Purity in Death

CHAPTER ELEVEN

She got through it, parroting the departmental chorus. As a result of stifling her own opinion, ignoring her own gut instincts, she stewed in her own simmering juices all the way home.

"Dallas." They were nearly at the gates when Peabody dared to speak. That way, if Eve tossed her bodily out of the car, she wouldn't have far to hike. "Don't take my head off, okay? You did what you had to do."

"What I have to do is investigate the case, and close it."

"Yeah, but sometimes serving the public's complicated. There are a lot of people who'll sleep easier tonight because they heard their home unit isn't going to fry their brains if they sit down and balance their financials or do some e-mail. If their kid does his school report. That's important."

"I'll tell you what I think." Eve headed toward the gates without dropping speed so that beside her Peabody's heart took a fast spring into her throat. "I think people shouldn't always believe what they hear."

"Sir. I'm not sure I follow you."

"Maybe whoever's manning the switch doesn't like the way Mr. Smith with his pretty wife and charming little girl and small household pet lives his life. Maybe he decides Mr. Smith shouldn't be cruising the porn sites, or stopping off at a strip club after a hard day selling furniture, or occasionally getting zonked on Zoner with his pretty wife. Mr. Smith isn't following all the rules as well as he should be. Time to make an example of Mr. Smith so others like him understand the program."

"But, they're going after known predators. I'm not saying it's right. I'm not saying that, Dallas, because it's not. But it's a really big leap to go from school yard dealers and pedophiles to some guy who takes some recreational Zoner on Saturday night."

"Is it?" Eve stopped the car at the base of the front steps. "The law's ignoring Mr. Smith. It hasn't punished him, just like it didn't punish the others. Purity punished them, and a lot of people thought: Hey, that's not a bad idea. Cops didn't do the job, so good, somebody else did. Nobody's thinking, hmm, that Mary Ellen George was acquitted. Maybe she was innocent."

"She wasn't, so-"

"No, she wasn't, but the next one could be. The one after that. It's not easy to watch somebody walk, but it's a hell of a lot easier than it is to know an innocent didn't. These people are deciding who's guilty. With what criteria, what system, what authority? Their own. They're rolling, Peabody, and public opinion's rolling with them. Let's see how happy the public is when it starts coming into their homes, their lives."

"You really think that'll happen?"

"Damn right it'll happen, unless we stop them. It'll happen because they're on a mission, and there's nothing more dangerous than someone on a mission."

She should know, Eve thought as she slammed out of the car. She'd been on one since she'd picked up a badge.

When she walked in, it was one of the rare times she wasn't annoyed to see Summerset lurking in the foyer.

"Lieutenant, I'd like to have some idea how many of your guests will be staying overnight."

"They're not guests. They're cops and a kid. Head on up, Peabody, I've got something to do here."

"Yes, sir." And assuming that something was to have her usual pissing match with Summerset, Peabody darted up to check on McNab.

"Give me the status on McNab, and give it in English," Eve demanded.

"There's no change."

"That's not enough. Aren't you supposed to be doing something?"

"The nerves and muscles aren't responding to stimuli."

"Maybe we should've left him in the hospital." She paced the foyer. "Maybe we shouldn't have brought him here."

"The simple truth is there would be little more they could do for him there as can be done here during the first twenty-four hours."

"We're past twenty-four," she snapped. "We're over that, and he should have it back." She stopped herself, pulled it back in, and studied Summerset's cadaverous face. "What are his chances? Don't pretty it up. What are his chances of regaining sensation and mobility?"

"They decrease by the hour now. Rapidly."

He watched Eve close her eyes, turn away. But before she did, he saw the raw grief. "Lieutenant. McNab is young and he's fit. Those qualities play strongly in his favor. Being allowed to work at this time helps keep his mind active and off his difficulties. That can't be discounted."

"They'll bounce him on disability, or stick him in a cube doing drone work. He'll never feel like a cop again once that happens. He prances when he walks," she said quietly. "Now he's stuck in that chair. Goddamn it."

"Arrangements have been made with the clinic in Switzerland. I believe Roarke mentioned this." He waited until she turned around, looked at him again. "They'll take him as early as next week. They have an impressive rate of success in regenerating nerves. He must continue his treatments until-"

"What's their rate?"

"Seventy-two percent with injuries similar to McNab's make a full recovery."

"Seventy-two."

"It's not impossible he'll recover naturally. In an hour. A day."

"But his chances of that suck."

"In a word. I am sorry."

"Yeah, so am I." She started up.

"Lieutenant? He's frightened. He's pretending not to be, but he's a very frightened young man."

"They used to put bullets in you," she murmured. "Little steel missiles that ripped through flesh and bone. I wonder, when it comes down to it, if this is any cleaner."

She walked up, and into her office to what appeared to be a recreation break. Her team was spread out, lounging, she thought sourly, while each sucked on the beverage of his choice.

Jamie was feeding Galahad little bits from what seemed to be a sandwich the size of Utah. Perched on the arm of McNab's chair, Peabody filled them in on the details of the media conference.

"Well, this all looks so nice and cozy," she said. "I bet those terrorists are shaking in their boots."

"You gotta rest the brain cells and orbs every few hours," Feeney told her.

She stepped over the feet Roarke had stretched out. He could consider himself lucky, she decided, she didn't give them a good kick. She walked directly to her desk. Sat. "Maybe while you're resting those cells and orbs, someone could take just a moment out of playtime and update me."

"Missed lunch again, didn't you?" Roarke said mildly.

"Yes, I did. It had something to do with the woman who'd hanged herself with her own bedsheets, the pesky little details of serial homicides, an annoying little meeting with city officials-some of whom seem to be more interested in media image than those inconvenient dead people-and the hour or so I was ordered to spend feeding those media hounds."

She bared her teeth in a smile that had Jamie sliding down in his chair. "And how was your day?"

Roarke rose, took half the sandwich Jamie and the cat had yet to devour and set it in front of her. "Eat."

Eve shoved it aside. "Report."

"Now, let's not have any bloodshed." Feeney shook his head. The two of them made him think of a couple of bulls about to ram heads. "We've got some progress for you, which is why we're on break. We built a shield that partially filtered the virus. We think we've nearly isolated the infection on the Cogburn unit. We were able to extrapolate a portion of it. Computer's running an analysis now. Once we've got that, we may be able to simulate the rest of the program without going back into an infected unit."

"How long?"

"I can't give you that. It's a program the likes of which I've never seen. Encoded, fail-safed. We're working with the bits and pieces we got out before the sucker self-terminated."

"You lost the unit?"

"That baby is fried," Jamie put in. "Didn't just blast the program, it killed the whole machine. Toasted it. But we got some good data. We'd have had enough to be sure of a sim if Roarke had had another minute-even forty-five seconds, but-"

He trailed off because Eve was getting to her feet. Really slow. Something in the movement made him think of a snake coiling up right before it lashed out with fangs.

"You operated the Cogburn unit?"

"I did, yes."

"You operated an infected unit, using an experimental filter, one that subsequently failed? And you took this step without direct authorization from the primary."

"Dallas." Feeney rose. It was a testament to his courage under fire that he didn't back off when she murdered him with one vicious glare. "The electronic end of this investigation falls on me. The lab work falls under my hand."

"And your hand falls under mine. I should have been notified of this step. You know that."

"It was my call."

"Was it?" She looked back at Roarke as she spoke. "Get out."

No one mistook she meant for Roarke to leave. The general exodus was more of a scramble. And at the doorway, Feeney batted the flat of his hand at the back of Jamie's head.

"What?" Sulkily, Jamie rubbed the spot. "What?"

"I'll tell you what," Feeney muttered and closed the door at his back.

Eve kept the desk between them. She wasn't entirely sure what she might do without the symbolic barrier holding the line. "You may run half the known universe, but you don't run my investigation, my operations, or my team."

"Nor do I have any desire to, Lieutenant." His voice was just as cold, just as hard as hers.

"What the hell do you think you were doing? Exposing yourself to an unidentified infection so you could prove you've got the biggest dick?"

His eyes flashed hot, then chilled. "You've had a very difficult day, so I'll take that into consideration. The filter needed to be tested, the program isolated and analyzed."

"With sims, with computer runs, with-"

"You're not an e-man," he interrupted. "You may be in charge of the investigation, but what goes on in the lab is beyond your scope."

"Don't you tell me what's beyond my scope."

"I am telling you. I could spend the next hour explaining the technical ins and outs of the thing to you, and you wouldn't understand the half of it. It's not your field, but it's one of mine."

"You're a-"

"Don't you toss that civilian bullshit at me, not over this. You wanted my help, so I'm part of this team."

"I can take you off the team."

"Aye, you could." He nodded, then reached out, fisted a hand in her shirtfront and pulled her across the desk. "But you won't, because the dead mean more to you than even your pride."

"They don't mean more than you."

"Well, damn it." He released her, jammed his hands in his pockets. "That was a low blow."

"You had no right to risk yourself. Not even to tell me. You went around me on this, and that pisses me off. You took a chance with your life that I find unacceptable."

"It was necessary. And it wasn't some blind leap, for Christ's sake. I'm not a fool."

He thought of the weapon he'd secreted just in case. And the small gray button he'd rubbed like a charm before he'd begun the work.

No, he wasn't a fool, but he'd felt a bit like one.

"There were four e-men in that lab who agreed the step had to be taken," he continued. "I was monitored, and the exposure was limited to ten minutes."

"The filter blew."

"It did, yes. Blew to hell in just over eight minutes. Jamie has some ideas on that I think are sound."

"How long were you exposed without a shield?"

"Under four minutes. A bit closer to three, actually. No ill effects," he added. "But for a little nagging headache."

He grinned when he said it, and she wanted to strangle him. "That's not funny."

"Maybe not. Sorry. My medicals are clear, and we have a partial picture of the infection. It required a human operator, Eve, one who knows his way inside a computer, and who knows the tricks and blocks a good programmer employs. If I hadn't done it, Feeney would have."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Why didn't he?" she demanded. "He wouldn't have just passed this to you."

"We decided it logically. We flipped a coin."

"You-" She broke off, rubbed her hands roughly over her face. "Somebody implied today I chose to act or think like a man. Boy, was she out of orbit on that."

She dropped her hands. "Whether or not the electronics lab is out of my scope, it is under my authority. I expect and insist on being informed and consulted before any step is taken that carries personal risk to any of my team."

"Agreed. You're right," he said after a moment. "You should've been informed. It can be a tricky balancing act. I'm sorry for my part in cutting you out of the loop."

"Accepted. And though I've about hit my quota of apologizing today, I'll add one more for bringing your dick into the argument."

"Accepted."

"I need to ask you a question."

"All right."

Her stomach was knotted, but she would say the words. She would ask the question. "If you think these people are justified in what they're doing, if you think their targets deserve what they get, why would you risk this? Why would you take this chance with your own welfare to help me stop them?"

"For Christ's sake, Eve, you're like a goddamn chessboard. Black and white." Temper was there, bubbling in a way she knew meant it could spurt out any moment.

"I don't think that's an unreasonable question."

"You wouldn't. Why do you think that I think this is justified? I feel no twinge of remorse or pity for someone like Fitzhugh and suddenly I'm the side of terrorists?"

"I didn't mean it exactly like… Maybe I did."

"You think I'm capable of finding any justification in what happened to that poor boy, Halloway?"

"No." She felt vaguely ill. "But the others."

"Perhaps I can believe the pure philosophy of it. That evil, real evil, can and should be destroyed by whatever means possible. But I'm not stupid enough, and not quite egocentric enough to believe there can be purity in the spilling of blood. Or that it can be done, in general, without law and courts and humanity."

"In general."

"You would pin that, wouldn't you?" He nearly laughed. "We can't think just the same on this issue."

"I know that. I guess it shouldn't bother me. But it does. Damn it, Roarke, it does."

"So I see. I can't be pure for you, Eve."

"I don't want that. This whole thing has me tangled up. Maybe because I can't feel pity for someone like Fitzhugh or George either. I can't feel it, and at the same time I'm outraged, I'm insulted that anyone,anyone felt they had the right to sit back and push a button that murdered them. Then call themselves guardians."

"I'm not saying you're wrong. I don't believe you are. But my morals, we'll say, are more flexible than yours. Even so, to make myself clear to you as you seem to need it, I don't subscribe to their means, their methods, or their agenda. If and when you confront evil, you do it face-to-face and hand-to-hand."

As she did, he thought. As he had himself.

"And you don't flog your message to the public like you were selling a new line of bloody sports cars. Eat some of that sandwich, will you?"

"I guess maybe we're a little closer on this than I figured." Steadier, she picked it up, took a bite. "God, what's in this?"

"I'm fairly sure it's everything. The boy eats like food's about to be banned and he best gulp it all down while he can."

She took another bite. "It's pretty good. I think there's corned beef in here. And maybe chocolate."

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least. Are we back on track now, you and me?"

"Yeah. Much as we ever are."

"Before we leave this topic, I'll tell you one more reason I did what I did this afternoon."

"Because you like to show off?"

"Naturally, but that isn't what I was going to say. I did it because whatever else I feel or believe or don't, I believe in you. Now, why don't you have some coffee to wash that back, then we'll show you what we've got."

She wasn't an e-man, but she could follow the basics. Even, if she pushed, the slightly more complex. But when she studied the printout of the data Roarke had been able to access from Cogburn's now-toasted unit, she might have been trying to decipher hieroglyphics.

"It's really jazzed," Jamie told her as he monitored the progress of the decoding program he'd devised. "Totally. Whoever built the program is an ultimate. No Chip Jockey could've done it. It's even beyond Commando level."

"While I agree, I doubt very much if this is the work of one programmer. The one thing we are sure of is this took superior programming knowledge as well as medical. Neurological."

"They'd need a team," Feeney agreed. "A first-class lab, equipment, and deep pockets. Isolation chamber."

"How much do you know, at this point, about how it works?"

"Eyes and ears," Jamie said as he swiveled from one unit to another, tapping keys. "Light and sound."

"Light and sound."

"Spectrum and frequency. You go on, pull up a nice game of World Domination to piss a little time away, and what happens is, you're getting bombarded with light and sound, stuff your eyes and ears can't register on a regular level. You know how they've got those whistles for dogs people can't hear?"

"Yeah, I know how it works."

"Okay, well, as far as I can tell, that's the idea with this virus. We haven't clocked onto the spectrum pattern or the frequencies, but we will. The beauty is, the virus runs through the system, but it doesn't make the computer sick, doesn't screw up any of the programs on it, or any the operator might upload after. It all just cruises along, without a hitch."

"And kills the operator," Eve concluded.

"Kills him dead," Jamie agreed. "We're working on how long it takes, but it needs at least an hour, maybe two to transfer the infection into the old gray matter."

"We haven't confirmed that," Feeney reminded him.

"The first shield failed," McNab added. "But it held long enough that we were able to pull out data that'll help us refine the next one."

"How long?" Eve demanded.

"We can put together another experimental in maybe two hours." McNab shrugged his good shoulder. "Longer if we have to wait until we break the code."

"Man, it is dense." Jamie picked up his Pepsi, slurped. "You break through one tier, and there're six more popping out. I'm going to run a short cut on an alternate unit, see if I can sneak through."

"Do that. And, Jamie." Roarke touched a hand to the boy's shoulder. "We'll need you to bunk here until we've cut through all this."

"Frig-o." He rolled his chair to another workstation, and hunkered down.

"Okay, let me give you the status, then we can all go back to work." Eve waited until attention focused on her. "You." She pointed at Jamie. "You're a drone. Be a drone."

He muttered, curled his lip, but turned back to his monitor.

"The ME's findings to date concur with your theory of audio and visual points of attack. He also reports that once the virus begins to spread, it is, most likely, irreversible. The latest victim, Mary Ellen George, was, according to witness reports, asymptomatic as early as eight days ago. After that point, we've found no one who had any contact with her."

"In analyzing the scene, I concluded that the victim, feeling unwell, took herself to bed, attempting to alleviate discomfort with over-the-counter. She blocked her incomings, pulled down the privacy shades and burrowed. She also took her laptop unit into bed with her, thereby certainly speeding the infection along with continued exposure."

"Fitzhugh locked himself in, too," Feeney offered.

"As did Cogburn, until he was incited by his neighbor. In Halloway's case, he was infected on the job but elected to hunker into your office. We'll assume that seeking this sort of shelter or isolation is also symptomatic."

"Programmed in," Roarke said, "to decrease the chances of outside interference or injuries."

"Agreed. Purity doesn't want hysteria or condemnation from the survivors of innocent victims. It seeks out specific targets. It seeks out media attention. It's playing God and politics."

"A very volatile combination."

"Bet your ass," she said to Roarke. "Which forces the NYPSD to play the same combo. The mayor's office and The Tower are spinning their dish to the media. Deputy Mayor Franco is the spearhead."

"A good choice of symbols," Roarke commented. "Attractive, intelligent, strong without being overbearing."

"So you say," Eve sneered.

"Symbolically speaking. By using her as spokesman rather than the mayor, it generates the impression this is not a crisis but a problem. By pushing you forward, it adds the element of competence and doggedness. The city is in good hands, caring hands. Female hands that, traditionally, tend and nurture as well as protect."

"What a load of horseshit."

"You know, it's not." Baxter spoke up. "Pain in the ass for you, Dallas, no question, but it's a good angle. You both look good on-screen. Nice contrast. Like, I dunno, the warrior and the goddess. Then you've got Whitney, Tibble looking all sober and stern, a few comments from the mayor at his dignified best stating his absolute confidence in the NYPSD and the system, and people feel calm and don't riot in the streets and fuck up traffic."

"Maybe you missed your calling, Baxter. You should be in PR."

"And give up this cushy job and the great salary?"

She laughed. "Horseshit or not, that's the current game plan. And unless we get a substantial break soon, I'm going to end up on the morning shows hyping justice like it was the latest entertainment vid. If that happens, I'll make all of you suffer beyond imagining."

She turned for the door. "Peabody, with me."

She waited until they were back in her office. "Don't hover over McNab like that."

"Sir?"

"You hover over him, you're going to make him think you're worried."

"I am worried. The twenty-four-"

"Worry all you want, dump on me if you need to. But don't let him see it. He's starting to fray, and he's trying hard not to show it. You try just as hard not to show it. If you need to vent, go out there on the kitchen terrace. Scream your lungs out."

"Is that what you do?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes I kick inanimate objects. Sometimes I jump Roarke and have jungle sex. The last," she said after a beat, "is not an option for you."

"But I think it would really make me feel better, and be a more productive member of the investigative team."

"Good, humor is good. Get me coffee."

"Yes, sir. Thanks. It's going to be a minute on the coffee. I think I'll try the terrace thing."

Eve sat, began to thread her way through Mary Ellen George's life.

The sealed files remained sealed. She'd gotten her warrant, and Child Services had immediately trumped it with a temporary restraining order. The TRO would hold her off until lawyers fought it out in court.

Days, she thought. Days lost. Unless she took another route.

Before she did, she'd try a more legitimate angle. For the third time that day, she put in a call to Detective Sergeant Thomas Dwier.

This time she tagged him instead of his voice mail.

"Sergeant, Lieutenant Dallas. I've been trying to tag you."

"I'm in court." He had a tough, lived-in face. "We're on a fifteen. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"I'm primary on the Purity homicides. You hear about that?"

"Who hasn't? You tapping me because of that asshole Fitzhugh?"

"I'm digging for what I can find. I'd like to pick your brain over it. You also were part of the team on Mary Ellen George."

"Yeah, thought we had her solid, but she slithered. What's the connection?"

"She's dead."

"So, the wheel goes round and round. Don't know what I can tell you about either one of them that's not in the files."

"Why don't I buy you a beer after court? I'm jammed up, Dwier. I could use some help."

"Sure, what the hell. You know O'Malley's off of Eighth on Twenty-third?"

"I'll find it."

"Should be done here in an hour."

"I'll meet you at O'Malley's." She glanced at the time. "Seventeen hundred."

"Should work. They're calling us back. Later."

She turned from the 'link as Peabody set a mug of coffee on the desk. "Better?"

"Yeah, I guess. Throat's kinda sore. Your fridgie and your AutoChef are both out of Pepsi."

"Jamie must drink it by the truckload. Tell Summerset, then-"

She broke off when a small tornado burst into her office.

Mavis Freestone moved fast. The two-inch platforms on her purple gel-sandals didn't seem to affect speed or balance. She zoomed into Eve's office, a blur of purple, pink, and possibly puce, all mixed together in a micro-skirt and tit tube that almost covered the essentials. Her hair was in what appeared to be a half-million braids that echoed the color theme.

She spun to the desk, around it-the squishy gel on her feet making littlesproinging sounds-and caught Eve in a headlock embrace that cut off all oxygen to the brain.

Eve managed to glug, slap on the arms that pressed on her windpipe.

"This is thebest day! The most totally mag day ever invented. I love you, Dallas."

"Then why are you trying to kill me?"

"Sorry, sorry." But she squeezed again until Eve's ears began to ring. "I've got to talk to you."

"Can't." Freed, Eve coughed, rubbed at her throat. "Even if I were physically able I'm buried here. I'll call you when I surface."

"I have to. It's important. It's likevital. Please, please, please." She bounced as she begged, and the virulent mix of colors on the move made Eve dizzy.

"Two minutes. Talk fast."

"It's private. Sorry, Peabody, but… please!"

"Peabody, go find Summerset, tell him to hunt up a cargo plane full of Pepsi."

"Close the door, okay. Would you? Thanks." Still bouncing, Mavis linked her hands, held them between her small, barely restrained breasts. Her ringers winked and glowed with rings. On her left arm some sort of coil snaked from wrist to elbow. Eve wondered if the impression of it would be permanently stamped on her throat.

"Make it fast, Mavis." Eve scooped back her hair, gulped down coffee. "I'm really pressed. Weren't you supposed to be somewhere?"

"FreeStar One. Olympus Resort. Did a week gig at the Apollo Casino. It rocked. I just got back this morning."

"Good. Great." Eve shifted her gaze to her screen, began to process the data in her head. "We'll get together when I'm clear. You can tell me all about it."

"I'm knocked up."

"Fine. We'll cover that. We can-" Her brain simply went on hold, as if someone had flicked a switch that shut down all the circuits. When it clicked back, there seemed to be some sort of blip blanking out basic reasoning functions.

"What did you say?"

"I'm knocked up." Mavis let out a snorting laugh, then slapped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes, as purple as her shoes today, danced like a pair of chorus girls.

"You're… You…" Stunned into stammering, Eve stared at Mavis's bare midriff, at the trio of belly dangles that sparkled from her navel. "You got something growing in there?"

Her hands still over her mouth, Mavis nodded rapidly. "A baby." The laugh spurted through her fingers. "I've got a baby in there. Is that the ult? Is that beyond the beyond? Feel!" She snagged Eve's hand and pressed it to her belly.

"Oh, Jesus. Maybe I shouldn't touch it."

"It's okay, it's all padded and everything. What do you think?"

"I don't know." Cautious, Eve slid her hand away, tucked it behind her back. Logically she knew pregnancy wasn't contagious, but all the same. "What do you think? I mean, are you… did you… Damn, I'm not processing yet. Was this, like, an accident?"

"No. We did it on purpose." She scooted her tiny butt onto the desk, swung her pretty legs so the gel sandals bumped and squished against the wood. "We've been trying to procreate for a while. Me and Leonardo are really good at the process. We didn't have any luck at first, but you know, try, try again. We tried a lot," she said on another wild giggle.

"Are you sure you're not just drunk?"

"No, totally pregs." She patted her belly. "Embryo's in and cooking."

"Oh, God, don't say embryo." For some reason the word in combination with the squishy sound of the gel made Eve queasy.

"Come on, we all started out as one."

"Maybe. But I don't like to think about it."

"I'm like totally focused on it now. But wait, because I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyhow, when I was at Olympus, I got this feeling maybe I was baking-I waswhooshing in the mornings and-"

"Okay, skip that part, too." Definitely queasy now, Eve realized, and made a mental note to sterilize the hand that had pressed against Mavis's bare belly.

"Right, so I took a preg test and it was positive. Then, you know, I got worried I'd messed it up because I wanted it so much, so I took three more. Liftoff."

She pushed off the desk, whirled around the room. "Then I went to the clinic up there, just to be more sure. I didn't want to say anything to my honeydew until I was abso-poso. I'm six weeks into the deal."

"Six weeks."

"We'd tapped out pretty regular, so I figured I was just feeling off at first and I was kind of afraid to do the check because you get so bummed when it's a no-go. But when thewhooshing kept up-oh, sorry. I justknew something was up last week. I just went to the clinic here. Just one more check, you know, do an on planet deal. System's go. I went home and I told Leonardo. He cried."

Eve caught herself rubbing a hand over her heart. "In a good way?"

"Oh yeah. He stopped everything and started right away designing-well notright away because we had to celebrate by re-enacting the conception program-but afterward he starting designing me preg clothes for when I get fat. I can'twait. Can you imagine?"

"No. It's something else that's beyond my scope. You're really happy?"

"Dallas, every morning when I wake up and puke, I'm so happy I could just…" She trailed off and burst into tears.

"Oh God. Oh jeez." Eve sprang up, hurried over, then wasn't quite sure what to do. She tried a hug, intending on keeping it light-just in case-but Mavis grabbed on hard.

"This is the best thing that's ever happened to me, in my whole life. I had to tell Leonardo first, then you. Because you're my best friend. We can tell everybody else now. I want to telleverybody. But I had to tell you first"

"Okay, so you're crying because you're happy."

"Yeah. It's so iced. I can have mood swings whenever I want and without chemical assistance. No drinking, which sort of blows, but it's not good for little Eve or Roarke."

Eve pulled back so abruptly, Mavis almost doubled over with laughter. "We're not really going to call the baby that. We're just borrowing them for fun until they can tell us what equipment it's got. You get to call those names for when you and Roarke-"

"Shut up. Don't start down that road. I don't want to hurt a pregnant woman."

She only grinned. "We made a baby. Me and Leonardo made a baby. I'm going to be the best mommy, Dallas. I'm going to totally rock."

"Yeah." Eve ran her hand over the thick, colorful braids. "You will."