So Titus labored to convince the doctors they’d found nothing unusual. Contusions and abrasions aside, he was very lucky. And that’s all it was-luck.

But their disturbed subconsciouses had to fasten on something, so when they suggested he see the Nutritionist about his Wood pressure and diet, he capitulated, letting them believe they’d done their medical duty. Then they handed him his package with the gold Thermos which he’d left in a gym locker, and escorted him to the Nutritionist.

He regretted it the moment he stepped into the woman’s domain. She was a portly, middle-aged expert with a dictatorial stance, and a face like a bull dog. “I’m Dr. Dorchester, and I’ve studied your data with great care. I think we can get you off medication in two months if you’ll follow my regimen-and stop missing meals.”

She punched her orders into the kitchen computers so his meal card wouldn’t bring him any forbidden substances. “And you’ve got to increase your calcium intake to one and a half times normal. Do you understand that, Titus?”

“Yes, of course. I will.”

“You’re too young for such problems. There’s no excuse for it. You’re certainly not overweight. So you must eat properly, and get more exercise. Then, as soon as you’re off medication, I want you to get out in the solarium, not tanning, just a little sun. But you’ll have to be careful despite your complexion. You can get skin cancer.”

“I know.” He listened to her lecture on campus living being too sedentary while campus politics produced too much anxiety. Then he accepted her advice eagerly. When he finally escaped, he was exhausted. He wondered if even Carol Colby could stand up to Dorchester.

Free at last, he made his way to his apartment on rubbery legs. He nodded to the guard who wore the Brink’s uniform with the Project Hail patch. Then, hiding the shaking of his fingers, he tucked the Thermos package under one arm and triggered the door signal. Come on, Inea.

The guard said, “Pardon, Doctor, but I was told-”

“I know. But the object of the game is to be where I’m not expected to be, no?” He rapped on the door, harder than he’d intended. Inea!

“But Brink’s doesn’t make mistakes-”

“Yes, of course.” His teeth were clenched together, but Titus strove to sound pleasant. “The lady is home, isn’t she?” Her aura was so strong he could taste it.

“Perhaps she’s sleeping?” suggested the guard.

Inea opened the door. In her left hand she held the vial of his blood pressure medication which he’d left on the table. In her other hand were several tablets. “Rip the door off the hinges, why don’t you.”

He squeezed past her. “It’s a hatch, not a door.” She shut it and followed him to the kitchenette. “Why do you always do that? Just when I’m all consumed with sympathy for your plight, you make me crazy mad!”

He splashed water into his pitcher and shoved it into the microwave, then unwrapped the Thermos. “I’m sorry. I’m a little crazy myself right now.”

As he turned toward her, she stifled an exclamation, then discarded the pills on the table and pulled out the chair. “Sit down! You’re not as well as you were pretending to be, are you? Why did they let you go then?”

He just looked at her.

“Oh,” she said, eyes round. “Your whammy.”

“I had to get out of there.”

“Well, so I’d figured when I heard what had happened. That’s why I bullied my way in. to help you-you-”

“Go ahead, call me names if it will help.” He rummaged in a cabinet for a packet of crystals, fighting off the idea that Abbot was right about the artificial blood. Luren biology demanded more.

She picked up the vial again and toyed with the pills. “No. I outgrew name-calling years ago. I’ve had a while to think about this-this mass of contradictions you’ve handed me. Maybe you haven’t lied to me, but you haven’t told me the whole truth, have you? You’re scared witless, aren’t you?”

She’s fishing. She doesn’t know about Abbot. “Witless? That’s not name-calling?”

Wearily, she answered, “You trying to pick a fight? Because you keep it up, you’re going to succeed. I’m only asking you to level with me. Are you afraid-so afraid of something that you’d rather offend me than face it?”

The microwave bleeped, and he fetched the Thermos and dumped in crystals and water. With his back to her, he answered, “Isn’t there any way to get through to you?”

He turned, aware that his face and stance revealed too much. “I’m not dealing with just ordinary hunger here. I went dormant-as if I’d died. But only for a very little while. Still– I’m starving.”

Suddenly, there were tears in her eyes. “I’m such a sucker! You always do this to me. I’ve never met a man who could do this to me like you do. But as soon as my guard is down, you’re going to hit me where it hurts most-aren’t you? What will it be this time?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going to sleep with me, even marry me next year sometime, but you won’t live with me. You’re going to give my career a big boost by using my program on a media event-but you assign me to a hardware tech’s duties instead of writing programs with you. You’re unconscious, and I come running to save your precious secret identity-and you call me the worst kind of materialist right in public. Now you plead dire starvation and I can’t stand the sight of you suffering, and I’ll do anything you ask-and what are you going to do to me next?”

She’s right. I’m as cruel as Abbot.

He poured some of the dead blood into the gold mug. His raging hunger refused to focus on the thick liquid. He carried it toward her, gathering her hands to it. “All right,” he told her, “what I’m going to do to you next is tell you most of the whole truth.”

Her precious ectoplasm was not flowing gloriously into the blood medium. She was barriered against him.

“You’re going to tell me what you’re so afraid of?”

He shut his eyes. He felt her ectoplasmic envelope reaching out toward him, but then it recoiled. Savagery boiled up in him, and he knew real fear-fear that he’d disgrace himself utterly. I should have gone to Abbot. A luren has to have luren blood on wakening from dormancy. But he had been able to hide his condition from Abbot-or Abbot would be here now. And Abbot had known he’d been dormant-he had to have known. But from such a short dormancy, surely he wasn’t in any danger of going feral?

Suppose Abbot suspects I’ll go to Inea, and he wants that because he wants a feral edge on me? It would be typical of Abbot. Perhaps he intends to show up when I’ve admitted neither the blood nor Inea will help this hunger?

But he wouldn’t take Abbot’s blood. He simply, flatly refused to give the Tourist any further power over him.

He opened his eyes, his mind suddenly feverishly clear. “This life forces me to contend with fears I’d never dreamed of before. I have the power to make you offer me what I need. And to make you enjoy it. I’ve sworn not to. but I’m tempted. And I’m afraid of that temptation. Worse, I’m afraid I’ll use ordinary words to get you to help me. And worse yet, I’m terrified if I don’t do either, you won’t help me. I believe you will but I’m afraid you won’t. Does that make sense?”

She raised the mug. “Here, drink.” But there was no tendril of ectoplasm, no energy infusing the chemical.