Now time has begun to flow around her like a river. Days, weeks, months, years, they all course by. But she knows it is a chimera. Nothing can make time go faster or slower. Then the bright lights are gone and she feels alone. Very alone. But she isn't. She hears voices around her, drifting, echoing, and she tries to understand what they are saying. "She's stabilized. We're past the critical phase." "Do you want to bring her up now?" "Not yet. We still don't know how it's going to go." There was a pause, and then a male voice. "This was the Beta too, wasn't it, Karl?" Another pause. "Well, wasn't it? The injections. That's the first time since . . ." Again the voices drift off. She listens, not sure what she is hearing. She tries to process the word "beta" but makes no headway. In computer slang, "beta" means a program that is still being tested. Then she remembers hearing the word just hours earlier. She had been talking to some woman. But she can't remember who--" "I changed the procedure this time," comes a voice. "I injected the special Beta enzyme separately from the activated stem cells. Whatever happens will happen at the enzyme's own pace now. And I kept the dosage as low as I could. We'll be monitoring her telomerase levels throughout the day. If there's no rejection, we will be past the first phase." "Is the dosage the only difference from before?" comes the other, accusing voice. "At this point, David, manipulating the Beta is an art, not a science. I'm just attempting to create antigens, the way a smallpox vaccination does. Then we'll try to harvest them. This is not really a full-scale Beta procedure. I don't plan to do that ever again." There was another long silence. "That man who was here with her. Her cousin, did he say? I saw no family resemblance, but he seemed very upset." "That's why I had him sent upstairs. I think he's the reporter W.B. was so concerned about. Anyway, he's gone." Stone. She realizes that's who they're talking about. And now he's gone. She's on her own. Next the voices drift away for a time, into some echo space that mutes them. Finally, though, they come back. "This should be adequate for another four hours. After that, you'll need a glucose IV to keep her hydrated." "I've already put it on her chart. By then we should have some idea of which way this is going. I'm thinking, I'm praying, that this time is going to be the charm. That I've learned how to modulate the enzyme." "Is she ready for transfer to IC?" "Anytime." The voices start drifting away. A fuzziness is enveloping her senses, leaving everything soft and muted. The pain is gone from her body now, and the bright lights around her seem to be dimming. The figures in the white haze on the perimeter are now disappearing, one by one, as though filing out of a room. And now she feels like she's floating, with things moving past her.