Shock

NINE

THE ODOR WAS WARM, MOIST, fetid, and offensively feral. Paul Saunders was wearing a surgical mask but not for antiseptic purposes. It was purely because he found the smell intolerable in the sow's birthing stall. He was standing with Sheila Donaldson and Greg Lynch, the powerfully built veterinarian he'd been able to entice away from the Tufts University veterinary program with a high salary and the promise of stock options. He and Sheila had surgical gowns over their street clothes and were sporting rubber boots. Greg had on a massive rubber apron and heavy rubber gloves.

"I thought you said this birth was imminent," Paul complained. He had his arms crossed and his hands in surgical gloves.

"All indications are that it is," Greg said. "Besides, we're at day two hundred and eighty-nine in this pregnancy. She's long overdue." He patted the pig's head, and the animal let out a loud prolonged squeal.

"Can't we induce her?" Paul said, wincing at the high pitched shriek. He looked over the stall's railing at Carl Smith as if to ask whether Carl had brought any oxytocin or any other kind of uterine stimulant. Carl was standing by the anesthesia machine they'd purchased for the farm. He was there in case of an emergency.

"It's best we just let nature take its course," Greg said. "It's coming. Trust me."

No sooner were the words out of Greg's mouth than a shower of amniotic fluid sprayed out over the straw-covered floor accompanied by another ear-splitting squeal. Both Paul and Sheila had to leap out of the way to avoid being drenched by the warm fluid.

Paul rolled his eyes once he'd regained his footing. "The indignities I have to bear in the name of science!" he complained. "It's unreal!"

"Things are going to happen pretty quickly now," Greg said. He positioned himself behind the animal, vainly trying to avoid stepping in the feces. The animal was on her side.

"Not soon enough to suit me," Paul said. He looked at Sheila. "When was the last ultrasound?"

"Yesterday," Sheila said. "And I didn't like the size of the umbilical vessels I was able to visualize. You remember I told you, right?"

"Yes, I remember," Paul said, shaking his head dejectedly. "Sometimes the failures we have to endure in this business get to me, especially in this part of the research. If this batch is again all stillborn, I'm going to be at a loss. I don't know what else to try."

"We can at least try to be optimistic," Sheila suggested.

A phone rang in the background. One of the animal handlers watching from the sidelines ran to get it.

The pig squealed again. "Here we go," Greg said. He thrust his gloved hand inside the animal. "She's dilated now. Give me some room."

Paul and Sheila were more than happy to move as far out of the way as the stall would allow.

"Dr. Saunders, I'm supposed to give you a message," the animal handler said. He'd returned from answering the phone and had come up to Paul's right side.

Paul waved the man away. The first of the litter was crowning amid squeals from the mother pig. The next instant, the firstborn was out. But it did not look good, and the dusky blue creature made only feeble attempts to breathe. The umbilical vessels were huge, more than twice the normal size. Greg tied them off and then got ready for the next.

Once the births had started, they happened in rapid succession. Within minutes the entire litter was lined up on the stall's straw-covered floor, bloody and unmoving. Carl had made a motion to pick up the first one to try to resuscitate it, but Paul told him not to bother because there was obviously too much congenital malformation. For several minutes the group silently stared at the pitiful newborns. The sow instinctively ignored them.

"The idea of using the human mitochondria obviously didn't work," Paul said breaking the silence. "It's discouraging. I thought my idea was brilliant. It made so much sense, yet you can tell just by looking at these creatures they all have the same cardiopulmonary pathology as the last group."

"At least we're getting them to go to term consistently," Greg said. "When we started we were dealing with first-trimester miscarriages every time."

Paul sighed. "I want to see a normal offspring, not a stillborn. I’m long past seeing them getting to term as any sign of success."

"Should we autopsy them?" Sheila asked.

"I suppose, to be complete," Paul said without enthusiasm. "We know what the pathology is because it's obviously the same as last time, but it should be documented for posterity. What we need to know is how to eliminate it, so it's back to the proverbial drawing board."

"What about the ovaries?" Sheila asked.

"That goes without saying," Paul said. "That's got to be done now, while they're still alive. The autopsies can wait. If need be, after the ovaries are taken, you can put these creatures in the cooler and autopsy them when convenient. But once the autopsies are done, incinerate the carcasses."

"What about the placenta?" Sheila asked.

"That should be photographed along with the sow," Paul said. He gave the bloody mass a nudge with his rubber boot. "It should also be autopsied. It, too, is obviously abnormal."

"Dr. Saunders," the animal handler said. "About that phone call

"For chissake stop pestering me about the phone!" Paul yelled. "Because if it's about those damn feed trucks, I don't care if they sit out there for twenty-four hours. They were supposed to have arrived yesterday, not today."

"It was not about the trucks," the animal handler said. "In fact, the trucks are already here at the farm."

"What?" Paul cried. "I specifically said they were not to come in until I gave the okay, and I did not give the okay."

"They got the okay from Dr. Wingate," the animal handler said. "That's what the phone message was about. Dr. Wingate is here at the clinic and wants to see you over at the monstrosity."

For a moment the only sounds in the vast barn were the occasional distant moos of the cows, squeals of the other pigs, and the barking of the dogs. Paul and Sheila looked at each other with surprise.

"Did you know he was coming back?" Paul asked Sheila eventually.

"I had no idea," Sheila said.

Paul looked over at Carl.

"Don't look at me," Carl said. "I didn't have any idea, either."

Paul shrugged. "Just one more challenge, I suppose."

WELL, THERE YOU HAVE IT, MISS HEATHERLY AND MISS Marks," Helen Masterson said, concluding her canned preemployment monologue. She leaned back in her desk chair with her palms and fingers pressed together as if praying. She was a husky woman with a ruddy, fleshy face, dimpled chin, and a short no-nonsense hairstyle. When she smiled her eyes were reduced to mere slits. Both Joanna and Deborah were seated in front of her on the other side of the woman's cluttered desk. "If the conditions, rules, and salary that I've laid out are acceptable, we here at the Wingate Clinic are pleased to offer you women employment."

Joanna and Deborah briefly looked at each other and nodded.

"Sounds good to me," Deborah said.

"To me too," Joanna agreed.

"Wonderful," Helen said with a smile, making her eyes all but disappear. "Now do you have any questions for me?"

"Yes," Joanna said. "We'd like to start as soon as possible. In fact, we were hoping tomorrow could be our first day. Is that possible?"

"That's rather difficult," Helen said. "It doesn't give us time to process your applications." She hesitated for a moment before continuing: "But, I suppose, that shouldn't necessarily restrict us, and frankly we're expanding so quickly we can use the help. So, if we can get you to be seen today by Dr. Paul Saunders, who insists on meeting all new employees, and get you processed by security, why not?"

"What does it mean to be processed by security?" Joanna asked. She exchanged glances with Deborah.

"That's really just to get you an access card," Helen said. "It gets you in the front gate and allows you to log on to the computer at your workstation. It can do more than that, of course, depending on how it's programmed."

Joanna's eyebrows raised at Helen's mention of the computer. It was a gesture unnoticed by the personnel director but seen by Deborah.

"I'm curious about your computer setup," Joanna said. "Since I assume I'll be doing a lot of word processing, I'd like to learn more about it. For example, I assume your system has multi-layered authorization levels."

"I'm no expert in the computer arena," Helen said with a nervous laugh. "I'll have to refer you to our network administrator, Randy Porter, for definitive answers. But if I understand your question, the answer is certainly yes. Our local area network is set up to recognize various groups of users, each with distinct access privileges. But don't worry, both of you will certainly have appropriate privileges for your designated work if that's your concern."

Joanna nodded. "It is my concern, especially since the system sounds sophisticated. Would it be possible for me to see the hardware itself? I imagine that would give me a good idea about what to expect."

"I don't see any reason why not," Helen said. "Any other questions?"

"I have a question," Deborah said. "We ran into Dr. Wingate at the front gate. He said he was going to get in touch with you about us? Did he?"

"Yes, he did," Helen said. "Which was a bit of a surprise. And I'm to take you to his office when you are finished with me. Any other questions?"

Joanna and Deborah looked at each other before shaking their heads.

"Then I have some questions of my own," Helen said. "I know you are planning on commuting back and forth to Boston, but I'd like you to think about the very nice accommodations we have here on the premises, which we encourage our staff to utilize, since we prefer our employees to live here. Would you be willing to see the units? It would only take a few minutes. We have a golf cart out back to take us over there."

Joanna started to decline, but Deborah overrode her by saying it might be interesting to see the apartments if they had time.

"Well, that leads me to one final question," Helen said. She looked at Deborah. "I don't know how to word this, Miss Marks, but do you always dress so… so flamboyantly?"

Joanna suppressed a giggle as Deborah stumbled over an explanation for her style of dress.

"Well, perhaps you could tone it down a tad," Helen said, trying to be diplomatic. "We're health-care professionals, after all." Without waiting for a response from Deborah, Helen picked up her phone and dialed an extension. The ensuing conversation was short. She merely asked if "Napoleon" was in, listened for a moment nodding her head, and then said she'd be over straightaway with two new recruits.

Helen stood up and the women followed suit. As they did they could see over the tops of the dividers that separated the large, high-ceilinged former ward into individual work spaces. They were in the administration area located on the second floor and where Joanna was slotted to work. The windows of those cubicles which had them looked out over the front of the building, affording a commanding view to the west. Few heads were visible in the maze of work spaces. It was as if most everyone were on a coffee break.

Come with me," Helen said, stepping out of her cubicle. She started off down the central aisle while talking over her thick shoulder. "We'll have you meet Dr. Saunders. It's a pro forma exercise, but we should have his imprimatur before proceeding any further."

"You remember who he is, don't you?" Joanna whispered to Deborah as they followed a few steps behind the personnel director. Helen wended her way out into the corridor which separated the administration area from the laboratory located on the east side of the wing.

"Of course I remember," Deborah said. "It will be the first test if we're going to get away with this."

"I'm not concerned about him," Joanna said. "It's Dr. Donaldson that I'm worried about. Dr. Saunders didn't look at my face long enough to remember me, at least not while I was awake."

"He looked at me long enough," Deborah said, "and he was not a happy camper, as I told you."

Helen suddenly stopped by a door that had a NO ADMITTANCE sign posted on it. "Why not?" she said after a beat and without explanation. She opened the door, which was unlocked, and passed through. The women followed. The twenty-foot-long corridor beyond dead-ended at a blank second door. Helen tried the door, but it was locked. She took out her wallet and extracted a blue swipe card similar to the one Spencer had used to open the outside gate. Careful to keep the magnetic strip properly oriented, she passed the card rapidly through a card swipe attached to the wall next to the door. There was a click. When she retried the door, it opened.

Helen pushed the door wide open and stepped to the side. She looked back at Joanna. "This is our computer server room. There's our equipment. Beyond that I can't tell you very much."

Joanna's eyes swept the windowless room whose floor had been raised eight inches to conceal the wiring. There were four large vertically oriented electronic units and a small bookcase filled with manuals. More importantly, there was a server console with a keyboard, a mouse, and a monitor displaying an active screen saver. Golden sting rays and blue-gray sharks endlessly swam to and fro. A single empty ergonomic chair sat in front of the console.

"Very impressive,' Joanna said.

"I wouldn't know," Helen admitted. "Have you seen enough?"

Joanna nodded. "Will I have access to this room with my card?" she asked.

Helen regarded her as if she'd said something inordinately stupid. "Of course not! Clearance for spaces such as this is reserved to department heads only. Why would you want to come in here anyway?"

Joanna shrugged. "Only if I were having a problem I couldn't rectify from my workstation keyboard."

"For that kind of a problem, you'll have to see Randy Porter, if you can find him. I have to admit, he's fairly elusive if he's not in his cubicle." Helen closed to the door, and it locked with a resounding click.

"On to see our fearless leader," Helen said. She retraced her steps back to the main corridor and set out again. Acting as if the slight detour to see the server room had caused them to be late, she nipped her pace. Joanna and Deborah had to hurry to keep up. Deborah's heels striking against the terrazzo floor made loud cracking noises like automatic-rifle fire. The vaulted ceiling magnified the sounds by producing multiple echoes.

"What do you think?" Deborah whispered between breaths.

"If we don't luck out and get the access we need to our files, then I'll have to get into that room for about ten or fifteen minutes."

"Which means we'll need a blue card that will open the door. Apparently ours won't. How are we going to manage that?"

"We'll have to be creative," Joanna said.

"I'm sorry to have to hurry you like this," Helen called back to "e women from where she was holding open a heavy fire door leading from the building's south wing into the central tower. "Dr. Saunders can be hard to corner. If he leaves his office before we arrive, we could have trouble finding him, and if you don't get to see him, you will not be starting work tomorrow."

Joanna and Deborah passed through the fire door which Helen let close behind her. The women found themselves in a dramatically different environment. Instead of terrazzo the floor was oak, and instead of tile, plaster, or exposed brick, the walls were paneled mahogany. There was even a threadbare oriental runner extending down the long hallway.

"Come on!" Helen urged. She led the women down the corridor and through a doorway into an outer office. A secretary sat at a desk behind which were two doors: one closed, the other ajar. There were several couches and a coffee table.

"Don't tell me we missed Dr. Saunders?" Helen inquired of the secretary.

"He's still here," the woman said as she gestured over her shoulder at the closed door. "But he's engaged at the moment."

Helen's face registered understanding. She knew full well whose office was behind the closed door. Lowering her voice, she said: "I was shocked to learn Dr. Wingate was here."

"You and everyone else," the secretary whispered with a nod. "No one expected it. He arrived this morning unannounced. There's been a bit of fireworks as you well can imagine."

It was Helen's turn to nod. Then she shrugged. "It will be interesting to see what happens."

"That's the truth," the secretary said. "At any rate I'm sure Dr. Saunders will be out shortly. Perhaps you and your applicants would like to make yourselves comfortable." She smiled graciously at Joanna and Deborah.

Almost simultaneous with the group taking seats, the closed office door opened and banged against its stop. Paul Saunders's short frame filled the doorway, but his attention was directed back into Spencer's office. His face was flushed and his hands were balled into tight fists.

"I can't sit in here the entire day and argue about all this," Paul spat. "I've got patients to see and work to do even if you don't."

Spencer's form materialized behind Paul and crowded him out of the doorway, forcing him to take a step back into the anteroom. Spencer was almost a foot taller and his tanned skin made Paul look paler than usual. His eyes blazed with an intensity equivalent with Paul's. "I'll excuse that kind of impertinence as a product of the heat of the moment," he snapped.

"That's very big of you considering it's true."

"I have a fiduciary responsibility to this clinic and its stockholders," Spencer hissed. "And I want you to understand that I intend to carry out that duty. The Wingate is primarily a clinical organization, and we've been that way from day one. Our research is to support our clinical efforts and not vice versa."

"That's a Luddite attitude if I've ever heard one," Paul shot back. "Research is an investment in the future: short-term sacrifice for long-term benefit. We're positioned to be at the cutting edge of stem-cell research which has the potential of being the basis of twenty-first-century medicine, but we have to be willing to forfeit some profit and take some risks in the short run."

"We'll revisit this discussion when you have more time," Spencer stated flatly. "See me after your last patient!" Abruptly he stepped back into his office, grabbed the edge of his door, and slammed it shut with a resounding bang.

Paul took another step backward as if blown by wind from the slamming door. Furious at being dismissed when it had been his intent to walk out, he spun around. He took a single step toward his office when his eyes caught sight of the unexpected audience. Like the turret on a battleship, his head pivoted in a staccato fashion as his gun-barrel eyes took in each individual in turn. They stopped on Deborah. His expression softened.

"Ms. Masterson has some recruits for you to interview," the secretary announced.

"So I see," Paul said. His tightly fisted hands relaxed, and he gestured toward his open door as his eyes took in Deborah's high-heeled shoes, short skirt, and plunging neckline. "Come in, come in!" he said. "Gladys, did you offer our guests something to drink?"

"It didn't occur to me," Gladys admitted. She furrowed her brow.

"We'll have to rectify that," Paul said. "How about some coffee or a soft drink?"

"Not for me, thank you," Deborah said, struggling to get to her feet. It was an effort in the high heels since the couch was inordinately deep. Paul responded by bounding around Gladys's desk to offer a hand, but Deborah made it upright without assistance. She pulled her miniskirt down, which had the effect of lowering her already low neckline.

Paul glanced at Joanna.

"Nothing for me either," Joanna said. She felt like the poor relation when Paul immediately switched his attention back to Deborah and then made a point of graciously guiding her into his office. Joanna and Helen followed.

Paul added a third chair to the two facing his desk and gestured for everyone to sit. He went around behind his desk and sat himself. Helen proceeded to introduce the two women with their aliases and mentioned their respective Harvard undergraduate degrees along with which departments they hoped to work for.

"Excellent," Paul said with a broad smile, revealing his small, square, widely spaced front teeth, which were in concert with his wide, squat nose. "Bloody excellent, as they say in Merry Old England." He laughed. Without taking his eyes off Deborah he added: "It appears, Miss Masterson, you've found us several more fine prospective employees. You're to be congratulated."

"So we should continue with the employment process?" Helen questioned.

"Certainly. By all means."

"They have expressed an interest in starting as early as tomorrow," Helen said.

"That's even better," Paul said. "Their zeal should be rewarded since we're in dire need of help, particularly in the lab. You'll be very welcome, Miss Marks!"

"Thank you," Deborah said, mildly self-conscious about the attention she was getting at the expense of Joanna. "I'm looking forward to using some of that superb equipment you have." No sooner had the statement left her mouth than Deborah felt her pulse quicken and her face redden. It had belatedly occurred to her that she had yet to see the lab on this trip. Luckily the only person who seemed to realize the blunder was Joanna. Paul continued the conversation without so much as a beat.

"Let me ask you something about your lab experience, Miss Marks," Paul said. "Have you ever done any nuclear transfer?"

"I haven't," Deborah stammered. "But I can certainly learn."

"We do a lot of nuclear transfer," Paul said. "It's an integral part of our research efforts. Since I spend a lot of time in the lab, I'll be happy to show you the technique personally."

"You'll find me a willing and hopefully apt pupil," Deborah said, having regained her composure. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Joanna briefly rolling her eyes.

"Well, then," Helen said after a brief silence gripped the room. She stood. "I think we'd better get to it if we're going to have Miss Heatherly and Miss Marks working tomorrow."

The women stood, as did Paul.

"I'm sorry about the verbal exchange you people inadvertently witnessed earlier," Paul said. "The founder of the clinic and I have an occasional minor disagreement, but it's more about style than substance. I hope the little episode doesn't adversely color your impression of the institution."

Five minutes later Helen was leading the women back through the fire door into the south wing of the building.

"I gather that Dr. Wingate doesn't come into the clinic often," Joanna said to Helen.

"Not over the last year and a half," Helen said. "We all thought he was permanently retired and living in Florida."

"Is there some problem about him and Dr. Saunders getting along?" Deborah asked.

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Helen said vaguely. As she'd done previously, once in the football-field-length south-wing corridor, she bustled ahead. Mostly due to Deborah's high-heeled shoes, the younger women lagged behind.

"That was a strange interview," Joanna said in a hushed voice. "That man is weird which, of course, we already knew."

"At least he didn't recognize us," Deborah said.

"True, but no thanks to you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Deborah demanded in a forced whisper between breaths.

"I don't think you should be coming on to these men like you are."

"Get out of here! I'm not coming on to anyone. They're coming on to me!"

"Well, you're not helping. This is supposed to be a quick, clandestine operation, not a drawn-out parody."

"You're just jealous."

"That'll be the day. I don't want men staring at me like that."

"I'll tell you what I think all this proves," Deborah said, but then didn't finish her thought.

"Tell me," Joanna mockingly pleaded after a brief silence.

"We blondes certainly have more fun!"

Joanna swiped at Deborah playfully, but Deborah avoided the blow. Both laughed briefly. Ahead they could see Helen standing at a doorway and looking back at them impatiently.

"What did you think of that little verbal set-to between the two chiefs?" Deborah asked while they were still out of earshot of Helen.

"There're obviously some interesting management issues here," Joanna said. "I couldn't help but notice how Helen referred to Dr. Saunders as 'Napoleon' when she was on the phone and how she called him 'our fearless leader' when talking with us. That doesn't imply a lot of respect."

"I agree," Deborah said. "I also didn't buy her disclaimer about having no knowledge of a problem between the two."

"Well, it's not our concern."

"That's for sure," Deborah agreed.

The next step in the women's preemployment process was a visit to security. Contrary to Joanna's earlier concerns, it was an easy procedure. The location was one of the cubicles in the administration area manned by a guard wearing the same uniform as the individual with the clipboard at the front gate. He took Polaroid photos of both women and created laminated plastic Wingate Clinic ID cards which the women were instructed to have on their person at all times while on the premises.

The second part of the security process involved the blue entry cards. The guard produced these by entering the women's predetermined level of access, obtained from material given by Helen, into a form displayed on his workstation monitor. It took a moment because he typed with only two fingers. Once the typing was completed, the cards were extruded automatically. He handed them over and told the women to be careful with them.

The next step was computer access. That involved going to a different cubicle where the women were introduced to Randy Porter. According to Helen they were lucky to have caught him at his workstation. Randy was a sandy-haired, slightly built fellow who looked like he was still in his teens. He explained to the women that when they sat at their workstations for the first time and swiped their blue cards through the slot on the top of their keyboards, a prompt would pop up asking them for a password. He said they were to select NEW and then provide a secret word which only they would be apt to know and which they could count on remembering.

"Should the password be a specific number of letters or digits?" Joanna asked.

"That's up to you," Randy said. "But it is best if it is six or more alphanumeric ciphers. Just be sure it's something you can remember, because if you forget your password, you have to come to me, and that can take some time."

Helen gave a short, corroboratory laugh.

"Any other questions?" Randy asked.

"What kind of a system is it?" Joanna asked.

"The operating system is Windows 2000 Data Center Server."

"And the hardware?"

"It's an IBM Server xSeries 430 with a Shiva firewall," Randy said. "Is that what you're asking?"

"Thanks," Joanna said simply.

"It's all Greek to me," Helen said. "Is that it?"

"That's it from my end," Randy said. "Unless there are more questions."

As they left the network administrator's cubicle Helen checked the time. It was almost one o'clock in the afternoon. She hesitated in the aisle.

"I'd like to introduce you to your respective department heads,' Helen said. "But it is lunch time. Perhaps I could invite you to have something to eat in our dining hall. Gauging from Dr. Saunders's response, I'm certain he would not want you to go hungry."

Joanna started to decline the invitation but Deborah interrupted her by saying, "Lunch sounds good to me."

"Wonderful," Helen said. "I know I'm famished."

The dining hall was located on the second floor of a two-story curved pavilion attached to the back of the central section of the building. Helen led the women back on the same route they'd used to get to the directors' office, but after the fire door they took a light instead of a left.

"Damn it! Why did you have to agree to eat here?" Joanna whispered sotto voce to Deborah when she was confident Helen had gotten far enough ahead so she could not hear.

"Because I'm hungry,' Deborah said flippantly.

"The more we do here today and the longer we stay the greater the chance we'll be recognized."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that," Deborah said. "Besides, the more we learn about this place, the greater chance we'll have succeeding tomorrow when we're here in earnest."

"I wish you'd take this more seriously."

"I'm taking it seriously!" Deborah blurted.

Joanna shushed her as they came up to Helen, who'd waited for them.

The dining room was semicircular in shape with windows looking out the rear of the building. With the ground sloping downward, the view to the east was expansive. Deborah recalled that the lab had a similar view although from smaller windows and hence it was not quite as dramatic. The roof peaks and chimneys of some of the living quarters could be seen sticking up above the budding trees as could the much larger chimney of the power station. Also, the red top of a silo was just visible between the power station and the living quarters.

Helen restrained the women at the threshold while she scanned the diners, obviously searching for someone in particular. The room was large, and like the rest of the building it had numerous Victorian details, including a central, period crystal chandelier. Considering its size, the room was hardly crowded. Only thirty to forty people were sitting at widely separated tables. Their voices caused only a soft murmur.

Joanna stiffened as she caught sight of Dr. Donaldson sitting with five other professional-appearing colleagues. Turning her back in the doctor's direction, Joanna grabbed Deborah by the upper arm and motioned with her head. Deborah immediately comprehended.

"Relax, for goodness' sake!" Deborah said. Joanna's anxious paranoia was getting on her nerves.

"Is something wrong?" Helen asked.

"No, nothing,' Joanna said innocently. She gave Deborah a dirty look.

"There they are," Helen said, pointing off to the right. "There's Megan Finnigan, the laboratory supervisor, and Christine Parham, the office manager. Conveniently enough, they're sitting at the same table. Come on, let me introduce you!"

Joanna cringed and tried to keep her back toward Dr. Donaldson as she followed Deborah, who'd fallen in behind Helen. Helen was leading them toward one of the tables near the window. To Joanna's dismay, the sound of Deborah's heels on the aged parquet floor combined with her tawdrily provocative outfit had caught the attention of everyone in the place, including Dr. Donaldson.

Deborah was unconcerned about the stir she was causing. Her attention had been absorbed by a table of Spanish-speaking diners she'd passed near the dining room's entrance. They were all young, compact, darkly complected women who Deborah guessed were South American or Central American natives. What caught her attention was that they all appeared to be pregnant – and all of them seemed equally far along.

Following the introductions to the two department heads who had finished their meals and were about to depart, Helen took Joanna and Helen to a separate table. There they were served by another woman who, like the young women they'd seen on the way in, appeared to Deborah like she was from South or Central America. She, too, was pregnant to the same degree as the others.

Once the lunch was served, Deborah's curiosity got the best of her, and she asked Helen about the women.

"They are Central Americans," Helen said, corroborating Deborah's impression. "They're from Nicaragua. It's an arrangement that Dr. Saunders has made with a colleague in that country. They come for a number of months on a work visa, and then return home. I have to say, they have solved a big problem for us by providing kitchen, cleaning, and serving help, which we were unable to find in this area."

"Do they come with their families?"

"No, just by themselves. It's a chance for them to make a serious amount of money, which they send back home."

"But they all look pregnant," Deborah remarked. "Is that some kind of coincidence?"

"No coincidence at all," Helen said. "It's a way for them to earn extra money. But listen, eat up! I really would like to show you the living quarters which I hope we can talk you into taking advantage o£ I know you'll be pleased with the rents. They're shockingly reasonable, especially compared to those in Boston."

Deborah looked at Joanna to see if she'd been listening. For most of the meal Joanna had been preoccupied by Dr. Donaldson's presence and the supposed need to keep her back to the table where the doctor had been sitting, but Dr. Donaldson had now left, and it was apparent to Deborah that Joanna had heard what Helen had said about the women laborers. Joanna returned Deborah's stare with a look that was a mixture of dismay and disbelief.