That seemed to satisfy whoever-it-was. They set a time for another chat, and then the visitor was gone.

Robert turned off circle-of-friends access. No more surprise visitations tonight.

And downstairs, there was still no action. He watched through the walls for almost fifteen minutes. That was certainly a productive use of time. Think about something else, damn it .

He blew off the top of the house and looked across West Fallbrook. Un-enhanced, the place was very dark, more like an abandoned town than a living suburb. The real San Diego had less skyglow than he remembered from the 1970s. But behind that real view were unending alternatives, all the cyberspace fun Bob's generation could have ever imagined. Hundreds of millions were playing out there tonight. Robert could feel — Epiphany could make him feel — the thrum of it, beckoning. Instead he tapped out a command Chumlig had mentioned; here and there across North County, tiny lights glowed. Those were the other students in his classes, at least the ones who were studying tonight and had any interest in what the others were doing. Twenty little lights. That was more than two-thirds of the class, a special kind of belief circle, one dedicated to pushing up their cooperation scores as far as possible. He hadn't appreciated how hard these little third-raters were working.

Robert ghosted over the suburbs, toward the nearest of the lights. He hadn't tried Epiphany's "out of body" feature before. There was no feeling of air flowing past, or motion. It was just his synthetic viewpoint slewing across the landscape. He could still feel his butt on the chair in his bedroom. And yet he understood why the directions said to do this sitting down. The viewpoint swooped down into a valley with a speed that was dizzying.

He drifted into a welcoming window. Juan Orozco and Mahmoud Kwon and a couple of others were gathered in a family room, marking out possibilities for tomorrow's exchange with Capetown. They looked up and said hi, but Robert could tell they weren't seeing much more than his icon hovering in the room. He could be present virtually, perhaps even look as "real" as Sharif usually did. But Robert just hung in the air, listening to the talk for a few moments and —

Alarm notification!

He cut the connection and was back in his bedroom.

Downstairs, Bob had wandered out of the living room. He stood by Alice's door and knocked gently. As far as Robert could tell there was no answer. After a moment, Bob tucked his chin in and turned away. Robert tracked him up the stairs. The sounds of footsteps came down the hall. Bob knocked on Miri's door, the way he did most evenings. There was mumbled conversation, and Miri's voice saying, "G'night, Daddy." It was the first Robert had heard her call Bob that.

Bob's footsteps came nearer; he paused at Robert's door, but he didn't say anything. Robert watched him through the wall as Bob turned and was swallowed up by the privacy of the master bedroom.

Robert hunched over his desk and stared into the downstairs. Alice hardly ever stayed up much beyond Bob. Of course, tonight was not your usual night. Damn. You screw your courage up to an act of family betrayal — and then fate dumps problems all over your dishonorable intent. But even if Alice camped out in the den, eventually she'd have to use the bathroom. Right?

Twenty minutes passed.

Alice's door opened. She stepped out, turned toward the stairs. Use the ground-floor bathroom, damn you . She turned again and paced angrily around the living room. Paced? There was precision and power in every motion, like a dancer or a martial-arts nut. Not like dumpy frumpy Alice Gong Gu, she of the mild round face and the shapeless dress. And yet this was the real view. It was her real face, even if it was tense with pain, and drenched in sweat. Huh? Robert tried to follow her gliding dance in close-up. The woman was dripping sweat. Her dress was soaked, as if she had just finished a long, frantic run.

Like Carlos Rivera.

It couldn't be. Alice never got stuck in a foreign language, or in a particular specialty. In any one particular specialty. But he remembered the web discussion of JITT. What about the few strange people who could "train" more than once, who became ever more multitalented, until the side effects finally destroyed them? Where would such wretches get "stuck" if there were dozens of imprints to fall into?

Alice's gliding dance slowed, stopped. She stood for a moment with her head bowed, her shoulders heaving. Then she turned and walked slowly into the front bathroom.

Finally, finally. And now I should he overcome with relief . Instead, revelation bounced back and forth in his mind. This explained so many little mysteries. It contradicted several certainties. Maybe Alice hadn't been gunning for him. Maybe she was no more his enemy than anyone in this house.

Sometimes things are not as they seem.

It was very quiet. The old house in Palo Alto had had little squeaks and thumps, and sometimes Bob's PC playing stolen music. Here, tonight… yes, there were occasional sounds, the house settling into the cool of the evening. Wait. In the utility view, he saw that one of the water heaters had kicked in. He could hear running water.

Not for the first time, Robert wondered what kind of magic that little gray box was. It had not triggered the house watchdogs. Maybe it wasn't electronic at all, but nineteenth-century gears and cogs driven by a metal spring. Then it had disappeared from Robert's own naked eyesight. That was something new, not a visual trick. Maybe the box had sprouted little legs and scurried off. But whatever it was, what would it finally do ? Maybe the Stranger didn't need a little blood. Maybe a lot of blood would suit him more. Robert sat stock-still for a second and then bolted to his feet — and froze again. I was so desperate . Credibility is not important if the victim wants to believe so hard that truth must be what the liar claims. So the Stranger had mocked the notion that hurting Alice would be worth such hugger-mugger. And I, desperate, smiled and was convinced .

Robert was out of his room, and flying down the stairs. He dashed through the living room and pounded on the bathroom door. "Alice! Al — "

The door opened. Alice was looking at him, a bit wide-eyed. He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the hallway. Alice was not a large woman; she came easily in his grasp. But then she turned, taking him off balance. Somehow his feet got tangled in hers and he slammed into the doorjamb.

"What! Is it?" she said, sounding irritated.

"I — " Robert looked over his shoulder, into the brightly lit bathroom, then back at Alice. She was dressed in a robe now, and her short hair looked as though she had washed it. And everybody is still in one piece. No pools of blood… except maybe where my head hit the doorjamb .

"Are you okay, Robert?" Concern seemed to rise above her irritation.

Robert felt the back of his head. "Yeah, yes. I'm pretty robust these days." He thought about how he'd come down the stairs. Even when he was seventeen years old, he had never skipped four steps at a time.

"But — " Alice began. Clearly she was more concerned about his mental state than anything else.

It's okay, Daughter-in-Law. I thought I was stopping your murder, and now I find it's a false alarm . Somehow he didn't think that would be a satisfactory explanation. So why was he down here in the middle of the night, pounding on the door? He looked into the bathroom again. "I, um, I just needed to use the John."

Her sympathy frosted over. "Don't let me keep you, Robert." She turned and headed for the stairs.

"Are you okay, Alice?" Bob's voice, from the top of the stairs. Robert didn't have the courage to look, but he could imagine Miri's little face staring down, too. As he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, he heard his daughter-in-law's tired voice. "Not to worry. It was just Robert."