"I'm sorry. He looked straight at the nothing. But something stirred inside him. "I care for you very much." She studied him in the half-light. "Are those your own words?" "No. I think Lawrence said them." Nothing. "You see what a waste I am." "No. I don't think so. But I wish you would kiss me." He rolled back toward her, felt her long and beautiful beside him. He began to kiss her, felt something warm at the corner of his eye. "Why do you have to go? Haven't you done enough already?" "Apparently not." "Oh, of course. The Belgians and Swiss, and now the Commonwealth. That was your fault, too." "You don't understand, Elonna." "What am I supposed to understand? That your father was a racist bastard who didn't love you, or any one or anything else? That you don't know how to deal with your guilt? God damn it! Are you going to sacrifice everything we've found, just to satisfy your pride?" He tried to glare at her, turned away and faced the window. "I'm so glad I could trust you." "Don't you say that to me! Don't you dare pretend that you don't care about me. You didn't bring Johnny and I here just to satisfy your conscience and have an exotic fuck." He was silent. "What do you want from me?" "I want you to stop KILLING yourself." The emotions of a lifetime seemed to be trying to push their way through her throat, the back of her eyes. "DAMN you. Aren't there enough things out there to destroy us..... I want you to find another WAY to fight them." As he weakened she started to go to him, checked herself. "Listen to me, Morgan. One more raid isn't going to make a difference in this war, one way or another. It's too big for that now. But if you're killed it will mean everything to you..... And to me." They stood in silence. * Again they stood within their chambers beneath the transparent dome on the planet Alba: early night. Morgan was preparing to leave. "Please don't go." The tears flowed freely down her face. "I could never forgive you." The boy, standing by her side, looked at him with an angry, puzzled expression. He started for the doorway. Reaching it he stopped, and stood perfectly still. As the battle raged inside him. "Morgan, please." He turned to face her. She was love and loss personified. His shoulders went limp, and the rifle slid halfway down his arm. He had never felt so empty. Twenty seconds. He lifted the strap of the rifle, leaned the weapon against the corner by the door. He walked past them and into the bedroom. Un-shouldering his pack as they followed him in, he unfastened the flaps at the top and took something out of it. Steel hoops on a black chain shone silver. The man placed one cuff around his wrist, hooked the other to the metal bedpost. He took a set of keys from his pocket. . .and threw them across the room. He slid to the floor, covered his face with his arm. "Morgan," she said quietly. "What are you doing?"