He laughed aloud, unable to help himself. “Please, don’t look at me like that. I’m not chiding you. So you are attracted to me, then. If you’re trying to drive me away, that’s a bad way to do it.”

“Ambiguities again. I thought I’d put them comfortably aside. Damn you, Eric Abbott! Who are you, and why are you complicating the hell out of my life?”

He sighed. “Sometimes complications lead to insight.” He moved back to the couch and sat down, sinking into the soft white. “I’m a junior, soon to be senior, engineer for the Selvem Corporation. I work with microelectronics, both theoretical and actual design, and application. You might call me a design supervisor. I have the ability to grasp seemingly unrelated aspects of design and pull them together. I can both design the pieces of a puzzle and explain how they should be assembled.

“I’m thirty-one years old, have never been married or even engaged, though I’m no virgin. Both my parents died when I was quite young.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“So am I. I never knew them. I’ve attended the University of Arizona and Colombo International Technological Institute. I hold three degrees, two advanced, and make a very good salary.” He indicated the lavishly decorated chamber. "Not enough to afford anything like this, but more than enough to support a family in comfort.

“I’ve been told that I’m a pleasant companion, have a reasonably active sense of humor, and am not bad in bed. I’m diligent in my work, responsive to my friends, and forgiving to any enemies. President of the World Council, a prime programmer, a major opto star. I’m not, but I think I’d make you a good husband. And that’s who I am.”

She was shaking her head, slowly, sadly. “Eric, poor dear strange Eric. You’re a good salesman, too, and modest enough. But it wouldn’t matter in the least if you were an opto star, or President of the World Council. I still couldn’t marry you.”

“But you could love me. You’ve said that already.”

Her hands curled into tiny fists. “I don’t know. I’m not supposed to love. It interferes with my work. I’ve spent all my life learning how not to love.”

“Complications again?” He rose from the couch. “Listen to me very closely, Lisa. You tell me that you love me. Tell me that and everything will change. I’ll take care of everything. There’ll be no more men you don’t love, no more orders you don’t want to obey. Believe that.”

“Why should I? Who do you think you are? You haven’t said one thing that would make me believe you can do ahy of that.” She looked past him suddenly, toward the front door. “Please go. You say that you love me. If you love me, you’ll leave.”

“Why do they always say that?” he murmured wonderingly. “In all the plays and novels and opto serials, why do they always say that? I’m not going, unless you agree I can see you again.” He stared at her, his soul aching. Standing in front of the window, she was silhouetted by diffused light, perfection and heaven, life’s dream made real. “Tell me I can come back tonight and I’ll leave immediately.”

“You shouldn’t. You mustn’t. It hurts me already. And it will end by hurting you worse.”

“Let me worry about me. As for hurting you, you’ve got it backward. I’m not surprised, given what you’ve told me about your life. We can talk about it tonight.” A sudden dark thought raced through his mind. “Are you expecting someone? Do you have to ‘work’?”

“No.” Suddenly she sounded anxious to reassure him. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. Not now, not today.”

He relaxed and the cloud vanished from his mind. It was painful enough to have to consider the idea without having to hear it confirmed. “That’s good.”

She walked him to the door. “I wish you wouldn’t come back.” There was no steel in her words, none of the strength she’d displayed earlier.

“We’ll talk of everything tonight,” he said consolingly, “and don’t worry, Lisa. Everything’s going to work out all right, you’ll see. I promise you it is.”

“You make it sound so easy, so simple. Life isn’t as simple as you think, Eric. It’s infinitely more complex than you can imagine.”

“I confess my ignorance along with my love,” he said with a smile. “Tonight you can educate me.”

“You’re impossible. You won’t listen and you have no common sense at all.”

“Sound like a man in love, don’t I? If it helps any, Lisa, I don’t understand why you should have this effect on me, either. But isn’t that what love’s all about?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve never really loved anyone.”

“Until now,” he said, taking her abruptly into his arms. The kiss lasted longer than he intended, certainly longer than she intended. When they finally parted there was a glimmer of something new and wonderftul in her eyes. The uncertainty was still there, the old taboos and regulations, but mixed now with a faint hope and desire to believe in him, as she’d never believed in anything before. He saw it clearly and knew he couldn’t let her down. Not now, not ever.

IX

He walked all the way back to his hotel, disdaining the robocabs and public transport, enjoying the light rain that was falling. He didn’t feel it. He felt nothing but joy and delight in being alive.

She’d found him attractive, had said as much. She’d said she could love him. The confrontation had turned out better than in his wildest imaginings. Where he’d been prepared to find indifference or distrust, he’d discovered warmth and love. If that one brief glimpse of her in Phoenix had captured him, her actual presence had imprisoned him forever.

No longer was she a fading, distant image. She was a real person now, one with fears and troubles of her own. They only intensified his feelings for her. Here was someone who needed not only all the love he’d kept buried inside all his life but who also needed his help and protection. She was a prisoner, there was no question of it. Though of what he still wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she cared for him, if only to the point of concern for his welfare. He would settle for concern now and wait for the love he was certain would follow.

Time passed with agonizing deliberation, but he made himself hew to the schedule he’d planned. What would they do tonight besides talk? Perhaps he could get her out of that crystal-and-white cell. Dinner? No doubt she’d already dined at Nueva York’s most exclusive restaurants.

What about the lower levels of Forty-second Street? Had she ever been there? Ever had a hot dog on a cold street, or satay on a stick, or rumaki by the basketful? He would try to find out tonight.

He was full of plans and forcing himself not to run as he reentered his hotel. Though he was hungry, he passed by the coffee shop. Before he did anything else he was going to lay out the new suit he’d purchased to replace the one he’d ruined during his inexplicable escape from the Harlem Tower.

The suit waited, neat and clean, on its hanger. He took it out of the closet and laid it flat on the bed, turned to go to the bathroom, hesitated. Something was wrong with the pants. He inspected them closely, couldn’t find the problem. Only when he ran fingers up one trouser leg and bent over it did his euphoria evaporate and his excitement turn to apprehension.

An expert had done the work. It was very subtle, almost undetectable. The original laser stitch had been opened. Checking the other leg, he saw that it had been similarly treated, threads removed and hastily resealed. The fabric was still stiff. In another hour all signs of tampering would have disappeared.

A check of the matching jacket revealed similar treatment. There was no outward damage or signs of manipulation, only a stiff, crinkly feel to the material where it should have been soft and flexible.

Why would anyone search the seams of his clothing? He stood staring at the suit that suddenly smelled of an alien presence, then commenced a careful inspection of his room. His toiletry articles appeared untouched, except for his razor. He’d shaved twice since cleaning it last. There should be hairs in the receptacle. There were none. Someone had made another revealing mistake.

He went through the entire bathroom without finding anything else, then moved to the bedroom. Where would be the logical place, he thought? He started with the underside of the bed, found nothing, switched his attention to the small desk and its chair. They were clean, as was the opto screen and tuner. So was the back of the single picture bolted to the wall.

He found what he was looking for inside the window jamb. Very tiny, smaller than his thumbnail and about as thick as a dime. Four inches of nearly invisible wire ran from the device and clung to the outside of the aluminum window frame.

It was a marvelous bit of miniaturization, and he wondered which company was responsible for it. Wouldn’t it be funny if under a microscope he found SV for Selvem imprinted somewhere on the device? Oh, very funny indeed! He might even, at some time, have aided in the design of the circuitry. It was not comforting in the least to know that the bug might be part of the family.

Another was secured to the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Its tiny antenna ran up the side of the lighting element and curled around the tube. But the choicest surprise of all awaited him when he rechecked the desk. He’d overlooked it on first inspection because he’d been hunting for something else.

There were two pens attached to the hotel writing pad. That seemed extravagant for so modest an establishment. Both were the same shade of blue, but one had the hotel name stamped on its side and the other did not. Other than that they matched perfectly, except that the unstamped instrument’s stylus was not visible. Nor was it retracted. A glance showed a tiny plastic lens. As he picked up the tiny opto camera he wondered if anyone on the other end was watching. If so, would the sudden movement of the peeper set off an alarm?

He dropped the peeper, feeling a desperate urge to get out of the room, out of the city.

Yes, get out, a loud voice screamed at him inside his head. Get out like she told you, while you still have a chance!

He fled from the room, the suit forgotten along with his other possessions. Down the hall now, ignoring the elevators again lest they be full of the owners of the bugs in his room. Having discovered him, they were likely to come for him in person now.

But who were they? Someone was going to extraordinary lengths to insure the total privacy of a very confused and, he was convinced, very unhappy young woman. Someone with access to sophisticated technology and plenty of money.

He thought again of the underworld. They utilized modern surveillance technology as readily as did the government and private industry. But usually their methods weren’t as subtle as the available instrumentation. Of course, what did he know of the real underworld? He was a junior designer, a law-abiding citizen. Everything he knew he’d seen on the optotext.

Whoever they were, how had they tracked him to his room? If they’d been watching all along they would have known when he’d left Phoenix. They might have tracked him to Nueva York. But to trace him here—seemed impossible, since he’d used his altered credit card. To find him so soon meant access to city-wide search facilities and enormous resources. And why not confront him directly? Why this sham with the spy bugs in his room?

It didn’t matter now. He was out on the street and running through the afternoon crowds. Other pedestrians ignored him. People in Nueva York ran a lot.

Seeing no hint of pursuit he finally slowed to a walk. Maybe they were tracking him with relays. He found himself staring suspiciously at anyone gazing too long into store windows or at nothing in particular. Yes, a different man and woman to watch him every three or four blocks, a whole series set up to monitor his position.

But why? Why such close attention? It made no sense, no sense at all. Lisa Tambor was truly beautiful, yes, unique in many ways and everything he’d hoped she might be, but hardly worthy of this kind of shielding.