I have it."

"Just tell me what happens," Sellars said in his soft voice. A moment later a tiny red light sparked on the side.

"A red light turned on."

"Good. Just needed to be sure. You can wrap it back up and put it away now, Olga."