enormous. Whitten Coleman Service Building, serving thirty-
three department stores over three states. Doro had begun the chain seventy years before,
when he bought a store for a small, stable family of his people. The job of the family was
simply to grow and prosper and eventually become one of Doro's sources of money.
Descendants of the original family still held a controlling interest in the company. They
were obedient and self-sufficient, and, for the most part, Doro let them alone. Through
the years, their calls to him for help had become fewer. As they grew in size and
experience, they became more able to handle their own problems. Doro still visited them
from time to time, though. Sometimes he asked favors of them. Sometimes they asked
favors of him. This was one of the latter times. Karl, Doro, the warehouse manager, and
the chief of security walked through the warehouse toward the loading docks. Karl had
never been inside the warehouse before, but now he led the way through the maze of
dusty stock areas and busy marking rooms. In turn, he was led by the thoughts of several
workers who were efficiently preparing to steal several thousand dollars' worth of
Whitten Coleman merchandise. They had gotten away with several earlier thefts in spite
of the security people who watched them, and the cameras trained on them.
Quietly, Karl pointed out the thieves—including two security men—and explained
their methods to the security chief. And he told the chief where the group had hidden
what they had left of the merchandise they had already stolen. He had almost finished
when he realized that something was wrong with Mary.
He maintained a mental link with the girl now that he was married to her. And now
that Doro had made clear what would happen to him if Mary died in transition.
Something about the girl's expanding ability had changed. Suddenly she was no
longer passively absorbing the usual ambient mental noise. She was unwittingly reaching
out for it, drawing it to her. The last fragments of what Doro called her childhood
shield—the mental protection that served young actives until they were old enough to
stand transition—was crumbling away. She was in transition.
Karl broke off what he was saying to the security chief. Suddenly he was caught up in
the experience Mary was having. She was running, screaming . . .
No. No, it wasn't Mary who was running. It was another woman—the woman Mary
was receiving from. The two were one. One woman running down stark white corridors.
A woman fleeing from men who were also dressed in white. She gibbered and babbled
and wept. Suddenly she realized that her own body was covered with slimy yellow
worms. She tore at the worms frantically to get them off. They changed their coloring
from yellow to yellow streaked with red. They began to burrow into her flesh. The
woman fell to the floor tearing at herself, vomiting, urinating.
She hardly felt the restraining hands of her pursuers, or the prick of the needle. She
did not have even enough awareness of the world outside her own mind to be grateful for
the eventual oblivion.
Karl snapped back to the reality of the warehouse with a jolt. He found himself
holding on to the steel support of some overhead shelving. His hands hurt from grasping
it so tightly. He shook his head, saw Doro and the two warehousemen staring at him. The
warehousemen looked concerned. Doro looked expectant. Karl spoke to Doro. "I've got
to get home. Now."
Doro nodded. "I'll drive you. Come on."
Karl followed him out of the building, then blindly, mechanically got in on the
driver's side. Doro spoke to him sharply. Karl jumped, frowned, moved over. Doro was
right. Karl was in no shape to drive. Karl was in no shape to do anything. It was as
though he were plunging into his own transition again.
"You're too close to her," said Doro. "Pull back a little. See if you can sense
three department stores over three states. Doro had begun the chain seventy years before,
when he bought a store for a small, stable family of his people. The job of the family was
simply to grow and prosper and eventually become one of Doro's sources of money.
Descendants of the original family still held a controlling interest in the company. They
were obedient and self-sufficient, and, for the most part, Doro let them alone. Through
the years, their calls to him for help had become fewer. As they grew in size and
experience, they became more able to handle their own problems. Doro still visited them
from time to time, though. Sometimes he asked favors of them. Sometimes they asked
favors of him. This was one of the latter times. Karl, Doro, the warehouse manager, and
the chief of security walked through the warehouse toward the loading docks. Karl had
never been inside the warehouse before, but now he led the way through the maze of
dusty stock areas and busy marking rooms. In turn, he was led by the thoughts of several
workers who were efficiently preparing to steal several thousand dollars' worth of
Whitten Coleman merchandise. They had gotten away with several earlier thefts in spite
of the security people who watched them, and the cameras trained on them.
Quietly, Karl pointed out the thieves—including two security men—and explained
their methods to the security chief. And he told the chief where the group had hidden
what they had left of the merchandise they had already stolen. He had almost finished
when he realized that something was wrong with Mary.
He maintained a mental link with the girl now that he was married to her. And now
that Doro had made clear what would happen to him if Mary died in transition.
Something about the girl's expanding ability had changed. Suddenly she was no
longer passively absorbing the usual ambient mental noise. She was unwittingly reaching
out for it, drawing it to her. The last fragments of what Doro called her childhood
shield—the mental protection that served young actives until they were old enough to
stand transition—was crumbling away. She was in transition.
Karl broke off what he was saying to the security chief. Suddenly he was caught up in
the experience Mary was having. She was running, screaming . . .
No. No, it wasn't Mary who was running. It was another woman—the woman Mary
was receiving from. The two were one. One woman running down stark white corridors.
A woman fleeing from men who were also dressed in white. She gibbered and babbled
and wept. Suddenly she realized that her own body was covered with slimy yellow
worms. She tore at the worms frantically to get them off. They changed their coloring
from yellow to yellow streaked with red. They began to burrow into her flesh. The
woman fell to the floor tearing at herself, vomiting, urinating.
She hardly felt the restraining hands of her pursuers, or the prick of the needle. She
did not have even enough awareness of the world outside her own mind to be grateful for
the eventual oblivion.
Karl snapped back to the reality of the warehouse with a jolt. He found himself
holding on to the steel support of some overhead shelving. His hands hurt from grasping
it so tightly. He shook his head, saw Doro and the two warehousemen staring at him. The
warehousemen looked concerned. Doro looked expectant. Karl spoke to Doro. "I've got
to get home. Now."
Doro nodded. "I'll drive you. Come on."
Karl followed him out of the building, then blindly, mechanically got in on the
driver's side. Doro spoke to him sharply. Karl jumped, frowned, moved over. Doro was
right. Karl was in no shape to drive. Karl was in no shape to do anything. It was as
though he were plunging into his own transition again.
"You're too close to her," said Doro. "Pull back a little. See if you can sense
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