When a small light glowed on the indicator panel, he lifted a short metal rod, and played the end of it slowly back and forth just below his fleshy ribs. The light flickered on and off steadily. Bodger looked sharply at the needle of a dial beside the light. "Thank heaven," he whispered, and returned case and contents to the closet. Then, after laying out a set of dry things, he considered a moment, ran a hand testily over his stomach region, and grunted in annoyance. He was still slightly over-wrought; he could feel the juices inside him itching to spurt into his bloodstream and arouse him into his erstwhile pitch of anger. It wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. Angered at his own infirmity, he nevertheless set the alarm for an hour's time ahead, in case he dozed, then lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. * * * * * In the adjoining room, where the door to the hallway was securely bolted, Lloyd Bodger, Junior, stood up near the wall, in a stance he'd held for many minutes, the side of his head pressed tightly against the plastic paneling. "I think he's lying down," he whispered. "I heard the bedsprings creak." Andra Corby, her face lowered against the knees which she hugged to her chest on the bed, shivered a bit, then straightened her long, smooth legs until she was simply pillow-propped against the headboard once more, and her arms had refolded across her breast. "Are you sure?" she asked tautly. "The longer I stay here, the more frightened I become." Lloyd spun to face her, almost angrily. "Will you _stop_ that relentless nobility! I'm doing this for my _own_ skin, remember? I don't care what happens to you; I care what happens to _me_ if something happens to you!" "Your father," she said, enunciating with icy calm and slow clarity, "is going to _hear_ you...." Lloyd controlled himself, his fists knotting at his sides. Seeing he was relaxing, Andra said, a little less frigidly, "I thought--I thought he was coming in _here_." "He stopped outside my door, all right ..." Lloyd mused. "Then went to his room in a rush. I don't get it." He listened some more at the wall. Behind him, Andra giggled, suddenly. He glanced at her. "What--?" "I just thought--What if your father's on the other side, listening to hear what _you're_ doing. I'm just picturing two grown men, frowning in earnest concentration, their ears separated by a few inches of plastic, and it's funny." "Not if you're correct, it isn't," said Lloyd, and Andra stopped smiling. "As soon as he hears you, the jig's up." "Maybe--" She leaned forward with eager hope. "Maybe it would be a _good_ thing, Lloyd. He's a powerful man in the Hive. If he knew your problem, he could use his influence to do something, couldn't he?" "My father loves me, sure," said Lloyd, with a wry quirk to his lips. "But I don't think he loves anything so much as his position in our society. My consorting with a fugitive might put the kibosh on the next election."