JEREMY MINTON

Halfway House

STEPHEN ENTERED THE office like an amiable tornado. When he saw the gaslamp on the overbearing desk, the fusty curtains, sullen, dust-dark shelves, he did the inevitable doubletake. Alison could almost hear him thinking: this is where I'm going to change my life?

"Don't mind the décor," she said. "The Selectors set it up when I first got the job. It was already a century out of date but I was too overawed to complain. Instead, I just got used to it."

Stephen shrugged. They shook, and he held her hand a moment longer than necessary. He smiled. He was seventeen years old. The smile was sweet, but Alison wasn't impressed. She'd been assessing body forms for one hundred and thirty-five years and the shine was gone from the job. It took more than good bones and attitude to reignite her fire; more than she'd found in his clumsy application.

He wanted to be a dragon. He hadn't used the word, but when you spec for a twenty-foot lizard with wings and armored scales, there is really only one thing you can call it. At least he hadn't made it breathe fire.

But he had tried to make it lay eggs: a classic design error. Large, oviparous creatures were almost never approved. She pointed this out and he said, "I know. I always thought it strange. Laying eggs has worked awfully well for an awfully long time. Crocodiles have bred that way since long before there were dinosaurs."

"They've bred that way on Earth. You're designing for Ditranea. It's a completely different ecology."

"About which designers have been given scandalously scant data. If you've finally decided to tell people about the world their creations are going to live on, I think that's good and I'm sure other candidates will appreciate it. But it's unfair to penalize me for failing to consider some environmental factor that no one knows about."

"Fairness doesn't come into it," said Alison. "My job is to decide on a creature's long-term viability given its target environment. Your creature's viability is nil."

"Because it lays eggs?"

"No. Because it won't live long enough to breed. By the time it's two years old it'll be too heavy to fly. The ratio for calorific absorption is wrong."

She flipped through his design to where the green annotations turned red. He stared for a while, like a witness to his own evisceration. When he finally spoke he seemed to have aged ten years.

"I've screwed it up," he said.

"It's quite a subtle error. There are several others, but it made sense to focus on this one, given that it seems to be fatal."

"I don't believe it. I've had this plan proofread by experts. Some of them had it for weeks. Not to mention the three and a half years I worked on it myself. How long did it take you to destroy it?"

"About three-quarters of an hour. But, then again, I've had a lot of practice."

"I'd heard that," he said. "That it's always been you doing this job, ever since the World Gate opened. Is that right?"

He looked like he didn't believe it, which was fair enough, she guessed. She could have passed for thirty in the fluttering, flickering gaslight.

"Yes, it's always been me," she said, and hoped that would close the subject. She picked up her pen cap and clicked it onto the barrel. "I think we're just about done here, unless there's anything you want to ask me."

That was when he realized the interview was over.

"Is that it?" he said. "You blow away my life, and that's it? Don't I even get any sympathy?"

"I don't do sympathy. Would it make you feel better if I did? Will you take your folder with you, or would you rather I threw it away?"

He didn't, couldn't answer; just blundered to his feet as though he had been blinded. He was practically out the door when something seemed to strike him.

"Aren't you going to give me a disk?" Alison just stared at him, her face a practiced mask.

"What do you want it for? It's not a green one."

"I thought you had to give me a disk."

"If you ask me, I'm required to give it." He sidled back toward her, almost crippled by hope.

"I'd like my disk then, please." She reached into a desk drawer, pulled out a circle of plastic and pushed it into his hand, reciting from long memory the accompanying

speech. Stephen wasn't listening. He stared at the disk she had given him. It was yellow.

"This means I can come back," he said. "This gives me the right to re-apply and you'd have let me just walk off without it."

"That's right," she said. "I would. Oh, please don't look so shocked. If you'd closed the door just now, you'd be on your way back to Earth to get on with your life. And that's what you still can do. A yellow disk means you're allowed to reapply. It doesn't mean you have to.

"Listen to me, Stephen. Halfway House is not a happy place. The people who come here are not happy people. You're only seventeen. Whatever you're running from, does it really justify giving up your home and the shape you were born in to escape it? Do you really -- ?"

She broke off. "Oh, what on Earth's the use? You're not even listening, are you?"

"I can come back," said Stephen.

"Yes, you can come back." She waited till he'd closed the door before adding the words, "You idiot."

Seven years passed before they met again. The spring was gone from his step, and he fell into the candidate's chair as though he'd forgotten how to be gentle. He did not smile. He glared at her and at the room and then snarled, "Nothing's changed. Not a solitary thing."

"Probably not," she said.

"You're even wearing the same dress. Same dress, same hair, same shadow on your eyes."

"You're guessing," she said. "You don't remember those details."

"You're wrong. I remember everything. The way you looked, the words you said, the way your hand felt when you touched me."

"I never touched you."

"You've never stopped touching me. There's not a day when I've not thought of you."

Alison grimaced. It wasn't going to be one of those interviews, was it?

"That was foolish. If you've wasted your time thinking about me instead of your design, this may be a very short interview."

"You've read it through," he said. "You know it's better than the last one. A lot better."

She had. She did. It was.

"The math is certainly cleaner. Did you find some better experts?"

"After a fashion. Every time I thought I'd got the numbers right, I'd imagine I was you and I'd work out how to break them. Over and over again. Dreaming up new ways to break them, just the way you would."

"You make it sound like I enjoy breaking designs."

"No, I think you figure it's better to destroy people on paper than letting them get killed by the Selectors or on Ditranea. It took me a while to get that, but once I did it made me feel even closer to you."

This was definitely not good.

"Even closer?" she said. She saw the hesitation, and the moment of decision.

"Even closer, yes. Look, I don't care if it sounds presumptuous, I have to let you know. Over the years I've worked on this design I've thought of you more and more. I've come to understand you, to care about you. I think I may even be in love with you."

Alison said, "I don't know about presumptuous, but it certainly sounds ridiculous. We met each other once, seven years ago. It lasted forty minutes."

"I guess this must be hard to understand."

"No," she said. "It's actually quite easy. You know I'm here on my own; that I've been alone for years. You think loneliness and lack of human contact have robbed me of my wits, and that this nonsensical profession of affection will somehow improve your chances of approval."

"That isn't it. That isn't it at all."

"Isn't it? You mean you really love me?" She didn't even care enough to try and sound sarcastic. "Well, gosh, isn't that nice? It's always nice to be loved. Not that it makes any difference."

"What doesn't?"

"Anything. Anything you say. Anything you feel. I'm not assessing your feelings. The only thing I'm judging is your creature. Neither threats nor pleas nor promises can make the slightest difference. Not even 'love.'"

"All right," he said. "Will you have dinner with me?"

"I beg your pardon!"

"Have dinner with me. You still have dinner, don't you? Dinner you eat? You're not just plugged in for a recharge?"

"I'm not a robot. I eat. But it's utterly out of the question."

"Why ?"

"Because you're weird. Weird and creepy."

"Granted," he said. "But I have my faults as well."

"And I'm sure lots of other people would appreciate them more than I. Go spend time with them. I have to do your assessment."

"It can wait. It's waited seven years. Another hour won't kill. Why not? You keep saying it won't make a difference, but it will. It will make a difference to me. And maybe to you, too. At least it'll mark this day as different from the rest. Come on," he said. "Why not?"

Alison considered. Then, to her own astonishment, she shrugged and said, "Why not?"

Actually, there were loads of good reasons why not, and she would remember some of them later, when she was summoned by Gordino to his tank. But to start with, it seemed simple, although strange.

She laid out the ground rules before they even sat down, while the dough-faced waiter was rummaging 'round for a second set of cutlery and the cook was working hastily to distribute one meal across two plates.

"We're not going to discuss your design. And if I find we are, I'm going to ask you to leave. This is a social occasion so we're not going to talk about work. Nor do I wish to talk about the feelings you have for me."

"The first rule is fine," said Stephen. "But the second -- I've spent seven years thinking about you. I don't know if I can simply switch it off."

"Seven years? Life on Earth really must be bad." She saw his face and added, "That was meant to be a joke."

"You don't go home much, do you?" "I don't go home at all. The Selectors think it might affect my judgments."

"They're probably right. It'd be harder to throw men back into the mincer if you'd had to hear them screaming."

"I'm not completely mollycoddled. I still get news. I know that life on Earth is pretty hard."

"If that's all you know, you don't know anything. Life on Earth's not hard. Life on Earth is ending. That's why the Selectors are here. Why they've built the World Gate and allowed a trickle of people to go through. That's why people like me spend half their lives trying to design body forms. It's not for love of the new world. It's because our only choices are to try for life on Ditranea or to die."

Alison put down her fork and glanced nervously around.

"You know that what you're saying is seditious? It is illegal to claim that the government is not winning the environmental battle. They could ban your application."

"Only if you told them. Which you won't. You'd not condemn a man for speaking the truth."

"Neither of us know it's the truth."

"Of course we know. Only lunatic optimists still believe that three hundred years of ecological negligence can be turned round if we all try really hard. Or that when the ordure hits the air conditioning the Selectors are going to relent and let millions through the World Gate. If mass-transfers were possible they'd be doing them already. The truth is that we're screwed and everybody knows it. The people in charge are deliberately playing down the scale of the disaster to give themselves time to escape. Why else do you think so many applicants have off-the-shelf backgrounds and liars' eyes and never want to talk about their pasts?"

"I don't want to talk about their pasts either," said Alison. "It doesn't-- "

"' -- make any difference.' Yes, I know. And why do you think the law got framed that way, to explicitly remove personal background as a criterion for approval?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"It was so the people who were responsible for the mess couldn't have it held against them."

She said, "Do we have to carry on talking about this?"

"Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"As a matter of fact, you are."

"I'm so sorry. The fact you might be sending me home to die and you don't even care if the rules that guide your decisions are fair or not makes me a bit uncomfortable."

She grew rigid in her seat.

"Don't tell me I don't care. And don't you dare tell me my decisions are unfair. Day after day I break hearts and condemn people to misery. Do you think I could do that if I didn't believe my decisions were as fair as I could make them ?"

"I'm not saying you are unjust. The system -"

"The system stinks," she said. "Always has, always will. Rich people will screw over poor ones till the world drowns in its own filth."

"If you believe that, why are you still here?"

"Because as long as I'm here, doing my job, it will still be possible for anyone who makes it to the House to have a fair assessment and get what they deserve."

Alison had remembered why she didn't eat with candidates. It always ended up by being awful for them both. The lumps of food swelled in her mouth till she feared that she might choke.

They pressed on with the meal. When they were finally through, they went downstairs, and Alison gave Stephen what his application deserved. It was a second yellow disk.

A week and a half later, she stuffed air plugs in her nostrils and rubbed cream onto her skin; she put a mask over her mouth and goggles over her eyes. Then she stepped into the tank where the Chief Selector lived. It had been six months since she was last face to face with Gordino and she experienced the usual jolt as her eyes reminded her brain of just how alien he was.

Gordino's three-legged frame managed to look cramped in a space that was bigger than a basketball court. A dry, scaly odor, reminiscent of reptiles, hung in the air around him, counterpointing the sting of chlorine. His overmuscled torso was topped by twin pairs of arms. The lower pair were approximately human and ended in a knot of jointed digits. The upper pair were longer. They were whiplike, graced with vicious slicing edges.

Gordino had performed a trial this morning. There were smears of blood along his upper arms. Someone to whom Alison had given a green disk had fought this mass of muscle. Gordino's appearance gave no clue to the outcome, nor to anything else. Selectors conveyed emotions via pheromone and only the pads above their cheeks gave visual clues to their feelings. Even these were ambiguous: the mottled blue of hunger could also indicate boredom, and the scraped-scab tint of humor was identical to rage.

Right now, Gordino's patches were a placid, neutral green. His lower eyes peered searchingly at Alison while the larger, blood-red central orb, rolled restlessly.

"Do you know why I've asked you here?" began Gordino.

"I'm not psychic," answered Alison. "If you've got something to say to me, why don't you say it?"

Flecks of crimson glowed inside each cheek.

"Not psychic, no. Nor telepathic, either. But surely you can guess? Someone with your talent and experience."

Oh no, she thought. This isn't going to be good.

"Okay, okay, I get it. This is about Stephen Byrne."

"You see," he said. "You did know all along. And what do you think I wanted to discuss?"

"I suspect there've been complaints about his disk."

"Not complaints, exactly. There has been speculation. I presume you

are aware of your government's concern that criminals and malcontents are able to evade justice when this House grants them green disks."

"And I presume you're aware that it's the government's own laws that make that possible. 'A person's past -- '"

"' --is no concern of the assessor.' I am aware of the rule. It has always been understood that the House provides a hole through which undesirables may slip. The government does not like this but has been prepared to accept it so long as the integrity of our judgments keeps the numbers manageably small."

"You imply that that this may be changing."

"Concerns have been raised," said Gordino. A collage of images lit the wall behind him. Most were text, but there were pictures too. Shots of Stephen and of her. It didn't take much reading to understand the gist, but she forced herself to read them all through, anyway.

"Do you see why this has caused us consternation?" The word "Yes" emerged from her mouth as though extruded from an oil press. "First, I must ask you: is the story true?"

"The story being that he and I had sex, and in consequence he got a yellow disk. No, it is not true."

"So why did you give him a second yellow disk?"

"Because that's what his design deserved."

"You are convinced of that?" Alison drew in a breath, and immediately wished she hadn't as the chlorine tore at her throat.

"I have been doing this job for one hundred and forty-two years. I know what designs deserve. His deserved a yellow."

"It's a fairly rare occurrence, though, for an individual applicant to receive a second yellow disk."

"Rare but not unheard of. It's happened four times before that I can think of."

"But never to a man you've just had dinner with."

"I'll admit that dinner was an error. But I utterly refute the suggestion that I let that error influence my judgment."

"Do not distress yourself, my Lady. I have to ask these questions. What did you discuss over dinner?"

"We did not discuss his application. I told him that we wouldn't, and we didn't."

"Very commendable. But I didn't ask what you did not discuss. I asked what you did discuss. Did you talk about his family? His wife? His three-year-old daughter?"

Her eyes were suddenly burning.

"He never mentioned them."

"How curiously remiss. What did you talk about? Did he make allegations or threats concerning Earth's government or the operation of this House?"

"He said things I think that ninety percent of the population would agree with. I don't recall any threats."

"I asked a simple question," said Gordino. "Why do you respond so defensively?"

"Because you're trying to attack him. You're trying to attack me. The government's afraid of the truth and wants to silence those who speak it."

"I'm not afraid. I just want to know what was said." "He said the Earth is dying; that the government knows it and is lying to the people so that politicians and business leaders will have time to get away."

"And what did you say?" "I didn't say anything. I'm not in a position to judge and I felt it inappropriate to listen to such things."

"Which is true. But you still must have an opinion." "Yes, I have an opinion. In my opinion, what Stephen Byrne says is very likely true. The Earth is dying. And the Selectors are helping it die by making people think there's a get-out clause if worse comes to worst."

"You do not think a get-out clause exists?" "I don't believe enough energy is available to send more than a handful of people to Ditranea. I think that the people I send back to Earth will all but surely die."

There was a long silence, then Gordino said, "While you were talking to Mr. Byrne, did you happen to see this?"

The text on the wall was replaced by a logo or an emblem. Something like a U with branches knocked together.

"Probably made of silver, a lapel badge, perhaps."

Alison was puzzled. The Selectors had never previously shown an interest in jewelry.

"I don't remember anything like that. What is it?" "The emblem of Justice Through Fear, a subversive organization whose goal is the destruction of government."

Alison said, "Gordino, where you come from, do members of subversive organizations often wear membership badges?"

"We do not have subversion where I come from."

"Figures. If you did, you'd know this was stupid. Suppose Stephen Byrne did belong to a terrorist group and that we were in collusion. The last thing we'd do is draw attention to ourselves by having dinner together."

"You're assuming that collusion had already been established. But if this was the occasion that this man had sought to sway you, and you had let yourself be swayed, he would have needed some way to convey your acceptance to his associates. You would have had to send him home."

"So I'd have given him a red disk, not a yellow one."

"A red disk would prohibit his return to Halfway House. If a sexual liaison had been established between the two of you I suspect that you would want him to come back."

"I've told you already: we did not have sex. And anyway, this entire thing is stupid. Have you looked at Stephen's proposal?"

"Yes."

"So you know my judgment was valid. Don't you?"

"The decision appears fair."

"So what is all this bullshit? Before you start believing these accusations you ought to be asking yourself who's making them. Who gains if I'm not here?"

"And who does gain?" said Gordino. "Anyone with money or clout who'd like to bribe or bully their way to Ditranea. Anyone who's tried to get past me and found I can't be bought."

"You raise an interesting question," said Gordino. "The question of the story's origin was one we'd not considered. In that we were remiss." His killing arms twitched minutely, like the tips of a cat's tail.

"There is doubt in this matter," he said. "Until that doubt can be resolved, no action will be taken. You will carry on with your duties."

"Until?"

"Until something occurs to change the situation."

THIRTEEN YEARS passed, and nothing much occurred. Candidates came and went. Some passed, some failed, a few got yellow disks. The next time they met, she did not recognize him. She would never have thought this man with twisted limbs and ruined skin could be the eager, vibrant child who had once strode into her office. It was only when he said, "Hello, Alison," that she knew that it was him.

She held up her hand, and as she did, she couldn't help comparing her straight, unchanging fingers with the corrupted mess of meat on his right wrist. It was more than age and hardship that did that. Those scars bore witness to unconscionable violence. She wondered how it had happened and how much it might have hurt. She answered her own question: not enough.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't use my name. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't speak at all. But it would be impractical to conduct the assessment on that basis, so could you confine yourself to your application and not try to distract me with irrelevancies?"

"But, Ali -- "he began, and her glare was enough to snap the final syllable right off the end of his tongue.

"All I want to do is explain."

"Too bad," she said. "You can't. I'm serious about this. I don't want to hear apologies or excuses. I don't want to hear how sorry you are or how much you regret what you did. I want to complete your assessment and get you out of my life." She didn't believe his expression of hurt bewilderment was real. But she really wished it was. "Maybe I can speed things up by telling you you've failed. Not even an amber, this time. I'm sending you home for good."

I'll hate myself for this later, she thought. Not for how I'm saying it, but for how it makes me feel.

"That seems a little harsh," he said. "You haven't even asked me any questions."<CR>

"I don't need to. You've made a fundamental error. The memories and mind state of the candidate need to be mapped onto the brain of the target creature; this 'blow bug' of yours has seventy-five thousand neurons. That's thirteen thousand times too small for even your small thoughts."

"You know," he said. "If I were to replay that comment as part of an appeal against your decision it might be seen as indicative of dislike, or even prejudice."

He was technically correct, but the fact that he dared say it served only to increase her anger.

"Oh no, Stephen. It doesn't display anything as mild as dislike. What I hope you will see from my comments is that I loathe and detest the sight of you." She smiled at him and her mouth felt like a cobra's.

"But it doesn't make any difference. You ought to know by now. I'm not rejecting your application because I don't like you. I'm rejecting it because it merits rejection. The body shapes of creatures we're sending to Ditranea must possess an intelligence-capable brain. Blow bug has no brain, therefore it fails. End of story."

"Blow bug has a brain," he answered. "I simply avoided the error of trapping that brain inside a single body."

Alison had no interest in arguing, but the accumulated habits of decades proved too strong.

"Why is that an error? Evolution has used it happily for many million years."

"Evolution isn't a designer. There's no strategic vision. The one-brain-one-body thing works, but it's hardly an optimal solution. Look at the creatures we're sending to Ditranea. All those teeth and claws. All that camouflage and cunning. All that work to keep the fragile shell of thoughts and feelings running. It's so unnecessary."

"You'd prefer mindless idiocy?" she said.

"No! I'd prefer a brain built out of a million living pieces, a brain whose thoughts were defined by music in the air and the flow of pheromones across a forest. I'd prefer a brain so deeply embedded in its environment that it could never think that something didn't matter because it happened far away."

"Very nice," she answered. "Very poetic. But not the slightest use so far as this application is concerned. You know that in order to pass through the World Gate you have to get past a Selector. This little creature, not a quarter of an inch long and without even a decent sting to its name, wouldn't stand a chance."

The vision of Gordino slashing the air with his killing arms in pursuit of a tiny insect was enough to make her smile. "It would just get swatted flat."

"It's hardly a fair test," he objected. "Blow Bug is a compound mind. Its thoughts and intelligence emerge as the population rises. One bug on its own wouldn't stand a chance, I grant you, but a million of them together, acting in intelligent concert -- they'd be unstoppable."

"A million of anything would be unstoppable, at least in the short term, just from weight of numbers. But the rules say single combat, a one-on-one confrontation."

"But that isn't fair," he said. "It's stupid and short-sighted and it isn't damn well fair."

He wasn't saying anything she hadn't heard a thousand times before. She had learned to ignore such bleating, but the hot spark of his anger was enough to ignite her own.

"What does it matter whether or not it's fair? What's fair about any of this? You're trying to use your intellect to flee from Earth while everyone else dies. Is that especially fair?"

His eyes widened. That single, thoughtless shot had hurt him more than anything else she'd said. She didn't know why and didn't care much either. It was enough to know she had finally managed to hurt him.

"Look at what you did to me," she said. "In what way was that fair? I told you that what mattered to me more than anything else was my integrity and you tried to compromise me in the worst way that you could."

"I didn't want to," he said.

"That makes me feel so much better."

"I mean it. I never meant to hurt you. I would never have done it if there'd been any other way."

"Crap! You told me that you cared for me and then you sold my reputation to the gossip rags. You told me that you cared for me, that you spent your whole life thinking of me, but you didn't have the guts to tell me that you were married with a kid."

"They told you that, did they?"

"Yes," she said. "They told me."

"Did they also tell you that my little girl was dying? That while you were telling me all the troubles of your job, my wife was waiting in hospital to see if Lauren would live or die ?"

"Even if that's true -- And God knows, I've no reason to believe you -- but even if it is true, it doesn't excuse what you did. If you really cared so about your family, then why were you here with me and not with them?"

"What good could I do there? I'm not a doctor. I didn't even have the money to pay for the treatment Lauren needed. All our cash had gone on getting the design complete and bribing our way past the Earthside officials. You might be incorruptible, but you're the only part of the system that is. There was no way I could help by staying with her. We figured that if I took the test and passed we could sell the disk to pay for Lauren's treatment. It was only when that failed that we realized that we might have something else that we could use."

"You used me," said Alison. Her anger was leaking from her, like breath when you can't hold it anymore.

"Yes," he said. "I used you. What else could I do? My little girl was dying."

"You used me. You lied to me. All that crap about having feelings for me, all of it was lies."

"All of it was true," he said. "Except that I don't have feelings for you. I love you. I've always loved you."

"Oh give it a rest," she said. "You don't have to pretend anymore. You don't really love me, but that's okay. I forgive you anyhow."

There was a space where her anger had been. Her voice when she spoke was like the sighing of old dust.

"You were doing what you thought was right." Assuming you're not still lying, she thought but did not say. If he was still lying she didn't want to know. "And it's not as if anything got broken."

Except my pride. Except my stupid heart.

"That isn't true. I know I hurt you dreadfully."

"Yes," she said. "You did." Almost as an afterthought she added, "I hope that it was worth it."

If there was anything she could have done to snatch those words out of the air and never to have said them, she would have done it gladly. She understood too late the depths and causes of his pain.

When he was finally able to ease his words past the broken glass in his throat what emerged was the last thing that she either expected or wanted to hear.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Alison. I needed -- I wanted -- it didn't do any good, but I had to try, I had to -- I'm sorry, Alison, I'm so dreadfully, dreadfully sorry."

Then the words were gone altogether, and only the tears were left. She hated to have to see it. She could never remember feeling so hurt by someone else's grief. A loathsome, cowardly part of her wished she could send him away, just expel him from the room so she wouldn't have to see it anymore.

Since she couldn't do that, there was only one other option. She got up from her chair, and walked to the other side of the desk, and put her arms around him.

"Don't be sorry, idiot. You've not done anything wrong."

HE STARTED to grow heavy in her arms. That was when she knew that their time was drawing to a close. They had coupled without words, without thought, which is harder than is generally supposed. The brain is like the heart: it just keeps on regardless. No matter how much you try to lose yourself, the thoughts still come, the blood still pumps, the moments slip away.

"What happened to your hand?" she said. It looked as though somebody had taken hold of the second and third fingers and pulled his flesh apart, then crudely forced the pieces back together. And now, along the edges of his palm, she saw a row of small round bruises. She knew without needing to touch them that the size and shape of the marks would match with her own fingers.

"Needlebug," he said. "Another toy in the post." She thought about the fragments the device would leave in a wound, the capacity those fragments had for later attacking nerves. She thought of the cost of fully cleaning up a needlebug wound and tried not to think anymore.

"Do you know who it was from?" He shrugged. "God mob, I suppose. Can't think who else would hate me that much. It's kind of strange, you know, to be hated for trying to escape. Still, it's one less thing to worry about in future.'

She looked away, not wanting to see how hard he was trying to smile.

"I might be able to swing it. The color of the disk, I mean."

"After all the things you said earlier I think I'd be doing well if it merited a red."

"I'm allowed to award marks for originality. Building a planet-sized brain from insects is certainly original."

He sat up beside her, stared toward the window. The cold, sad light was fading toward dusk.

"It's not just original, it's better. I genuinely believe that. Do you really think that the people who cheat their way off Earth will make a better fist of things a second time around? All those walking weapons? I know Ditranea is supposed to be a Hell-world, but I can't believe it'll be half so fearsome as the creatures that we're sending there."

"Your little insects would be better?"

"My little insects?" he said. "Let two blow bugs loose on Ditranea and the bug mind will be the dominant intelligence in ten years. If the other species try to fight, it'll be the only form of intelligence in thirty. Insects and bacteria have shaped and reshaped our world without any sort of planning or intelligence. There's nothing a conscious swarm can't do. Nothing --"

He broke off. "This is all irrelevant isn't it? It isn't going to happen." "No," she said. "It isn't. I have to send you home." She ran her finger down the length of his arm, wincing when she reached the roughness Of his hand. "Please don't be angry with me."

"I'm not angry. Or, at least, I'm not angry for the reason that you think."

She could hear tears in his voice, and wondered how he kept from howling. She'd spent her whole life breaking people's dreams and still hadn't the first idea how they were strong enough to stand it.

"I'm not angry you're sending me home. It's not as if I could be part of the bug mind anyway. I'm not even angry that you're rejecting my design. I think you're wrong, but I genuinely don't care. I've not cared about anything that much, not since Lauren died.

"The thing that's really killing me is that I won't see you again, not for years. I might die before I see you again. And I miss you, Alison. I miss you so very much."

She moped for several days, then went to see Gordino.

"I'm giving up this job," she said. "I'm sick of breaking hearts." The Selector looked the way he always did. She wondered if his body was preserved by the same House magic which held her own decay in check or if he just came from a long-lived species.

"That is not the sole extent of your work. Your judgments also save lives."

"Okay, I save lives. What's the use of that?"

"Life has no use, of itself. Use and meaning are things which we impose on existence. By preserving people's lives you give them the opportunity to define their own meaning. We believe that this is good."

"Maybe it is," she said. "But I still don't want to do it anymore."

Gordino said, "If you want to stop we will not make you continue. What is more, as a token of our gratitude, we will let you choose a body form and see the world your judgments have created. But you must understand that if you stop, the World Gate will be closed. No further transportation will occur."

"You're saying if I quit today the Gate is closed for good?"

"That is what I'm saying."

"That's crazy! Why would you do that?"

"Because without you we will have no way of separating those who deserve to live from those who deserve to die."

"Thousands of people would be pleased do this job." "Perhaps. But we could not trust their judgment. They are all corrupted by the sickness of your world. Only you have the distance to judge fairly."

"You'll have to do it yourselves, then."

"No," he said. "We will not be your judges. We will not compound our crime by imposing our values upon you."

"I don't understand. What crime?"

"You have made the accusation yourself: that our presence speeds Earth's death by distracting resources from efforts that might save it. We fear this may be true. Our sole defense is that we stay here only on sufferance. Our aid was offered and accepted. If you tell us we're not wanted, we will leave. The decision is yours, just as the decision as to who will live is yours."

Alison said, "You're saying I can carry on, or leave my people to die. That's not a choice at all."

The Selector said, "There are always choices. It is choice that gives meaning to life."

The last time she saw Stephen, he was obviously dying.

"Surprised to see me?" he said.

"Terminally," she answered.

"You always had a high opinion of me."

"It's not that. It's just that I never see real people anymore. Everyone who comes here now has fat, complacent hands and guilty eyes. They stink of success and other people's hurt. I didn't expect to see you in such company."

He said, "I have my ways. There were lots of people went to lots of trouble to see that I got here."

"Well, if they were hoping for footage of us screwing they're going to be disappointed."

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "I guess I'm past my prime, but you still look pretty --"

"I look like shit. And unless that needlebug has got into your eyes, you know I look like shit."

"It's funny you should say that...." He let the words tail off, and for the first time she really looked into his face. Into his eyes.

"Oh my God," she said. "I'm sorry. How bad is it?"

"I'm down to about thirty percent vision in this eye. A bit less in the other. But, actually, you're right. I can see what you look like. It's not so good, old thing."

"The wild, wild life here has finally caught me up."

"You've got blood all over your teeth."

"I'm falling apart," she said. "! bruise, I bleed, my mouth is full of sores. I wake up in the mornings and I feel so old. I gather from Gordino that the Earth-rot has infected our systems. The mechanics that separated me from the regular flow of time are dying and I seem to be going with them. It's not an enjoyable process."

She gave her little fingernail an experimental tug. It came free with a minute, sucking sound. Blood oozed, slow and maudlin in the place where it had been.

"You ought to retire," he said.

"I tried. It didn't work. I'm stuck with this instead. The only thing in its favor is it's relatively painless."

"That's good," he said. "I'm hurting all the time. There are palliatives, apparently, but they cost cash I need for other things."

"Things like this creature, hmm? Is it any good?" "I thought you were meant to tell me." "I am. But if you know the answer it'll save a bit of effort. Is it any good?" "No," he said. "It's useless. I've only done one good design in my life and you rejected it. But I think you ought to look anyway. It may possibly seem familiar."

She opened the cover on the document and read:

Body form design for large, oviparous, flying reptile. And just below, in big, bold letters: DRAGON.

"I fixed the math," he said. "I always knew it was doable and I wanted to prove it was."

She picked up her pen and read. At the end of thirty minutes she put the pen back down. There were no marks on the paper.

"The errors are all gone," she said. "Just one question. In section twelve you have written about the shell's thickness protecting the embryo from gamma rays. Do you not mean alpha particles?"

"I have written what I intended to write."

"Indeed? Well, what do you want me to say? The math may be in order, but it doesn't really matter. The creature wasn't viable the first time, and it isn't viable now. I can't even issue you another yellow disk. Not for a second failure of a similar design. You've finally gone and got yourself a red."

"I know that," he said. "I've always known what you were going to give me." She looked at him with bafflement and rage.

"So why the hell are you here?"

"I am going to be blind," he said. "This was the only chance I had to see you."

"Okay, you've seen me. Now you can get out." She shoved her hand, still bleeding, into the drawer of her desk, and withdrew the token. She stumbled through the ritual of dismissal, pressed it into his hand. He tried to hold onto her but she snatched herself away from him.

"Let go!" she cried. "Don't touch me anymore."

"But--"

"No buts, no talk. You've said enough to me. Go! Just go now, or I'll kill you."

He looked at her aghast. "Alison, Alison I --"

"Don't say it. Don't say another word. Just this once please listen and don't talk. How many times have I told you? It doesn't make a difference. Love, hate, want: whether you see me or not. It's not allowed to matter."

"You're wrong," he said. "Everything can matter if you let it. I've touched you. That matters. We've given each other things. That matters. It matters if you dare to let it matter."

"So old, and still a sweet, romantic fool."

"I'm going to be blind. I don't see the sense in romance." He held up his hand. Her blood was running down and round the ugly, crooked scars. "I don't see the sense in saying anything but the truth."

He did not try to touch her anymore, but just before he closed the door he offered her a smile. She did not see it. Her eyes were blurring and she could not bear to look up. When he was gone, she threw back her head and howled. She cried and sobbed as the dark came down; holding her wounded hand before her eyes.

After that, there wasn't much to do. She tidied her drawers, and jettisoned her papers. She stuck a POSITION CLOSED sign on her desk and left without locking the door.

Walking through the House she heard distant thuds, like a giant kicking the walls, and the patter of machine-gun fire. The mob was here at last. Stephen must have let them in -- the price he'd paid to get here. She ought to have been angry but didn't have the heart.

The end of her finger hurt. Which was odd. Things like that never hurt her anymore. The wound was still oozing and the skin was swollen, as though her body was trying to fight off an infection.

We've given each other things.

What had he given her?

Gordino was waiting, his cheek pads mottled with red. "So much destruction," he said. "Don't they understand that if they wanted us gone they only had to ask?"

She said nothing. She wondered what Stephen might have asked her, if she'd let him. To come away with him? A final kiss? Neither seemed particularly likely. The pulse in her fingers throbbed. Her skin felt hot.

We have given each other things.

What had he given her that was worth coming all this way to give? The idea that he loved her seemed as ludicrous as ever. And yet he had come back. He had come back with a design that he must have known would fail. He had touched her.

The explosions were closer now.

"I take it you'll be leaving." Gordino said, "I'm not going to stay and be shot."

"Afraid to die?" She was genuinely curious, rather than sarcastic.

"No," he said. "But there are better things for me to do with my life. I have to fight the candidates that you approved today, and beyond that there are other doors to open. Other worlds. And what of you, my Lady Judge?"

"What about me?"

"I made a promise, long ago. I am ready to fulfil it." She said, "I wondered if you'd remember."

"We do not forget our debts, whether owed or owing."

"So you're going to let me through the World Gate?"

"You are free to pass the World Gate. Once you have passed me."

"Oh," she said. "I thought there'd be a catch."

"No catch, just a price. The price that everyone pays. If you wish to gain the World Gate you must fight me."

His claws were twitching with eagerness.

"You want to kill me, don't you? All these years we've known each other and you actually want to kill me."

"I do not want or not want. I am made for killing, for the choice of life or death. I have made you an offer. You can accept the dare of the door, or you can entrust yourself to the kindness of your species. Either way, our time together is done. You will choose now."

But Alison didn't choose. She was trying to work out if her mind had finally broken or if the patterns she was guessing at were really proof of purpose. Was the use of gamma symbols in Stephen's final proof a reference to the Justice Through Fear logo, or simply confirmation of his basic lack of care? Had he given her something or not?

"Very well," she said. "I will accept your offer."

"I am glad," said Gordino. "You have scant hope of any other kindness and we owe you some, I think." The blush in his cheek pads deepened. "Besides, I must confess to curiosity. Out of all the designs you have seen which one you will choose?"

"That's easy. I'm far too old to bend to another shape. I shall fight you as I am."

The Selector paused. Alison had finally managed to surprise him.

"Is this some kind of jest?" She gazed right back, praying he wouldn't push it. She didn't know which fear was worse: that he would examine her and find her tampered blood, or that he would examine her and find nothing. If her blood had not been tampered with there was nothing for her to do here except die.

Eventually, Gordino said, "I see that it is not. Very well. Will you fight me as you once were or as you are?"

"Just as I am. It would be too strange to do anything else."

"Your physical condition is not good."

"Tell me something I don't know." Tell me if the Blow Bug actually could work. Tell me the pain in my hand is there for a reason. Tell me there are spores in my blood, the germs of a new race. Tell me I'm not pinning my hopes on something that never existed.

"Are you asking me to kill you?" said Gordino.

"I'm asking you to fight. Come on. You said yourself that time is running out."

"I didn't, but it is."

He turned and trotted swiftly to the far end of the hall. In the shadows by the door he turned to face her. She could see his red eye glinting. The air was thick with the smell of snakes and death. For the last time she remembered just how frightening that smell was. He shifted in the dark. His arms were open in a parody of welcome.

"Come," he said. She walked into the night of his embrace.